Fic: come as you are 3/3
****
Three days pass and Erik conveniently ignores the startling revelation he’s just had about his life. He taunts Summers more than strictly necessary, but the passion has gone out of his jibes. They’re not as mocking as they should be; instead, they fall into the pathetic category.
Summers must realise this as he only shakes his head, pats him on the shoulder, and gives him a slice of his sandwich.
‘Even the great must fall,’ he says with mock solemnity.
****
Another two days go by.
Erik does not see Xavier.
He can’t say if this pleases him or not.
****
‘It can’t be a tumour. Her CT’s clean,’ Erik explains. They’re in the children’s ward; a nine-year-old kid stares back at them from his bed as they puzzle over his predicament.
Emma gives Erik a quizzical look. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?’ she asks as she flips through a chart beside him.
He ignores her. ‘Is it an infection?’
‘No it’s not, I’ve checked. What’s wrong with you?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m perfectly fine.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘You’re a lousy liar when it really matters.’
‘Has he got a fever?’ he says instead.
‘No, Erik. He hasn’t got a fever and it’s not an infection.’ It’s silent for a while. He thinks maybe she’s decided to give it a rest, but then she has to go and ruin it. ‘Just tell me,’ she says, and if it was anyone else, it would sound like a whine.
Emma’s practically his closest friend. If he’s to be blunt about it, she’s his only friend. He gives her a long, hard look. ‘If I tell you, you can’t say anything, or laugh, or, you know, do what I do.’
‘You mean 'be a dick'? I’ll try my best.’
Erik looks up at the ceiling and talks to it, rather than her. ‘You remember when I told you I was in a coma once when I was younger?’ He gives her a quick glance, catches her nod and frown. ‘Well, it turns out somebody used to read to me while I was there. Some kid,’ he mumbles.
‘Oh. That’s nice, I guess.’ It sounds uncertain, more like a question.
He sakes his head. ‘I didn’t know, though, not until a couple of days ago, when I saw him here.’
‘He told you it was him?’
‘No, uh, no,’ he coughs, feels the back of his neck start to heat up. ‘That’s not how it went. I recognised him by his voice.’ He decides to stop staring at the ceiling and looks at her, prepared for whatever she might say.
Instead, she asks, ‘What did he read to you?’
Oh fuck, of course she’d ask the one thing he didn’t consider. Reluctantly he tells her. ‘Pride and Prejudice.’
Her lips twitch, and he gives her a warning look. There’s a quiet hum of silence between them. Comfortable he supposes. He’s grateful for it.
‘Who was the boy?’ she asks at last.
He takes a deep breath. ‘Xavier.’
She gives him a look of disbelief, then her lips start twitching again, and she bursts into laughter. The stupid hussy.
‘Oh my God,’ she manages to say, a ominous look in her eyes. ‘You know what this means don’t you? This makes you Elizabeth Bennet.’
Oh sweet Jesus.
****
It’s on the weekend that it happens. He’s at the library arguing with Azazel, the librarian on the second floor, to check the fucking reservations list again, when he feels someone tap him on the shoulder.
He turns around, ready to snarl at them.
It’s the blonde.
‘You didn’t call me,’ she tells him, hands on her hips.
Erik tries to remember her name. ‘Look, uh, Raven, this isn’t the time for this. I’ve got a book to collect.’
She cocks her head to the side. ‘That’s fascinating, Erik, but you’ve been avoiding me.’
‘I don’t know you,’ he tells her, sounding a little helpless.
She gives him an assessing look. ‘Let’s look for this book of yours.’
Erik follows her reluctantly, feeling like he’s walking to the gallows, and she’s going to start pelting tomatoes at him.
****
They’re on the third floor, in the Classics section, perusing the books, when she finally speaks.
‘You wouldn’t recognise us, I mean, I’m nobody to you and that’s fine, I guess.’ Erik avoids looking at her. ‘It’s just, I remember you. You were sort of my favourite person, which is understandable, I was only nine.’ She laughs a little. ‘We used to read to you every day for weeks. I loved it, and so did Charles, though it’s hard to tell with the way he’s been avoiding the hospital like he’ll catch Chlamydia if he breathes the same air as you.’ Her voice rises a notch, angry.
Erik can’t say much, he hasn’t exactly bothered, either.
