Amore
Prologue
"Lehnsherr," Armando Munoz handed cheap coffee to his partner, sipping from his own cup. He needed something to wake up. It was two in the morning, and yet, this secluded corner of the big city was forced to a very rude awakening. Blue and red flashes coloured the night like unwelcome lightening just before a devastating storm, the police siren piercing the solitude.
"Well?" His partner's steely grey eyes reflected back the light, unaffected by sleep or the enigma of the incident.
"Two men found the body," Munoz pointed to two homeless men, in worn out clothes and tatters, looking in desperate need for showers. Drunk, but now sobering up with the seriousness of the situation. "Something's not...right. No signs of assault or defence, no weapons. Just blood, and the body. Male, brunette, mid twenties maybe."
"Gunshot?"
"Could be. But no one heard anything."
"Poison?"
"I don't think so. No signs of poisoning as per what I saw."
Detective Lehnsherr nodded. "Let's take a look before the Forensics arrive."
Charles Xavier hurried to his apartment as the darkness covered the sky like a veil. It wasn't really late, but this part of the city wasn't much crowded, even in daytime. At 27, his job as a professor had provided him enough to hire a cab. And yet, his carelessness forced him to walk back these few blocks, forgetting his wallet.
Light drizzle almost fell like snow, kissing his brown hair as he pulled his jacket closer around his body.
He turned around the corner, cursing his own carelessness, when his eyes fell upon a young couple, the hands of the woman threaded in the dark hair of her lover, as they passionately made out, barred from the rest of the world under the bus stand.
Charles stood there, fixated. It's not like he liked watching. In fact there was nothing in the world he wanted to do but give the couple the privacy they deserved. Well, the privacy suitable for a bus stand, but privacy nonetheless. But he couldn't move, eyes blown wide, because there was this feeling again. Like everything was on fire, like he was on fire, his insides burning. There was this uncomfortable itching on his back, firing through jolts of pain. His fingers twitched, and he shuffled forward, drawn to the two strangers like moth to fire. There was some soothing, pleasant glow coming off them, intoxicating and indescribable, strengthening him, and Charles felt the need to touch.
Bordering in being accused of being a pervert, Charles forced himself away. But as their intensity strengthened, he could feel them pulling him back, like magnets.
He hurried away, the itching, the pulsating pain in his back increasing.
Charles whimpered in his sleep, tossing and turning in the darkness. It was the same dream again, and he knew it was dream. The tangle of arms and legs, the heavy, shuddered breathing, the sweat glistening, as if under candle light. The same, smouldering blue-grey eyes.
He woke up with a start, sweaty and sticky, rutting into the mattress. A few more thrusts, and he muffled his moans in the pillow. They were the same eyes, he noticed, after calming down. Again.
He turned, throwing off the used sheets, looking at the other side of the bed, empty, unused.
He didn't mind the solitude, but in all this years, he'd never felt more lonely. There was this strange sickness he was developing, and grey eyes haunted his nights. He suddenly craved for a warm body in his bed.
"Bye Charles," Raven said, hugging his brother.
"Goodbye, " Charles said, as normally as he could, suppressing his shuddering. He couldn't let his sister see him through. "See you later, Emma," he called out to his sister's best friend.
"See you, Charles." Emma Frost replied.
Pale blonde hair, the figures of a Victoria's Secret, and eyes like diamonds, Emma could have any person she wanted. But she had eyes for his sister, Charles knew that.
Raven liked her back too, it was obvious from the lingering touches and eyes full of love. But why either of them did nothing about it, Charles didn't know. They have been best friends for four years now, but both of them simply chose to ignore their urges.
This shouldn't bother Charles. As a brother, maybe yes, because he did want to see his sister happy. And Emma was good for her.
But since a few months, he got that...sickness, dizziness, whenever he saw them. Body burning with a fever, voice broken, hands itching to do something. Breathing was difficult, and he couldn't be in the same room with them for more than five minutes.
Charles hated it. Hated whatever was happening. He loved her sister, and whatever was happening, was putting a distance between them. Charles wanted to get rid of it. But he found no solution. His doctor simply said that he was stressed, maybe sexually frustrated and should try to get laid.
It was growing worse, this sickness, as time passed. Charles now struggled to a glass of water, and swallowed it all in one go. Even regular water seemed cold against his burning throat. But it tasted bitter, everything did. Tasteless and unsatisfying.
Charles moved to the window, opening it to allow the cold, night air in. He sat there, leaning against the cool glass, trying to calm down.
But that was a mistake, because he saw his sister and her unrequited love, hugging. A touch that lingered to look, that ignited him up. He fell down on his knees, tearing his eyes away from them. The air felt heavy, he felt so weak! His back was burning, itching so badly, pain pulsing just under the skin, as if something was clawing from beneath, threatening to tear out. All the suppressed pain from all these months finally erupting.
He reached back, under his shirt, fingers cold against the scorching skin. Nothing there, but the pain amplified with the touch. He tore his shirt off, trying to get better access. Hands roamed to every side he could reach, but found nothing. Then Charles felt one point, where the pain seemed to be leaking from. He reached back, across his shoulder, and found something protruding. Soft, sharp, he didn't understand. He gripped it with two fingers, slowly more as he started pulling it out.
He groaned, sweating even in the cold night, fingers still pulling out something from his body. He was terrified, and scared, and could hear nothing but his own ragged breathing and escalated heartbeats.
Finally, finally, he got the whole thing out, letting out a huff of air. What he saw, shocked him. In his palm, was a long, white feather, dripping his own blood.
He struggled to the bathroom, turning on the lights in horror. His own reflection scared him, his back bleeding from several spots.
That's when pain overtook everything, and he collapsed on his knees and palms.
Outside, Raven was too was far away and too busy consoling her breaking heart to hear her brother's muffled screams.
Charles woke up late, the afternoon sun caressing his skin. He hadn't slept all night, screaming, shivering, with pain controlling his body. The bathroom floor was covered with blood soaked towels, as were Charles' hands and clothes. He stood up, checking himself into the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, and a few smudges of blood on his face. His hair sleep mused, and face disoriented, but that wasn't what bothered Charles. It was the two white, puffy wings on his back, covered with dried blood. His blood.
Charles didn't leave his apartment for one whole week. He didn't let anyone in.
He tried his best to pull off his "wings" but it only caused him further pain. Razor was a bad option, it was like cutting off an arm or leg, with a knife.... and had no further ideas. Tears of frustration had dried up, and he sat against the coffee table, drinking....whatever he was drinking.
It was a nightmare.
Taking one final deep breath, he pushed the call button.
"Hey, Raven...um, hi. Can you come over?"
Charles wrapped bandages around his wounds, and stepped into the shower to wash off all the blood, carefully avoiding the gashes and scratches. The water felt like acid against his raw wounds, but he gritted his teeth and endured the pain. Drying off, he wrapped fresh bandages, and tried to look as presentable as he could.
Raven came in without any prelude, hurrying as if the world depended on it. Maybe for her it did, Charles being her only family.