‘But we were…. lonely, you could say, and it was our favourite thing. Charles loves Austen. He used to read her novels to you a lot.’ She takes a book off the shelf, stares at the cover. ‘You’re not under some sort of obligation.’ She glances at him, a solemn look on her face. ‘But it would be nice to get to know you. We used to worry about you. But then you disappeared, and we never heard of you since then. Charles worried a lot,’ she says quietly, like it’s a secret she isn’t even supposed to know.
She thrusts the book in Erik’s direction. ‘Here, take this, Charles is right over there, three bookshelves away. What have you got to lose?’ she asks, before turning around and moving to the other side.
Erik hasn’t got much to lose, he thinks, as he walks over and spots Xavier in his stuffy blue cardigan and floppy hair, flushed pink as he reaches up for a book that’s too high. Silently, standing behind him, Erik snags the book from above his head and Xavier quickly turns around to find himself face-to-face with Erik.
Erik’s forced himself to be high-functioning in the face of disaster. It’s how he manages to ignore Xavier’s disgustingly blue eyes. They’re too bright, more distracting than his previous assessment days ago.
‘Here’s your book.’ Erik thrusts it into Xavier’s direction, though it’s futile, Xavier’s arms hang limply by his side. It’s as if Erik’s presence will continue to render him into silence, wide in the eyes and fearful in the mouth, skin suddenly pallid.
Erik doesn’t like it.
‘Your book,’ Erik repeats, and this seems to rouse Xavier as he moves forward, hesitancy seeping into his actions, before he takes the book into both hands. Erik absently notes how close they are, the heat of Xavier’s body a mini-inferno.
He smiles at Erik. It’s blurred and not sharp the way it could be. ‘Thank you.’
Xavier looks him in the eye, a sharp contradiction to the way his body moves.
Erik shrugs. ‘You’re Xavier, then.’ He doesn’t really know how else to go about this; the awkwardness is stifling, though he’s not sure what it is that makes him feel uncomfortable. ‘You’re a bit of a celebrity at the hospital,’ he tells him and Xavier blushes bright red. He mumbles something while staring at his feet, and Erik decides he prefers Xavier like this. He seems a little more like himself.
‘So, what are you reading?’ he asks, before pulling another book off the shelf from above Xavier’s head. It’s a copy of Persuasion.
There’s a subtle shift in Xavier’s body. Through sheer luck Erik catches it, the way he cants his body forward, nods his head a little too eagerly like an over excited puppy.
‘It’s Austen.’ He waves the book in front of them, showing Erik the cover. ‘I thought I’d try Emma. I still haven’t read that yet.’
Erik shakes his head. ‘I never really liked it,’ he informs him, before yanking another copy down. He sees how Xavier presses his back against the shelf every time Erik does this. It’s slightly unnerving.
‘Have you read Wuthering Heights?’
Xavier clutches the books tight to his chest, the blue cardigan clashing hideously with the cover. ‘I didn’t really like Heathcliff. I like Jane Eyre, Mr Rochester was a fascinating character.’
Erik just stares at him.
Xavier smiles in return; it’s different, more distinct. ‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ he says, walking along the aisle to the other end, while he runs his hands over hundreds of book spines as he blathers on about Mr Rochester. Erik follows silently, watching every book Charles marks with his fingertips.
****
Erik spends two hours at the library, listening to the soft cadence of Xavier’s voice as it stumbles over words, stringing together a thousand meanings in a heartbeat. He watches the way he tilts his head when he finds something interesting, the way his bitten-red lips purse in annoyance. How his fingers are smattered with ink and dust as he constantly pushes his floppy hair aside when he gets too excited.
The awkward issue of their past is forgotten in those moments.
Mostly, he listens to his voice.
Erik comes to the realisation that his memory didn’t do it any justice.
****
When he steps out the library, a pile of books in hand, there’s a smattering of orange and dark shades of pink across the sky, the sun close to setting.
Xavier follows closely behind, a pile of books pressed to his chest, too.
Xavier’s looking at the floor, Raven waving at him from down the street, before she enters a black car. Erik rolls his eyes and decides to take matters into his own hands.
‘I’ll see you at the hospital then,’ he tells Xavier, less a question and more a statement, and the kid smiles at him, nodding in affirmation, floppy hair obscuring his eyes. And before Erik knows what he’s doing, he shifts his books and reaches out, brushing Xavier's hair to the side.
Xavier freezes, and Erik is fucking mortified.
‘Great,’ Erik says hastily before leaving as fast as he can. As he passes the black car, Raven, the cheeky idiot, sticks her head out the window and gives him two thumbs-up and a wink.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
****
It’s as if Charles has been given permission, because he’s everywhere.