"Oh, Charles! What happened? One week, no phone calls, no emails! Moira told me that you didn't go to work either! Is everything okay?" She said all in one breath, at which Charles offered her a weak smile.
He looked horrible, he knew that. One week of sleepless nights and the loss of blood was showing. That, topped with exhaustion, mental and physical, and he looked ready to be admitted to the hospital.
Raven engulfed him in a big, tight embrace, hand pressing over one of the wounds. Charles winced, pulling back.
"What's wrong?" Raven asked. Charles knew he had to tell her everything; she was his only confidante.
"I...don't know," he sighed. He didn't know how to explain, so he decided it would be best to show her the wings.
"See for yourself, will you, please?" He asked, turning around, and carefully removing his shirt.
"Charles, what the-?" Raven started, but then, Charles started removing the bandages.
"Oh, my God, Charles! What happened?"
"I don't know. I just...these just...happened," Charles said.
"Happened? Wounds like these just don't happen, Charles! Have you ...?" Raven asked turning him around.
"I- wait, what?" Charles asked. Why was a Raven talking about the wounds, and not the wings?
"Charles, these look self inflicted...have you done something wrong?" She asked again.
"What? You don't see them or what?"
"See what? Charles, what have you done? All I see are these, these.... Oh Charles!" Raven said, tears welling.
Charles let himself be pulled into another hug, though more careful this time.
"Actually I...fell down the stairs and landed on a vase, I'm sorry," he said into her hair.
"I told you your clumsiness would lead to trouble, didn't I?" She asked, smiling through tears. "Now look at yourself!"
"I'm fine, really. I just. I was. Uh. I'm sorry." Charles smiled. And he wasn't lying this time.
"I'm taking care of you. No more ifs and buts, okay?" She asked sternly, and Charles could do nothing but nod.
It was the fourth day of Raven's stay when Emma came to visit. Charles was feeling better, and the weakness was fading away. He realised that Raven couldn't, for some reason, see his wings. She didnt feel them either, as if they were on a different dimensional plane than her. Either that, or he was going crazy.
She helped him dress the wounds, wash them, and even treat them with ointments.
"Thank God you don't need stitches, Charles, " she had said on the first night.
"Yes," Charles replied.
"Hey Charles, what are these marks?"
"What marks?"
"These," Raven said, touching a spot with one finger. She must've touched the wings, because Charles felt a jolt of electricity run through his body. He winced away from her.
"Sorry," she said, sheepishly. "There are these blackish, burnt out marks, I don't know, like, like spirals, you know! They run in two straight lines...these forming an inverted V," she described.
"What?" Charles stood in front of the mirror, trying to look for the mark, but he could see nothing but the wings. The point where Raven had touched was where the wings met the skin.
"Oh these...these are um...tattoos," he offered weakly. "I lost a bet...long story, some other time, yes?"
Raven nodded, even though she did not seem fully convinced.
Charles was starting to feel better. He somehow, had accepted that he had crazy wings all of a sudden, and no one else could see them. Which was good, right?
He had remembered an article which he had once read, and was looking through it, when Emma rang the doorbell. Charles didn't even notice.
"Sometimes mutations do not develop until the body is fully ready. These may happen due to some genetic traits or even psychological stimulus. Mutations are what really led the development of advanced beings, like the Homo sapiens. Even minute mutations like heterochromia are the developing stages for advancements..."
The article wasn't of much further assistance, and Charles closed the window, shutting his laptop. He rubbed his temple, unsure what to do, when he started getting that tingling sensation. He then saw her, Emma, and the horror crashed into him again. The burn was back, and it was the stronger in his back...exactly where Raven had described the 'tattoos'.
He gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his composure. He got another lecture from Emma for not informing her about his condition and blah, blah, blah. He paid little attention, offering weak smile every now and then.
And then Emma walked over to him, and banged her palm over his desk.
"I know you're not listening to me, and I-" she started, but then she gave a cry, and clutched her hand. Charles saw a feather sticking out of her palm, piercing the skin.
It was the first feather which he had pulled out. He had thrown away the rest, he must've forgotten this one.
And then the most miraculous thing happened. Raven came over, taking Emma's hand in hers. And as soon as the blonde looked into his sister's eyes, the feather burnt up. It just- self ignited, a small spark flying, and disappeared. Charles watched in surprise, the two girls very unaware of what was happening.
But then Charles saw it too. The look Emma was giving to Raven. And then, without any warnings, Emma grabbed Raven's face, and kissed her. Just like that.
Charles watched, more in confusion and disbelief. Did he really-? Was he interpreting correctly? He looked away, blushing, as the passion deepened, and Raven kissed back.
It took him one full minute (and moving to the next room,) to register that the burn was no longer there. Just an intoxicating, extra sweet glow he felt again. The moth-to-fire feeling. He felt drunk, in power, in strength.
Later that day, as Emma and Raven excused themselves, and Charles walked to his desk to retrieve some papers, he noticed the burnt mark on his desk. The ember that had jumped off the feather, it must have burnt the wood.
That night, he dreamt of the grey eyes again. But this time, he saw feathers. White feathers, his own.
And black ones.
Charles had a theory, and he wanted to test it out. It was stupid, yes. But what if he was not wrong?
He wanted to try the feather on someone else, to be sure. But it's not like he could simply put a feather in someone. He had taken woodshop classes in college, and maybe they weren't going to be useless after all.
He carved out one thin, long piece of wood, attaching the tip of the feather to act as the arrow head. The body of the feather was put in as the tail. He still owned his father's bow, a bit bendy, but working, yes.
And Charles was good to go.
He invited Moira and Hank, his colleagues, to dinner the next night. But then instead of approaching them directly, he followed them discreetly, to the restaurant. He hid in the shadows, waiting for the perfect timing.
"You're an idiot, Charles," he told himself. "Oh, and a stalker too. And a voyeur, " he muttered. Then he saw the two people walk towards a rather empty lane, and he seized the opportunity.
Aiming the arrow at Hank, the shy one, he shot it off, hoping that his crash-course and self-training in archery would pay off. It did, and maybe the skills really came with the wings, he wasn't sure. It shot Hank right in the middle of his back. Charles then realised his grave mistake; what if Hank turned back and saw him? What it the arrow didn't work? How would he explain the situation?
Hank was in the middle of a very awkward conversation with Moira, when suddenly, he went still, staring at Moira with wide eyes. Charles saw the arrow pierce his jacket, and then it started burning, the head and tip igniting, and devouring the body in less than a few seconds. Merely three seconds had passed, and there was no hint of an arrow being anywhere near Hank.
"Hank, are you okay?" Moira asked.
But Hank didn't reply, he simply walked closer, held her chin in his hands, and kissed her. Moira pulled back, surprised. But then, as Hank started apologising, she pulled off Hank's glasses, and dragged him close by his tie, pulling their lips closer again.
Charles smiled, disappearing into the shadows again.
It was almost as if he knew this was going to happen. He knew Hank liked Moira, his arrow had just worked to ignite the passion. What Moira did was her own choice, just like Raven.
It was two months since Charles had sprouted his wings. And he had used his feathers on more than two people now. Moving in the darkness, hidden in the shadows. He could feel the attraction, and his feathers intensified the passion.
Charles liked to see the happiness of his...uhm, victims. The feeling of satisfaction, that quenching of undisclosed thirst. He felt intoxicated, and it fed him a sort of energy. No, really. Literally, the passion had a warm glow, an indescribable sweetness, and that strengthened Charles. He felt the energy return to his bones, his youth, his agility, his speed, everything felt stronger now. It was almost selfish, he knew. But almost, since he was not the only one getting an advantage of the deals he made.
Charles had tried flying once. He knew it was a stupid idea, but he had wings, for goodness' sake! He had tried to flap them, just lift them, anything, but pain shot through his back each time he tried. He must've tore some ligament with the razors. Or maybe it was the frequent pulling out of the feathers, damaging some flight muscles.
So Charles tried to forget that idea. His work for more important than his flight, anyways.
Charles draped an overcoat over his wings. They had grown larger and stronger over the years. He still couldn't fly, confirming his earlier theories of nervous damage during his initial days. But that didn't stop him from continuing his work. The arrows were more frequent, now that his wings were more durable.
He hit most of his targets, growing better in his skills with more practises. There were times he'd missed, more than once really, but he had no time to go an retrieve his arrows. The wood cluttering on the floor alerted people, and Charles had to flee before they came looking for someone. That was okay, since nobody could see the arrow head or tip. They just saw thin, long wooden sticks, with beautiful, spiral carvings on them. (What? Charles got bored, okay? And woodcarving wasn't as hard as it looked.)
Charles also become more careful now. There was one time, when he was shooting a policeman (wow, that sounded so illegal,) and his partner came around, suddenly. He missed his shot, and the arrow hit the metal of the car. He scurried away, not waiting to see the results. The officer he was aiming for ran towards him, and Charles dashed away without looking back twice.
He had to be more careful now. Even if that was months ago,
But all these years, the love he saw, the passion he felt, the happiness he harvested...they sort of hollowed him out. Charles dearly longed for that special someone. He waited for that someone while he cried to his sleep, sighed in his showers, or stalked the streets. While he worked in his offices in daytime, or went for grocery shopping. While he stood on edges of tall buildings, looking down to the lighted streets, searching.
He just wanted someone, so much.
It drove him insane. He sometimes wondered if he should just grab someone on a busy street and shove an arrow into him or her.
But he knew he knew his powers didn't work like that. The feeling had to be there already. Charles simply awakened them from a dormant state.
Then there were those dreams of his. They were more detailed now, he could outline the lean muscles of the man that haunted him. Yes, it was a man. With steely grey eyes, a feral grin, and dark, velvety hair. Bodies moving in soft candlelight, scents of sweat and sex.
And the feathers...white and black, complimenting each other like lovers.
But the latest one was a strange one, he had even seen a tail, dark and velvety, just like his phantom lover's hair. He was going crazy, he decided, shoving the dream out of his thoughts now, trying to focus on other things. He sighed, walking down the streets.
It was almost heartbreaking, the irony of his. He was quiet sick of it, really. But he put up a smiling face, masking his insanity. It was Raven's bachelorette party tonight. Yes, three years, and Emma had finally proposed.
Charles had decided to ditch his sorrows for his sister s sake tonight. No unrequited stories tonight, he'd make sure of that.
A few drinks later that night, (alright, more than a few drinks) Charles made way through the dance floor, just shoving his feathers hard into random people. He had brought an arrow with him, but he didn't use it. If someone had their lover near them, the white feathers burnt off into nothingness, and his victim embraced their passion, and their lover. If not, they simply felt a prickling sensation, like a needle, a mosquito bite. The feathers would fall down to the ground, unnoticed.
Charles simply didn't care.
He let his body flow with the music, his mind wandering away. He was losing his concentration, his mind going hazy.
Afterwards, he remembered hugging his sister, gyrating with a few strippers, taking shots, and shoving more feathers into random people, waiters and strippers included. He remembered leaving a hall full of people making out, and rubbing into each other.
But he didn't remember how he ended up in the deserted lane, coat and shirt thrown off. He remembered blood though, blood flowing from his wings, he must've torn off too many feathers.
It was too much, his solitude taking over. He might not have realised it, but his loneliness had grown with each time he felt the spark between his victims. Each time he saw the passionate touches, scratches appeared on his glass heart. Each hug full of love was like a twine around his chest, crushing him within.
He couldn't do it anymore. Maybe it wasn't logical, maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Charles couldn't take it anymore. He walked into an abandoned warehouse, or at least that's what it looked like.
Pulling out an arrow from his coat he carried, he took one last breath, and shoved it straight into his heart.
Blood poured out, maybe he had pushed in too deep. But Charles didn't care.
And then, everything went black. In his half-conscious state, that void, state of nothingness, Charles saw his angel. This time, he saw his handsome face, his grey eyes concerned, wings spreading around him like an embrace.
And then Charles realised, he wasn't dreaming.
"Munoz, wait outside with the forensics, yes?" Detective. Erik Lehnsherr ordered his partner, who nodded, and closed the gates behind him. The warehouse, which had once clearly seen better days, seemed like a perfect setting for a haunted movie.
He looked at the crime scene, at the further end of the huge warehouse. He sighed, too weary to do anything. He had literally filed his last case yesterday only. He needed at least three hours of sleep, couldn't he get that at least? He looked around, and finding the coast clear, shrugged out of his jacket. Two dark, black wings spread out, like a halo around him. A few feathers fell down, but Erik didn't mind, no one could see them anyways. A tail slipped out, dark and velvety, complimenting the wings. It moved as if it had its own mind, and maybe...it did, Erik sometimes thought? He jumped, and instantly, strong flight muscles went to work. Erik hovered over to the body. What? An aerial view helped his deduction, okay?
But he wasn't ready for what his grey eyes saw. There, lying down in a small pool of blood, was a young, pale skinned man. Erik hovered closer, and he guessed that the man must've been gorgeous. But that wasn't the main point.
It was the pair of wings, white as heaven, drenched in a rain of blood, and the arrow, piercing into the man's chest, that caught Erik's attention.
Erik leant in as close as he could, without touching the man. He knew it! He had seen the arrow before, the detailed carvings on the thin wooden body, the soft white feathered tail, and if Erik was right, the tip must've been white as snow.
Many months ago, one night while he was filing a case, Angel, Munoz's girlfriend, had come over to visit. She worked in a club nearby, that much Erik knew. His partner had forgotten his wallet, and Erik hurried to give it to him before he left. But he must've come in the way. An arrow was shot in his direction, though it didn't seem to be aimed at him. It hit the car, and so many things happened at the same time. Angel shrieked, and Munoz took off in the direction of the attacker.
Later on, as he examined the arrow, he realised it wasn't even a real one. Somebody must've been playing a joke, he finally concluded. But somewhy, against rationality, Erik had kept it. There was something about the delicate pattern, the feather...the tip...everything, that had intrigued Erik. It looked handmade, he decided as he put it down in his dashboard.
It was still there, in his car, he realised.