This little fact doesn’t dawn on Erik until five days have passed by. He’s in the lift with Shaw - the bastard’s been Chief of Surgery for so long, Erik doesn’t think he’ll ever get his hands on the position - and he mentions it.
‘And here comes my favourite doctor,’ Shaw says in greeting.
‘Shaw.’ Erik’s hand twitches around his stethoscope, itching to grab onto something.
‘Xavier’s here, be polite,’ Shaw tells him after a moment of silence, perusing thorough a backdated issue of Gardener's World.
The lift pings, and Shaw heads to the nurses' station, magazine tucked under his arm, a smirk in place and aimed towards Emma.
For the first time Erik registers the kid's presence. Erik’d known Charles would be here, it’s having it confirmed by another that makes the knowledge sink deep, unrelenting and waiting for acknowledgment. Because Erik knew, he just didn’t know precisely how often Charles was here. At the end of the day, hearing Angel drone on and on about him, Erik comes to the bitter conclusion that Charles has been at the hospital every fucking day this past week.
Every time Erik’s in the children’s ward, Charles is lurking - actually, no, he’s pretty obvious in his presence - in a corner, reading something to the children, and although at first his smiles are hesitant, after the sixth time Erik spots him he’s beaming, no longer self-conscious and looking awfully pleased with himself. Erik’s aware of how he wants Charles here, for some unknown unexplainable reason. It’s facing the issue that’s hard to digest.
And where Charles is, there’s always a Raven following right behind.
Erik can’t say what’s worse, the flushed face and plush-red lips, or lewd winks and notes thrown into the on-call room with hearts doodled in the corner.
He should have known it would complicate things.
****
They’re getting ready for a discectomy and Summers is the first to say it. ‘Xavier’s girlfriend is smoking hot.’
Erik gives him a droll look. ‘That’s his sister, you childish moron.’
‘Uh, no, the sister’s blonde, this one’s a brunette.’ Erik’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed. He hasn’t heard this before. ‘Sean’s got a huge crush on her,’ Alex continues on, unaware. ‘They look good together. I mean, they were checking out some books-’
‘They were reading together?’ Erik cuts in, unsettled.
Summers looks thoughtful, thinking it through. ‘I dunno. There were a lot of books, though.’
Erik doesn’t know why it bothers him, but it does, and Erik is silently fuming.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Oh, hmm, I don’t know. Moira, I think, but I’m not sure,’
It doesn’t matter. This is all Erik needs.
****
Sometimes, when there’s time to wonder, which equals to practically every waking moment when it comes to Charles, Erik will spend sleepless nights thinking about how Charles is here constantly. Doesn’t he have better things to be doing, essays to work on, a dissertation to hand in?
One day, on the way out, Charles silently hands him a copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, unsure yet determined, ‘It’s new, I haven’t read it yet,’ and Erik realises - Charles is lonely, just like Erik.
And what a pair they make.
****
Erik’s not one to initiate conversation, so it’s justifiable for Charles to nearly jump out of his seat when Erik says, ‘So, this must be Moira,’ in a neutral tone to the brunette sitting next to Charles.
Charles flushes - he always seems to be doing this every time Erik speaks - and the she-devil quirks an eyebrow.
‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ she asks politely, and Erik thinks, do not kill her, not now, anyway.
‘This is Erik,’ Charles says quickly. ‘He’s, um, well, we’ve known each other for a while.’ Erik wants to say, no, we’ve known each other for nearly half of our lives, and alright, maybe he’s only recently met him, but Erik’s more intimately acquainted with Charles’ voice than anyone on this fucking planet. He dares anyone to say they have more than what Erik has.
‘Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Erik,’ she says politely.
He smiles at her, briefly. ‘Charles, I need to see you for a minute,’ he grunts out.
This could be wrong in all sorts of ways, except he’s not overly concerned with that right now. What Erik wants is Charles away from this woman, who’s leaning into him a little too close for comfort, who’s sharing things with him that Erik wants to keep between the two of them.
Charles frowns, confused. ‘Sure,’ he says, getting up, putting some book down - he’s probably been serenading her with lines from Mr Darcy, cheating cheater that he is - and follows Erik, who’s leading them to a room that’s hopefully empty. Except there isn’t one, so Erik yanks him by the hand behind the vending machine at the end of the corridor.
‘Who is she?’ Erik asks, well, demands actually.
‘Moira, you just said her name.’