As it was here, piercing through the man's heart. How come Munoz didn't report the arrow, he didn't understand.
Again, his mind working against him, Erik slowly knelt down beside the body. Before he could stop himself, he found himself reaching for the arrow. He knew he was making a mistake, a mistake that could even cost his job...but it was as if, he was possessed. His hand wouldn't listen to him, and gingerly, Erik touched the arrow, as if avoiding to hurt the man further.
Hardly had he touched the arrow, when he felt the burn, and voila! Just like that, the arrow burnt itself, and disappeared into sparks.
The man heaved in a ragged breath, and Erik's heart leaped into his throat. He tried to pull back, but a hand came out of nowhere, and gripped his palm.
Erik felt like he was caught red handed, even when he didn't do anything wrong. (He didnt, right?) He felt time slow down, and the man opened his eyes. Electric blue eyes that were so blue, they seemed to be glowing. So blue, that Erik found himself being hypnotised.
And then the man pulled him close, and kissed him.
"Lehnsherr, is everything alright?" Came the muffled voice of Munoz from far down the other side of the warehouse.
Erik pulled back, his mind jump starting. He stood up, moving away. The man down there was a mess. He was shirtless, hair standing in different directions, and lips red from where Erik had kissed him back.
Yes, Erik had kissed him back. A complete stranger. And yet, Erik felt that he knew this man from long ago. His petite frame seemed really familiar.
"You...you need to leave," Erik said, pulling him up to his feet. At the hurt look in the blue eyes, he amended his sentence. "There's a back door down on the left. Use it, and carefully run two blocks away, yes? Wait under the bus stand, I'll reach you as soon as I can," he said, handing the blue-eyed stranger his clothes.
He helped him to his feet, and then to the door.
"Tell me your name," Erik said, opening the door.
"Charles," the man croaked, hurrying away, blue eyes wide with questions.
"I'll be there, Charles."
Erik closed the door, flying to the main entrance, making himself presentable. He put on a stern expression, opening the door.
"Is something wrong?" Munoz asked.
"Wrong?" Erik barked. "Munoz, is this a joke? Where is the damn body?"
It took almost an hour to convince Munoz that there was no body in there, and clean up the mess. It was a weird hour at night, and it had started to drizzle a bit when Erik drove to the bus stand.
He was almost positive that he wouldn't find the man there. But when he drove around the corner, he saw the petite silhouette, shivering under the dim light. He drove up to him, opening his passenger side door as an invitation.
Charles got in without any question.
"You didn't leave," Erik muttered, more to himself.
"I couldn't," Charles whispered back.
Erik sat in silence, debating on his next question. He was still deciding, when Charles said, "I can see them...you know."
"I'm sorry, what?" Erik turned to the man beside him. Charles was looking straight into his eyes.
"Your wings," Charles said, reaching out and stroking the jacket covering Erik's wings. He then stopped, pulling back his hand abruptly. "Sorry."
"You...you can see them?" Erik asked in disbelieve. All these years, and no one ever saw his wings. Erik thought he was the only one.
"Can you see mine?" Charles asked, and Erik's eyes darted to the snowy feathers. He nodded. "Yes, I can."
Charles huffed, but was that happiness or amusement, Erik wasn't sure.
"Looks like you are not the only one, my friend," Charles said. "And uh, apologies, but I didn't catch your name?"
"Erik. Erik Lehnsherr," Erik said. He then hesitated, and asked, "have we met before?"
Charles shook his head, and as Erik thought his question had made the situation awkward, Charles huffed again. But it sounded like a laugh like this time, and he said, "yeah, I have the same feeling."
Erik slowly nodded, looking at the road in front. He had so many things to ask. The arrows, the blood, the wings. And the kiss. Why had Charles kissed him? He was pretty sure this was their first meeting....right? Then why did he find Charles so similar?
But as he looked at Charles again, he found all his brain functioning running out. Charles had beautiful eyes, and even more beautiful lips, all cherry red, and wet from the drizzle, and swollen where Charles had been biting into them, and this time, Erik pulled him close without any prelude, and kissed him roughly.
Charles kissed like his life depended on it. All tongues and teeth, moaning into Erik's mouth. He broke apart first, panting. And then he climbed into Erik's lap, straddling him.
The next kiss was far from chaste. It was rough, urgent, and desperate. And then Charles thrust in Erik, and Erik groaned, barely controlling his urge to thrust up.
He broke their kiss, nipping his way down Charles throat, stopping only to whisper, "your place or mine?"
Charles felt that he was dreaming again. The same lean muscles, the dark hair and the dark wings. The same grey eyes that had haunted him for years, turning dark with desire as Erik thrust into him, again and again, and again and again.
Charles felt his toes curling, body arching off the bed. And in his throes of ecstasy, he knew only one name.
Erik.
They lay in each others arms, the room smelling of sweat and sex, and Erik, because this was his room, and his fragrance surrounded Charles from all directions. Erik himself was a welcome heat, draped across his left side.
Charles sighed, feeling contended. It was even better than his dreams.
Epilogue
"Are you sure this is a nice idea?"
"Mmmhmm, absolutely."
"Love...are you sure you never hit your head in any of your cases?"
"Says the man who runs around shooting people with arrows of love. What do you think you are, Cupid?"
"I was thinking of a different name...you know, like Amore... By the way, your tail is really groovy, you know? Have you decided a name yet?"
"No. Charles, stop stalling. And nobody says groovy anymore. Now hold me, or else I'll push you off this building."
"But I-"
Charles gripped Erik tightly as Erik jumped off the building in the darkness. He took a vertical dip, and then his wings fanned open, and good God! The wingspan was enormous.
Charles opened his eyes as they soared higher. It had been a few weeks since they were together, but they just...clicked, you know? As if they had known each other for years. It was stupid of him, but he'd told Erik that his wings didn't work, when the latter had asked. And like the idiot he was, he'd also joked once how it would be 'groovy' if Erik could just carry him while he "worked". But apparently, Erik Lehnsherr didn't understand jokes.
"You can turn now," Erik informed, meeting his eyes with confidence. Charles nodded, twisting, as Erik's arms bracketed him. And Erik's tail wrapped itself around his waist like a belt.
"This is ridiculous!" Charles said.
His target was farther than what he was used to, but the flight provided many more angles. He took the shot, and it hit the target on her back. Then Erik lifted them higher and they waited.
The woman paused, and then turned to the man on her left. She said something, and then pushed her lips to his. Erik must've found it satisfactory, because then he rose higher as Charles found his body absorbing the glow.
Charles slowly twisted back, hanging onto Erik for his dear life. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the flight. Or maybe it was Erik's tail, still wrapped around his waist...and moving down dangerously. Or maybe it was energy Charles fed off from the love on the street. But something made him press his lips into Erik. As the passion (and this kiss) grew hotter, Charles thrust into Erik, and the detective faltered, making them fall a few feet. He then regained composure and lifted them up again.
"You do that, and we fall to our deaths."
"Do what? You mean this?" Charles asked innocently, as he trust not-so-innocently into him again.
"Charles!" Erik growled.
"All yours, darling. All yours."
"Lehnsherr," Armando Munoz handed cheap coffee to his partner, sipping from his own cup. He needed something to wake up. It was two in the morning, and yet, this secluded corner of the big city was forced to a very rude awakening. Blue and red flashes coloured the night like unwelcome lightening just before a devastating storm, the police siren piercing the solitude.
"Well?" His partner's steely grey eyes reflected back the light, unaffected by sleep or the enigma of the incident.
"Two men found the body," Munoz pointed to two homeless men, in worn out clothes and tatters, looking in desperate need for showers. Drunk, but now sobering up with the seriousness of the situation. "Something's not...right. No signs of assault or defence, no weapons. Just blood, and the body. Male, brunette, mid twenties maybe."
"Gunshot?"
"Could be. But no one heard anything."
"Poison?"
"I don't think so. No signs of poisoning as per what I saw."
Detective Lehnsherr nodded. "Let's take a look before the Forensics arrive."
Charles Xavier hurried to his apartment as the darkness covered the sky like a veil. It wasn't really late, but this part of the city wasn't much crowded, even in daytime. At 27, his job as a professor had provided him enough to hire a cab. And yet, his carelessness forced him to walk back these few blocks, forgetting his wallet.
Light drizzle almost fell like snow, kissing his brown hair as he pulled his jacket closer around his body.
He turned around the corner, cursing his own carelessness, when his eyes fell upon a young couple, the hands of the woman threaded in the dark hair of her lover, as they passionately made out, barred from the rest of the world under the bus stand.
Charles stood there, fixated. It's not like he liked watching. In fact there was nothing in the world he wanted to do but give the couple the privacy they deserved. Well, the privacy suitable for a bus stand, but privacy nonetheless. But he couldn't move, eyes blown wide, because there was this feeling again. Like everything was on fire, like he was on fire, his insides burning. There was this uncomfortable itching on his back, firing through jolts of pain. His fingers twitched, and he shuffled forward, drawn to the two strangers like moth to fire. There was some soothing, pleasant glow coming off them, intoxicating and indescribable, strengthening him, and Charles felt the need to touch.
Bordering in being accused of being a pervert, Charles forced himself away. But as their intensity strengthened, he could feel them pulling him back, like magnets.
He hurried away, the itching, the pulsating pain in his back increasing.
Charles whimpered in his sleep, tossing and turning in the darkness. It was the same dream again, and he knew it was dream. The tangle of arms and legs, the heavy, shuddered breathing, the sweat glistening, as if under candle light. The same, smouldering blue-grey eyes.
He woke up with a start, sweaty and sticky, rutting into the mattress. A few more thrusts, and he muffled his moans in the pillow. They were the same eyes, he noticed, after calming down. Again.
He turned, throwing off the used sheets, looking at the other side of the bed, empty, unused.
He didn't mind the solitude, but in all this years, he'd never felt more lonely. There was this strange sickness he was developing, and grey eyes haunted his nights. He suddenly craved for a warm body in his bed.
"Bye Charles," Raven said, hugging his brother.
"Goodbye, " Charles said, as normally as he could, suppressing his shuddering. He couldn't let his sister see him through. "See you later, Emma," he called out to his sister's best friend.
"See you, Charles." Emma Frost replied.
Pale blonde hair, the figures of a Victoria's Secret, and eyes like diamonds, Emma could have any person she wanted. But she had eyes for his sister, Charles knew that.
Raven liked her back too, it was obvious from the lingering touches and eyes full of love. But why either of them did nothing about it, Charles didn't know. They have been best friends for four years now, but both of them simply chose to ignore their urges.
This shouldn't bother Charles. As a brother, maybe yes, because he did want to see his sister happy. And Emma was good for her.
But since a few months, he got that...sickness, dizziness, whenever he saw them. Body burning with a fever, voice broken, hands itching to do something. Breathing was difficult, and he couldn't be in the same room with them for more than five minutes.
Charles hated it. Hated whatever was happening. He loved her sister, and whatever was happening, was putting a distance between them. Charles wanted to get rid of it. But he found no solution. His doctor simply said that he was stressed, maybe sexually frustrated and should try to get laid.
It was growing worse, this sickness, as time passed. Charles now struggled to a glass of water, and swallowed it all in one go. Even regular water seemed cold against his burning throat. But it tasted bitter, everything did. Tasteless and unsatisfying.
Charles moved to the window, opening it to allow the cold, night air in. He sat there, leaning against the cool glass, trying to calm down.
But that was a mistake, because he saw his sister and her unrequited love, hugging. A touch that lingered to look, that ignited him up. He fell down on his knees, tearing his eyes away from them. The air felt heavy, he felt so weak! His back was burning, itching so badly, pain pulsing just under the skin, as if something was clawing from beneath, threatening to tear out. All the suppressed pain from all these months finally erupting.
He reached back, under his shirt, fingers cold against the scorching skin. Nothing there, but the pain amplified with the touch. He tore his shirt off, trying to get better access. Hands roamed to every side he could reach, but found nothing. Then Charles felt one point, where the pain seemed to be leaking from. He reached back, across his shoulder, and found something protruding. Soft, sharp, he didn't understand. He gripped it with two fingers, slowly more as he started pulling it out.
He groaned, sweating even in the cold night, fingers still pulling out something from his body. He was terrified, and scared, and could hear nothing but his own ragged breathing and escalated heartbeats.
Finally, finally, he got the whole thing out, letting out a huff of air. What he saw, shocked him. In his palm, was a long, white feather, dripping his own blood.
He struggled to the bathroom, turning on the lights in horror. His own reflection scared him, his back bleeding from several spots.
That's when pain overtook everything, and he collapsed on his knees and palms.
Outside, Raven was too was far away and too busy consoling her breaking heart to hear her brother's muffled screams.
Charles woke up late, the afternoon sun caressing his skin. He hadn't slept all night, screaming, shivering, with pain controlling his body. The bathroom floor was covered with blood soaked towels, as were Charles' hands and clothes. He stood up, checking himself into the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, and a few smudges of blood on his face. His hair sleep mused, and face disoriented, but that wasn't what bothered Charles. It was the two white, puffy wings on his back, covered with dried blood. His blood.
Charles didn't leave his apartment for one whole week. He didn't let anyone in.
He tried his best to pull off his "wings" but it only caused him further pain. Razor was a bad option, it was like cutting off an arm or leg, with a knife.... and had no further ideas. Tears of frustration had dried up, and he sat against the coffee table, drinking....whatever he was drinking.
It was a nightmare.
Taking one final deep breath, he pushed the call button.
"Hey, Raven...um, hi. Can you come over?"
Charles wrapped bandages around his wounds, and stepped into the shower to wash off all the blood, carefully avoiding the gashes and scratches. The water felt like acid against his raw wounds, but he gritted his teeth and endured the pain. Drying off, he wrapped fresh bandages, and tried to look as presentable as he could.
Raven came in without any prelude, hurrying as if the world depended on it. Maybe for her it did, Charles being her only family.