‘No I mean,’ he begins, frustrated, ‘who is she?’
‘She’s at university with me,’ he says, arching an eyebrow. The pause stretches out long enough to get uncomfortable. Erik starts fidgeting. ‘We’re not together or anything,’ Charles remarks. There’s an uncanny way in which he says this, his startling blue eyes focused on Erik as if he knows this is what’s gnawing its way into Erik’s skin.
Bitterly, Erik can’t help but think, why? Charles could have anyone he wanted. Yet here he is, spending hours reading to children and getting dragged behind vending machines like it’s worth it, as if any of this matters, and yet. Erik shouldn’t technically care about this.
Charles’ voice lurches him out of his thoughts. ‘Is that what you wanted to know, because I need to go. It’s getting late and Moira needs a lift,’ he explains, like Erik deserves an actual explanation.
‘Right, sorry,’ he mutters.
‘Bye, Erik,’ he says quietly.
It’s only when Charles pulls away that Erik realises he’d been holding Charles’ hand all this time. He presses his forehead against the metal of the machine, wondering what the hell’s wrong with him.
****
If a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out - it’s still Charles’ voice, even after all this time, despite how he can finally put a face to the voice. It’s still just as reliable at night when he can’t sleep as it was before.
Two hours later, as he stares at his surroundings, he realises there are new books here, dog-eared and bent, most of which don’t belong to him.
Charles’ property has somehow migrated its way into Erik’s bedroom.
****
Their conversations go something like this: have you read Jane Eyre yet, she deserves more, Mr Wickham is an utter prick, there are so many motifs spread out through this--sometimes in the middle of the library--I don’t think anyone could love a person as passionately as Heathcliff, he’s finally falling for her--or right outside the hospital as he hails a cab--there’s a new adaption of Jane Eyre coming out, Raven likes the guy who’s playing Rochester.
When Charles, standing next to him in the library, appearing unexpectedly out of thin air, says, ‘Why doesn’t Darcy see that she wants him just as much,’ with a solemn look and wide eyes that make the blue look wicked, Erik quits playing around and admits defeat.
OK.
Well.
Yeah.
Fine.
Fucking fine.
He’s in love with Charles.
****
Erik wakes up in the middle of the night, because his toes are freezing cold.
‘Fucking hell,’ he says, the words coming out in a plume of mist.
It’s frigid, the bitter clawing-its-way-into-your-body-and-refusing-to-let-go kind of cold. Dry and clingy. He’s tempted to yank the covers over his head and to hibernate for the next three months like a bear, or something like that, because it’s too cold to venture out.
He has to, eventually. It’s a struggle, wrestling through the covers, and the cold is like a smack in his face. He gets to the window and sees the foot of snow outside; and it’s continuing on, determined to make it to three feet in a few more hours. There isn’t even a road, it’s just a blanket of white.
God. He’s going to have to get through that in the morning.
He’s debating with himself whether he should check why the heating’s not working, or if he should crawl back into bed, when the doorbell goes off like a shotgun in the dark.
****
He yanks the door open to find Raven staring back at him.
She gives him an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry about this, but I need your help.’
He’s is momentarily stunned into silence. It’s a first for Erik. What the hell is she doing here? And then, of course, he remembers - if she’s here, then that means-
Charles is at the bottom of the driveway, struggling through the snow, his height making it difficult. He’d find it amusing if there weren’t pressing matters to deal with.
‘How do you know where I live?’ he asks.
‘Hank told me.’
‘Hank doesn’t know.’ Erik shakes his head.
She snorts at this. ‘Of course he does, everyone does.’
She must be up to something. He refuses to believe this.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks suspiciously.
‘Oh right,’ she shakes her head, snow falling off her hat. ‘We’re stuck. We had to drop Moira off.’ Ah of course, he thinks scathingly, Moira. ‘But the snow wasn’t so bad, so we went ahead, except that’s pretty much the exact moment it got worse. I mean, the highway’s stuck at the same pace for the past hour, and then our car broke down,’ she says, helplessly. ‘Charles thought we could make it, but, well, he’s an optimistic idiot.’
Charles finally makes his way to them, covered in more snow than possible.
‘Hello, Erik,’ he says.
And Erik can’t help but think, this is probably the most flushed he’s ever seen Charles.
Raven’s looking beseechingly at him.
Yeah, like he has a choice. As he’s ever had a choice in any of this.
****
He’s never been more grateful that Mama made him buy a house with more than one bedroom.
Raven tells Charles he’ll be taking the couch; she’ll be in the spare bedroom. Erik has to scour the house for extra blankets and pillows. Jesus, he’s never had this many people over, it’s not his fault. Charles is persistent in his need to help, which Erik tries to deflect, but when it comes to blankets Charles is determined.
‘Sorry about this,’ Charles says as Erik is hunting through a closet. He left Raven downstairs trying to figure out if he’s got any hot chocolate, while she’s humming 'silver white winters that melt into springs, these are a few of my favorite things', and it’s even more sad that he recognised that.
‘It’s fine.’
‘No. Really, it’s not fine,’ Charles protests.
‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’ Erik grabs something white and fluffy-looking. There are many things that aren’t fine - the constant reminder of what he can’t have, of a boy who read to him in his childish youth, ruining him for all others. These are the things that remain at the top of his list.
****
Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter- There’s a knock on his door. For a moment, Erik is certain this must be a dream, an intricate puzzle his brain has warped him into like the ones he used to do as a kid. Until the weight of the truth comes rushing in, and he realises exactly where he is.
There’s a rush of two more knocks, and Erik briefly deliberates with himself if he should ignore it. Perhaps the person will just disappear; but then he realises he left his bedroom door open. He snaps the book shut, looks up to find Charles awkwardly standing in the doorway, knuckles still resting against the polished wood, a blanket clutched in the other hand.
He wants to squint, to make sure it really is him. Miraculously, he resists.
‘I didn’t wake you up, did I?’ Charles asks nervously, voice rough. The silence that stretches is perhaps a little uncomfortable, because Charles doesn’t wait for his response, lets the rest come out in a rush. ‘It’s just I can’t sleep. I tried waiting and,’ he shuffles his feet nervously, ‘I didn’t want to bother you, but there’s something sticking out from your couch, and well, I couldn’t sleep,’ he repeats, looking at his toes instead of Erik.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll just-’
‘No,’ Erik says sharply. ‘It’s fine.’ Charles looks up, assessing his statement. ‘It’s fine, don’t be sorry,’ Erik reassures him.
And then there’s this uncomfortable bout of silence, utterly awkward and suffocating. Erik’s sick and tired of it, to be honest. He decides it’s best to forge ahead, better to get it over with.
‘Do you want something to read?’ It’s all Erik can offer him, the only way they know how to say what they want without actually saying it.
Charles’s head snaps up, body alert. ‘What?’
Erik watches him carefully. ‘You know, do you want to read a book or something?’
Charles makes a jerky movement. Erik assumes it to indicate agreement. He rises from the edge of his bed, pushing the covers aside and moving to the pile of books scattered around, making the place look like a war zone. He grabs his old copy of Pride and Prejudice that Mama gave him years back, which started his little obsession, and hands it to Charles. He assumes it must be his favourite, considering how much he talks about it.
‘Here, you can read this.’
Charles looks pale all of a sudden. He blinks a few times, mouth forming a silent oh, before snapping it shut again.
‘What?’ Erik asks.
He clears his throat, licks his lips. Erik pointedly ignores this.
‘Nothing.’
‘Right,’ Erik says doubtfully.
****
He must have fallen asleep, because he jerks awake to find Charles has passed out next to him.
Mind groggy, he hesitantly touches Charles’ arm to check if this isn’t just a dream; these kinds of things tend to happen sometimes. When he feels soft flesh underneath his fingertips, he concludes that, yes, Charles is here in his bed, dead to the world with the book half-open on his chest, and mouth half-open, too.
Erik picks the books up and places it on the side, before rolling over and going back to sleep, as if there’s nothing wrong with the situation.
****
The next time Erik wakes up it’s to Charles spooning him.
His arm is wrapped around Erik’s waist, one leg thrown over his legs and the other jammed right between Erik’s thighs. Charles’ breath is coming out in soft bursts against the back of his neck, hot and moist. It takes a moment for him to conclude that there isn’t an inch of space left between their bodies, considering the way Charles is pressed up right against him.
He wants to bury himself under layers and layers of doubt and denial, because his body is thrumming and humming in a way it hasn’t before, and the desire to fall breathlessly into the false reality of his dreams is potent. Erik concludes that this is perhaps the most mortifying thing that could happen to him. He needs to get the fuck out of here, extract himself out of Charles’ vice-like grip. The task, however, is harder than anticipated, because with every move Erik makes to free himself, Charles seems reluctant to let go, murmuring occasionally and clinging as close as he can, and at one point he actually sniffles.