"Oh, Charles! What happened? One week, no phone calls, no emails! Moira told me that you didn't go to work either! Is everything okay?" She said all in one breath, at which Charles offered her a weak smile.
He looked horrible, he knew that. One week of sleepless nights and the loss of blood was showing. That, topped with exhaustion, mental and physical, and he looked ready to be admitted to the hospital.
Raven engulfed him in a big, tight embrace, hand pressing over one of the wounds. Charles winced, pulling back.
"What's wrong?" Raven asked. Charles knew he had to tell her everything; she was his only confidante.
"I...don't know," he sighed. He didn't know how to explain, so he decided it would be best to show her the wings.
"See for yourself, will you, please?" He asked, turning around, and carefully removing his shirt.
"Charles, what the-?" Raven started, but then, Charles started removing the bandages.
"Oh, my God, Charles! What happened?"
"I don't know. I just...these just...happened," Charles said.
"Happened? Wounds like these just don't happen, Charles! Have you ...?" Raven asked turning him around.
"I- wait, what?" Charles asked. Why was a Raven talking about the wounds, and not the wings?
"Charles, these look self inflicted...have you done something wrong?" She asked again.
"What? You don't see them or what?"
"See what? Charles, what have you done? All I see are these, these.... Oh Charles!" Raven said, tears welling.
Charles let himself be pulled into another hug, though more careful this time.
"Actually I...fell down the stairs and landed on a vase, I'm sorry," he said into her hair.
"I told you your clumsiness would lead to trouble, didn't I?" She asked, smiling through tears. "Now look at yourself!"
"I'm fine, really. I just. I was. Uh. I'm sorry." Charles smiled. And he wasn't lying this time.
"I'm taking care of you. No more ifs and buts, okay?" She asked sternly, and Charles could do nothing but nod.
It was the fourth day of Raven's stay when Emma came to visit. Charles was feeling better, and the weakness was fading away. He realised that Raven couldn't, for some reason, see his wings. She didnt feel them either, as if they were on a different dimensional plane than her. Either that, or he was going crazy.
She helped him dress the wounds, wash them, and even treat them with ointments.
"Thank God you don't need stitches, Charles, " she had said on the first night.
"Yes," Charles replied.
"Hey Charles, what are these marks?"
"What marks?"
"These," Raven said, touching a spot with one finger. She must've touched the wings, because Charles felt a jolt of electricity run through his body. He winced away from her.
"Sorry," she said, sheepishly. "There are these blackish, burnt out marks, I don't know, like, like spirals, you know! They run in two straight lines...these forming an inverted V," she described.
"What?" Charles stood in front of the mirror, trying to look for the mark, but he could see nothing but the wings. The point where Raven had touched was where the wings met the skin.
"Oh these...these are um...tattoos," he offered weakly. "I lost a bet...long story, some other time, yes?"
Raven nodded, even though she did not seem fully convinced.
Charles was starting to feel better. He somehow, had accepted that he had crazy wings all of a sudden, and no one else could see them. Which was good, right?
He had remembered an article which he had once read, and was looking through it, when Emma rang the doorbell. Charles didn't even notice.
"Sometimes mutations do not develop until the body is fully ready. These may happen due to some genetic traits or even psychological stimulus. Mutations are what really led the development of advanced beings, like the Homo sapiens. Even minute mutations like heterochromia are the developing stages for advancements..."
The article wasn't of much further assistance, and Charles closed the window, shutting his laptop. He rubbed his temple, unsure what to do, when he started getting that tingling sensation. He then saw her, Emma, and the horror crashed into him again. The burn was back, and it was the stronger in his back...exactly where Raven had described the 'tattoos'.
He gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his composure. He got another lecture from Emma for not informing her about his condition and blah, blah, blah. He paid little attention, offering weak smile every now and then.
And then Emma walked over to him, and banged her palm over his desk.
"I know you're not listening to me, and I-" she started, but then she gave a cry, and clutched her hand. Charles saw a feather sticking out of her palm, piercing the skin.
It was the first feather which he had pulled out. He had thrown away the rest, he must've forgotten this one.
And then the most miraculous thing happened. Raven came over, taking Emma's hand in hers. And as soon as the blonde looked into his sister's eyes, the feather burnt up. It just- self ignited, a small spark flying, and disappeared. Charles watched in surprise, the two girls very unaware of what was happening.
But then Charles saw it too. The look Emma was giving to Raven. And then, without any warnings, Emma grabbed Raven's face, and kissed her. Just like that.
Charles watched, more in confusion and disbelief. Did he really-? Was he interpreting correctly? He looked away, blushing, as the passion deepened, and Raven kissed back.
It took him one full minute (and moving to the next room,) to register that the burn was no longer there. Just an intoxicating, extra sweet glow he felt again. The moth-to-fire feeling. He felt drunk, in power, in strength.
Later that day, as Emma and Raven excused themselves, and Charles walked to his desk to retrieve some papers, he noticed the burnt mark on his desk. The ember that had jumped off the feather, it must have burnt the wood.
That night, he dreamt of the grey eyes again. But this time, he saw feathers. White feathers, his own.
And black ones.
Charles had a theory, and he wanted to test it out. It was stupid, yes. But what if he was not wrong?
He wanted to try the feather on someone else, to be sure. But it's not like he could simply put a feather in someone. He had taken woodshop classes in college, and maybe they weren't going to be useless after all.
He carved out one thin, long piece of wood, attaching the tip of the feather to act as the arrow head. The body of the feather was put in as the tail. He still owned his father's bow, a bit bendy, but working, yes.
And Charles was good to go.
He invited Moira and Hank, his colleagues, to dinner the next night. But then instead of approaching them directly, he followed them discreetly, to the restaurant. He hid in the shadows, waiting for the perfect timing.
"You're an idiot, Charles," he told himself. "Oh, and a stalker too. And a voyeur, " he muttered. Then he saw the two people walk towards a rather empty lane, and he seized the opportunity.
Aiming the arrow at Hank, the shy one, he shot it off, hoping that his crash-course and self-training in archery would pay off. It did, and maybe the skills really came with the wings, he wasn't sure. It shot Hank right in the middle of his back. Charles then realised his grave mistake; what if Hank turned back and saw him? What it the arrow didn't work? How would he explain the situation?
Hank was in the middle of a very awkward conversation with Moira, when suddenly, he went still, staring at Moira with wide eyes. Charles saw the arrow pierce his jacket, and then it started burning, the head and tip igniting, and devouring the body in less than a few seconds. Merely three seconds had passed, and there was no hint of an arrow being anywhere near Hank.
"Hank, are you okay?" Moira asked.
But Hank didn't reply, he simply walked closer, held her chin in his hands, and kissed her. Moira pulled back, surprised. But then, as Hank started apologising, she pulled off Hank's glasses, and dragged him close by his tie, pulling their lips closer again.
Charles smiled, disappearing into the shadows again.
It was almost as if he knew this was going to happen. He knew Hank liked Moira, his arrow had just worked to ignite the passion. What Moira did was her own choice, just like Raven.
It was two months since Charles had sprouted his wings. And he had used his feathers on more than two people now. Moving in the darkness, hidden in the shadows. He could feel the attraction, and his feathers intensified the passion.