God, Erik wants to die.
He gives up in the end. As much as he wants to escape, moving will mean waking Charles up, and he knows that’ll make the situation even more embarrassing for both of them.
Erik wills himself to sleep, trying to ignore the burn of Charles’ body.
****
He wakes up again to the sight of Charles rousing from his sleep. He blinks a few times, and Erik can’t help but notice how vividly blue his eyes are under the light of the morning sun. Charles says 'oh,' in that way of his that always annoys Erik, clearly having realised exactly where he is before the fear creeps onto his face.
Fuck it.
Erik leans forward, grabs him by the hair and crushes their mouths together.
****
Erik had never particularly liked Darcy.
He remembers reading the book and thinking, right from the first mention of this Mr Darcy, that he’d be a dick. By the time he got halfway, he thought, yeah, fully fledged asshole right there. Erik would know, he was one.
But what really cemented this opinion, and Erik can remember it quite vividly even to this day, was that bit when Darcy’s confessing everything in probably the most appalling way Erik ever had the misfortune to see or read and he said--Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?-- to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?--that’s when Erik knew. Darcy was a motherfucker.
And even if he might have redeemed himself, made all the other chicks--including Mama, apparently--swoon and sigh, Erik could never really forgive him. The worst part was not knowing why exactly he was annoyed, whether it was because of what he said, or because Darcy had gone and ruined everything. Gone and fallen in love.
Most of all Erik remembers thinking that that wasn’t going to be a problem for him at least; it wasn’t like he was going to recklessly fall in love and forget all the rules.
****
Charles lets out this helpless little sound, a whimper and a moan lost together before he wrenches his mouth away, lips infuriatingly red and shiny. It’s his eyes that really get Erik like a punch in the gut, steely-blue like he’s sitting under a mid-winter sky.
‘Don’t you think this is a little fast?’ Charles asks, slightly breathless, though he doesn’t look like he wants Erik to stop.
‘Shut up,’ Erik says, because this is entirely his fault. Then he yanks him back and kisses the corner of his mouth, before diving back in, sucking his lower lip and enjoying the way Charles wriggles against him. It’s the furthest thing from the truth, telling Charles to shut it, because Erik admits, in a moment of honesty, that he loves Charles’ voice just as much as he loves him. But kissing Charles brings a rush to his skin in the way that it tingles and hums as if to say, finally, finally you foolish coward, isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?
‘It’s just,’ Charles manages, only because Erik has moved down to mouthing his jaw. ‘Most people go out on dates, get to know eac-oh,’ Charles’ body arches in a graceful curve when Erik bites down, sucks a mark and soothes the sting with his tongue. And then Charles continues on, gasping but still talking. ‘People get to know each other, maybe even see a movie. I mean, you’re supposed to woo me, Erik,’ he says, a hint of indignation in his tone.
‘God, you’re the mouthiest kid I’ve ever met.’ Erik mutters, pulling him up and wrestling with his shirt.
‘Now is really not the time to call me 'kid', considering you’re about to deflower me,’ Charles says, voice muffled but rather prim-and-proper-sounding while his face is momentarily obscured when Erik pulls Charles’ shirt over his head. God, he even sounds like a heroine from a Mills and Boon novel.
‘This is all your fault,’ Erik tells him as he removes his own clothing, and then reaches over to his dresser and rummages though the top drawer until he finally unearths a tube of slick and condoms.
‘How is it my fault?’ Charles asks suspiciously in between quick, shallow kisses once Erik has him pressed back against the bed. He can feel Charles shift so that Erik’s thigh is between his legs, Erik’s hand a hot, possessive brand against Charles’ hip.
He can’t help but pull back and just admire Charles, finally see him in a way that he’s never been allowed to, in a way that Erik thought he never would. He’s a maze of never-ending moon-kissed skin, sharp and soft in a way that’s hard to foresee. There’s a patch of freckles hidden across the span of his ribs. Erik finds that his collarbone is sensitive, considering the way he shudders every time Erik purposely rubs his thumb across the sharp jutting bone.
He leans forward, brushes his annoyingly floppy hair to the side, watches the way Charles smiles hesitantly at him with bitten-red lips and wonders, how the hell did he get here?
‘You went and seduced me with Pride and Prejudice,’ he says at last, and it sounds so foolish even to his ears. But all that matters is Charles’ laugh, bright and real in a way Erik has never realised it could be, how he is flushed and panting, and the way he whimpers when Erik finally coats his fingers with lube and presses one in, then two and three. It’s a fascinating thing, seeing Charles mumble random things, seeing how flexible he is, the way he throws a leg over Erik’s shoulder and takes the Lord’s name in vain a lot.
What’s not fascinating is learning how pushy Charles can get.
‘Come on, come on, I’m ready,’ Charles says impatiently.
‘Don’t push me,’ Erik growls. ‘You’re ready when I say you’re ready, and you’ve never done this before.’
‘How do you know?’ Charles asks, before he flushes a fantastic shade of tomato-paste-red and then moans rather wantonly when Erik twists his fingers just so. Charles’ hand flies out, grabbing his shoulder, fingers suddenly tangling in his hair, tugging for more. Erik can’t help but smirk against Charles’ thigh, because goddamn, isn’t that something, knowing he’s the only one who’s gotten this, and will be the only one, he thinks rather viciously.
‘Don’t you think I should be the one deciding how ready I am, Lehnsherr?’ Charles says in a snotty tone, before he wriggles and pushes back on Erik’s fingers, grins when Erik can’t quite suppress the shudder that runs up his spine.
When Erik finally aligns his hips and presses inside, Charles shuts up, if only for a little while. After that it’s a lot of God and more and come on, most of it from Charles as Erik tries to fuck him slow and steady, until he says, frustratingly, ‘Is that it, Erik? Come on, put your back into it,’ in a voice that really shouldn’t sound as steady as it is. Which is round about the time when Erik thinks, fuck it, grips him by the knee and raises it, gives it to him faster and harder, until Charles' back arches off the bed once Erik gets his hand on his cock and strokes him a few times, until he’s coming, Erik cursing and groaning right behind him.
There’s a moment of utter, blissful silence.
‘So,’ Charles says once he’s got his breath back, and he’s pressed tightly against Erik’s chest. Erik’s arm is wrapped around Charles’ waist possessively like he’s a long forgotten cuddling bear finally unearthed.
‘Good?’ Erik asks, rubbing his forehead against the back of Charles’ neck as he lifts his hand. Erik lets his fingers trail down the side of Charles’ body and, because he can’t stop it, needs it more than he’ll admit, follows the path down to between Charles’ thighs, rubs the pads of his fingers over his dripping entrance and revels in it.
‘Mmm,’ Charles says sleepily. ‘Raven’s going to be a pain,’
Honestly, of all the things.
****
Raven wears the smuggest of smug smiles the next morning.
Charles is already in the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl that Erik is pretty certain he’s never seen before. He’s wondering if Charles is possibly making muffins or egg Benedict, and if not, then maybe he should subtly hint at it, when Raven waggles her eyebrows at him and lets out a low whistle that sounds awfully filthy, coming from her.
‘Well, well, Erik, you don’t waste time, do you,’ she says.
Charles whips around, flushing fantastically and looking indignant. ‘Raven, you can’t say things like that,’
She raises a brow. ‘But it’s OK for you to have a marathon of wild, flexible sex all night long while I’m forced to listen to it all? Thanks a lot for that, by the way,’ she says, shooting Erik a dirty look. ‘I’ll be sending you the bill for my therapist.’
Charles waves his spatula threateningly at her and she laughs, smacks Erik’s ass when he passes her by, to which Erik flips her the bird. He then corners Charles, lifts him onto the counter and kisses him quite thoroughly, just because he can, because he’s allowed to.
The sound of Raven gagging in the background is also worthwhile.
****
For those first few weeks Erik thinks everyone knows, that all the staff at the hospital is aware of the fact that Erik and Charles are sleeping together and how he hasn’t slept at his place for over a fortnight. It leaves him feeling uncomfortable and paranoid, particularly when Angel continues mooning over Charles or over the way Sean comments on his blue eyes.
Emma, of course, knows.
‘You keep smiling, stop smiling, it’s frightening,’ Emma pleads with him one morning, and Erik tries scowling at her - except it doesn’t last long. He’s lost his touch.
‘I can’t help it,’ Erik tells her, eventually, by the food cupboard in the on-call room. ‘I’m just...happy to be alive,’ he says gruffly.
‘Dear God,’ Shaw mutters from the couch and shuffles away, clearly disgusted.