Charles liked to see the happiness of his...uhm, victims. The feeling of satisfaction, that quenching of undisclosed thirst. He felt intoxicated, and it fed him a sort of energy. No, really. Literally, the passion had a warm glow, an indescribable sweetness, and that strengthened Charles. He felt the energy return to his bones, his youth, his agility, his speed, everything felt stronger now. It was almost selfish, he knew. But almost, since he was not the only one getting an advantage of the deals he made.
Charles had tried flying once. He knew it was a stupid idea, but he had wings, for goodness' sake! He had tried to flap them, just lift them, anything, but pain shot through his back each time he tried. He must've tore some ligament with the razors. Or maybe it was the frequent pulling out of the feathers, damaging some flight muscles.
So Charles tried to forget that idea. His work for more important than his flight, anyways.
Charles draped an overcoat over his wings. They had grown larger and stronger over the years. He still couldn't fly, confirming his earlier theories of nervous damage during his initial days. But that didn't stop him from continuing his work. The arrows were more frequent, now that his wings were more durable.
He hit most of his targets, growing better in his skills with more practises. There were times he'd missed, more than once really, but he had no time to go an retrieve his arrows. The wood cluttering on the floor alerted people, and Charles had to flee before they came looking for someone. That was okay, since nobody could see the arrow head or tip. They just saw thin, long wooden sticks, with beautiful, spiral carvings on them. (What? Charles got bored, okay? And woodcarving wasn't as hard as it looked.)
Charles also become more careful now. There was one time, when he was shooting a policeman (wow, that sounded so illegal,) and his partner came around, suddenly. He missed his shot, and the arrow hit the metal of the car. He scurried away, not waiting to see the results. The officer he was aiming for ran towards him, and Charles dashed away without looking back twice.
He had to be more careful now. Even if that was months ago,
But all these years, the love he saw, the passion he felt, the happiness he harvested...they sort of hollowed him out. Charles dearly longed for that special someone. He waited for that someone while he cried to his sleep, sighed in his showers, or stalked the streets. While he worked in his offices in daytime, or went for grocery shopping. While he stood on edges of tall buildings, looking down to the lighted streets, searching.
He just wanted someone, so much.
It drove him insane. He sometimes wondered if he should just grab someone on a busy street and shove an arrow into him or her.
But he knew he knew his powers didn't work like that. The feeling had to be there already. Charles simply awakened them from a dormant state.
Then there were those dreams of his. They were more detailed now, he could outline the lean muscles of the man that haunted him. Yes, it was a man. With steely grey eyes, a feral grin, and dark, velvety hair. Bodies moving in soft candlelight, scents of sweat and sex.
And the feathers...white and black, complimenting each other like lovers.
But the latest one was a strange one, he had even seen a tail, dark and velvety, just like his phantom lover's hair. He was going crazy, he decided, shoving the dream out of his thoughts now, trying to focus on other things. He sighed, walking down the streets.
It was almost heartbreaking, the irony of his. He was quiet sick of it, really. But he put up a smiling face, masking his insanity. It was Raven's bachelorette party tonight. Yes, three years, and Emma had finally proposed.
Charles had decided to ditch his sorrows for his sister s sake tonight. No unrequited stories tonight, he'd make sure of that.
A few drinks later that night, (alright, more than a few drinks) Charles made way through the dance floor, just shoving his feathers hard into random people. He had brought an arrow with him, but he didn't use it. If someone had their lover near them, the white feathers burnt off into nothingness, and his victim embraced their passion, and their lover. If not, they simply felt a prickling sensation, like a needle, a mosquito bite. The feathers would fall down to the ground, unnoticed.
Charles simply didn't care.
He let his body flow with the music, his mind wandering away. He was losing his concentration, his mind going hazy.
Afterwards, he remembered hugging his sister, gyrating with a few strippers, taking shots, and shoving more feathers into random people, waiters and strippers included. He remembered leaving a hall full of people making out, and rubbing into each other.
But he didn't remember how he ended up in the deserted lane, coat and shirt thrown off. He remembered blood though, blood flowing from his wings, he must've torn off too many feathers.
It was too much, his solitude taking over. He might not have realised it, but his loneliness had grown with each time he felt the spark between his victims. Each time he saw the passionate touches, scratches appeared on his glass heart. Each hug full of love was like a twine around his chest, crushing him within.
He couldn't do it anymore. Maybe it wasn't logical, maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Charles couldn't take it anymore. He walked into an abandoned warehouse, or at least that's what it looked like.
Pulling out an arrow from his coat he carried, he took one last breath, and shoved it straight into his heart.
Blood poured out, maybe he had pushed in too deep. But Charles didn't care.
And then, everything went black. In his half-conscious state, that void, state of nothingness, Charles saw his angel. This time, he saw his handsome face, his grey eyes concerned, wings spreading around him like an embrace.
And then Charles realised, he wasn't dreaming.
"Munoz, wait outside with the forensics, yes?" Detective. Erik Lehnsherr ordered his partner, who nodded, and closed the gates behind him. The warehouse, which had once clearly seen better days, seemed like a perfect setting for a haunted movie.
He looked at the crime scene, at the further end of the huge warehouse. He sighed, too weary to do anything. He had literally filed his last case yesterday only. He needed at least three hours of sleep, couldn't he get that at least? He looked around, and finding the coast clear, shrugged out of his jacket. Two dark, black wings spread out, like a halo around him. A few feathers fell down, but Erik didn't mind, no one could see them anyways. A tail slipped out, dark and velvety, complimenting the wings. It moved as if it had its own mind, and maybe...it did, Erik sometimes thought? He jumped, and instantly, strong flight muscles went to work. Erik hovered over to the body. What? An aerial view helped his deduction, okay?
But he wasn't ready for what his grey eyes saw. There, lying down in a small pool of blood, was a young, pale skinned man. Erik hovered closer, and he guessed that the man must've been gorgeous. But that wasn't the main point.
It was the pair of wings, white as heaven, drenched in a rain of blood, and the arrow, piercing into the man's chest, that caught Erik's attention.
Erik leant in as close as he could, without touching the man. He knew it! He had seen the arrow before, the detailed carvings on the thin wooden body, the soft white feathered tail, and if Erik was right, the tip must've been white as snow.
Many months ago, one night while he was filing a case, Angel, Munoz's girlfriend, had come over to visit. She worked in a club nearby, that much Erik knew. His partner had forgotten his wallet, and Erik hurried to give it to him before he left. But he must've come in the way. An arrow was shot in his direction, though it didn't seem to be aimed at him. It hit the car, and so many things happened at the same time. Angel shrieked, and Munoz took off in the direction of the attacker.
Later on, as he examined the arrow, he realised it wasn't even a real one. Somebody must've been playing a joke, he finally concluded. But somewhy, against rationality, Erik had kept it. There was something about the delicate pattern, the feather...the tip...everything, that had intrigued Erik. It looked handmade, he decided as he put it down in his dashboard.
It was still there, in his car, he realised.
As it was here, piercing through the man's heart. How come Munoz didn't report the arrow, he didn't understand.
Again, his mind working against him, Erik slowly knelt down beside the body. Before he could stop himself, he found himself reaching for the arrow. He knew he was making a mistake, a mistake that could even cost his job...but it was as if, he was possessed. His hand wouldn't listen to him, and gingerly, Erik touched the arrow, as if avoiding to hurt the man further.
Hardly had he touched the arrow, when he felt the burn, and voila! Just like that, the arrow burnt itself, and disappeared into sparks.
The man heaved in a ragged breath, and Erik's heart leaped into his throat. He tried to pull back, but a hand came out of nowhere, and gripped his palm.
Erik felt like he was caught red handed, even when he didn't do anything wrong. (He didnt, right?) He felt time slow down, and the man opened his eyes. Electric blue eyes that were so blue, they seemed to be glowing. So blue, that Erik found himself being hypnotised.
And then the man pulled him close, and kissed him.
"Lehnsherr, is everything alright?" Came the muffled voice of Munoz from far down the other side of the warehouse.
Erik pulled back, his mind jump starting. He stood up, moving away. The man down there was a mess. He was shirtless, hair standing in different directions, and lips red from where Erik had kissed him back.
Yes, Erik had kissed him back. A complete stranger. And yet, Erik felt that he knew this man from long ago. His petite frame seemed really familiar.
"You...you need to leave," Erik said, pulling him up to his feet. At the hurt look in the blue eyes, he amended his sentence. "There's a back door down on the left. Use it, and carefully run two blocks away, yes? Wait under the bus stand, I'll reach you as soon as I can," he said, handing the blue-eyed stranger his clothes.
He helped him to his feet, and then to the door.
"Tell me your name," Erik said, opening the door.
"Charles," the man croaked, hurrying away, blue eyes wide with questions.
"I'll be there, Charles."
Erik closed the door, flying to the main entrance, making himself presentable. He put on a stern expression, opening the door.
"Is something wrong?" Munoz asked.
"Wrong?" Erik barked. "Munoz, is this a joke? Where is the damn body?"
It took almost an hour to convince Munoz that there was no body in there, and clean up the mess. It was a weird hour at night, and it had started to drizzle a bit when Erik drove to the bus stand.
He was almost positive that he wouldn't find the man there. But when he drove around the corner, he saw the petite silhouette, shivering under the dim light. He drove up to him, opening his passenger side door as an invitation.
Charles got in without any question.
"You didn't leave," Erik muttered, more to himself.
"I couldn't," Charles whispered back.
Erik sat in silence, debating on his next question. He was still deciding, when Charles said, "I can see them...you know."
"I'm sorry, what?" Erik turned to the man beside him. Charles was looking straight into his eyes.
"Your wings," Charles said, reaching out and stroking the jacket covering Erik's wings. He then stopped, pulling back his hand abruptly. "Sorry."
"You...you can see them?" Erik asked in disbelieve. All these years, and no one ever saw his wings. Erik thought he was the only one.
"Can you see mine?" Charles asked, and Erik's eyes darted to the snowy feathers. He nodded. "Yes, I can."
Charles huffed, but was that happiness or amusement, Erik wasn't sure.
"Looks like you are not the only one, my friend," Charles said. "And uh, apologies, but I didn't catch your name?"
"Erik. Erik Lehnsherr," Erik said. He then hesitated, and asked, "have we met before?"
Charles shook his head, and as Erik thought his question had made the situation awkward, Charles huffed again. But it sounded like a laugh like this time, and he said, "yeah, I have the same feeling."
Erik slowly nodded, looking at the road in front. He had so many things to ask. The arrows, the blood, the wings. And the kiss. Why had Charles kissed him? He was pretty sure this was their first meeting....right? Then why did he find Charles so similar?
But as he looked at Charles again, he found all his brain functioning running out. Charles had beautiful eyes, and even more beautiful lips, all cherry red, and wet from the drizzle, and swollen where Charles had been biting into them, and this time, Erik pulled him close without any prelude, and kissed him roughly.
Charles kissed like his life depended on it. All tongues and teeth, moaning into Erik's mouth. He broke apart first, panting. And then he climbed into Erik's lap, straddling him.
The next kiss was far from chaste. It was rough, urgent, and desperate. And then Charles thrust in Erik, and Erik groaned, barely controlling his urge to thrust up.
He broke their kiss, nipping his way down Charles throat, stopping only to whisper, "your place or mine?"
Charles felt that he was dreaming again. The same lean muscles, the dark hair and the dark wings. The same grey eyes that had haunted him for years, turning dark with desire as Erik thrust into him, again and again, and again and again.
Charles felt his toes curling, body arching off the bed. And in his throes of ecstasy, he knew only one name.
Erik.
They lay in each others arms, the room smelling of sweat and sex, and Erik, because this was his room, and his fragrance surrounded Charles from all directions. Erik himself was a welcome heat, draped across his left side.
Charles sighed, feeling contended. It was even better than his dreams.
Epilogue
"Are you sure this is a nice idea?"
"Mmmhmm, absolutely."
"Love...are you sure you never hit your head in any of your cases?"
"Says the man who runs around shooting people with arrows of love. What do you think you are, Cupid?"
"I was thinking of a different name...you know, like Amore... By the way, your tail is really groovy, you know? Have you decided a name yet?"
"No. Charles, stop stalling. And nobody says groovy anymore. Now hold me, or else I'll push you off this building."
"But I-"
Charles gripped Erik tightly as Erik jumped off the building in the darkness. He took a vertical dip, and then his wings fanned open, and good God! The wingspan was enormous.
Charles opened his eyes as they soared higher. It had been a few weeks since they were together, but they just...clicked, you know? As if they had known each other for years. It was stupid of him, but he'd told Erik that his wings didn't work, when the latter had asked. And like the idiot he was, he'd also joked once how it would be 'groovy' if Erik could just carry him while he "worked". But apparently, Erik Lehnsherr didn't understand jokes.
"You can turn now," Erik informed, meeting his eyes with confidence. Charles nodded, twisting, as Erik's arms bracketed him. And Erik's tail wrapped itself around his waist like a belt.
"This is ridiculous!" Charles said.
His target was farther than what he was used to, but the flight provided many more angles. He took the shot, and it hit the target on her back. Then Erik lifted them higher and they waited.
The woman paused, and then turned to the man on her left. She said something, and then pushed her lips to his. Erik must've found it satisfactory, because then he rose higher as Charles found his body absorbing the glow.
Charles slowly twisted back, hanging onto Erik for his dear life. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the flight. Or maybe it was Erik's tail, still wrapped around his waist...and moving down dangerously. Or maybe it was energy Charles fed off from the love on the street. But something made him press his lips into Erik. As the passion (and this kiss) grew hotter, Charles thrust into Erik, and the detective faltered, making them fall a few feet. He then regained composure and lifted them up again.
"You do that, and we fall to our deaths."
"Do what? You mean this?" Charles asked innocently, as he trust not-so-innocently into him again.
"Charles!" Erik growled.
"All yours, darling. All yours."