It’s not that he’s ashamed of Charles, or that he wants to hide him, because he can’t if he tried. Charles is a regular visitor at the hospital the way he always has been. It’s just that it’s too new, too fresh and raw, and Erik wants to nurture and protect what they have in case it’s torn to shreds before they even have a chance. He doesn’t want to share Charles; he’s finally gotten him, and he feels too possessive over Charles to let him get too far. Their story is a decade in waiting; it’s his right to keep Charles to himself.
Whatever they have, they build together. Which means making room for Charles’ cheap books on his shelf, finding his trash obsessively organised and recycled. Keeping in mind when he shops that Charles likes the extra-crunchy kind of peanut butter, and Raven refuses to function unless there’s Cheetos lying around somewhere.
It doesn’t hit him until he finds Charles’ toothbrush sitting next to his, innocent and green, boring and average, but there like it’s always been there. And maybe it’s daunting at first, because he’s lived a solitary life, and realising that he’s somehow gotten a younger sister - because they’re a package deal, there’s no way around that - is slightly unnerving. But it’s the discovery that there are no empty places, no aches and lonely stretches of silence accompanying his existence that are perhaps the most unexpected. When he reaches over in the night, there’s Charles, ever-present and warm and just there, finally.
Though, when Emma tells Erik two months later that Shaw knows, and Charles finds them in a empty room, Erik watching Shaw pensively while Shaw is lying prostrate on the bed, hands stretched to the ceiling muttering, ‘I told you to be nice to him, not that kind of nice,’ Erik decides there’s no point in keeping quiet now. It’s a good enough reason for him to finally push Charles against the vending machine the next morning and kiss him senseless, just as Angel starts her daily Love Song to Charles: The Sonnets, Volume IV.
****
Epilogue
Raven is lying on the couch, miserable and sick with a stuffy nose and an abnormally large amount of phlegm stuck in her body. God it’s disgusting.
She can hear Erik yelling something from the stairs, and Charles leans over and kisses her forehead, brushes her hair out of her eyes. He doesn’t look the same now. He holds himself differently, content in a way she’s never seen him before. It looks good on him.
‘You sure you’ll be OK?’ he asks, worried.
She has enough stamina to roll her eyes and nudge him with her leg. ‘Yes. Honestly Charles, you don’t need to worry. Go, have fun.’
He pulls a funny face at her and starts tucking the blanket around her. She sticks her tongue out in return. They’re going to see Edie, and Charles is terrified, though he won’t admit this to Erik. What he doesn’t realise is that Erik is aware of this and finds it amusing. Neither Erik or Raven disclose this, because Charles is secretly the incarnation of Betty Crocker and it’ll mean no more muffins and cookies for them once he realises they’ve been fucking around with his sanity.
‘Alright,’ Erik says, appearing in the doorway. ‘I’ve got everything.’ He walks over, ruffles Raven’s hair and whips out a pack of Oreos the minute Charles turns around. ‘You owe me,’ he mutters and she smiles gratefully at him before stuffing them under the blanket. Charles considers it traitorous, what with him being able to bake epically good shit. ‘Don’t watch too much Flintstones,’ which is crap because he’s just as obsessed with it as she is. ‘You need to be sleeping,’ Erik says before he leaves.
She can hear them distantly. ‘You ready for this?’ Charles asks, like Erik’s the one who’s worried.
‘Let’s find out,’ Erik says, clearly amused before the door slams shut.
It’s two hours later, when she can’t sleep, that she shuffles over to Erik’s bookcase where three months ago he made space for Charles’ trashy romance novels and Psychology textbooks. She’s browsing through titles, fingertips trailing over wrinkled spines when she spots something.
She pulls the book out, realises it’s a familiar-looking cover and when she sees the title, she knows why.
It’s Pride and Prejudice. Charles’ copy, the one they lost years ago, and it’s been sitting here quietly, for years probably, unnoticed even now. A sharp feeling hits her in the stomach and Raven’s momentarily blinded, because this was theirs, their childhood encompassed in a few dusty pages.
She opens it, notes how it’s even more deteriorating than it was years ago, and scribbled in the corner is CFX just the same as the day Charles had written it years ago, lying in their hammock under the heat of a burning sun. She flips though the pages, right to the back and there it is, a sticker of a raven, flaky like someone’s picked at the corners over the years, but still intact, the way she wanted it to be.
And she thinks, huh, well, isn’t that funny.
****
previous.
More art: Nurse!Sean, Shaw and Erik talking to his mother.
Oh my goodness. If you have reached the end, you are one excellent mothafuckah. :D Feedback is always appreciated.