Charles Xavier | X-Men First Class | Post MoviebutwedonotJuly 24 2011, 06:18:04 UTC
[ It's the early morning hours and he can see the snowfall from his window; he could remember, in his younger days, that the fluttering powder was cause for both jubilation and distress. He delighted in trudging through every bit of snow he could, much to his mothers disdain, and then regretting it in the late evening while she chided him and he shivered like a mouse next to the fireplace. There's a small part of him that would give, so much, to be able to do that again-- even the trembling aftermath while his body struggled to warm itself; but he was too far past that, this evening
( ... )
You're not asking me, no--[ He trails off, because the underlying thread between them and the entire meeting is a dangerous one for him; while Charles may not have asked him to come back-- not directly, it's still there; the hope, more-so than the expectation.]
[ Erik cants his head to the side, leaning further into the touch-- the one corner of his mouth tilting upwards and breaking the solemnly miserable expression he'd been sporting since he'd set foot inside the Westchester House's gates with Azazel earlier that evening. The small pause between Charles' words catch his attention, but he honestly does not need to voice the recognition of it; he knows their shared difficulty, all too well. ] Much the same. Busy, too-- we've acquired several new recruits lately; and there are socials to attend in order to keep up appearances at the club, of course. [ Removing his hands from around Charles, he pulls away-- getting to his feet, and giving the telepath that same old searching look-- snow flurries into the room from the open window,
( ... )
How eventful, [ Is the simple response, devoid of anything deeper because he doesn't know how to feel about Erik's words. He wants to be happy for him, happy for anything he can do or accomplish, but he can't help the hollow feeling that comes with it-- the distance it creates. Each success for the Hellfire Club doesn't feel like a step closer together, not to Charles, as much as he wished it would. He keeps these things, these thoughts, like many others to himself. Instead he gives a soft nod and lowers his hands to the sides of the chair, dislodging the small lever of a break and gripping the wheels. ] I suppose your right.
[ Truth be told he had welcomed the cold, letting it sting the places he could still feel it-- but there's no fight, no resistance, he wanted to go wherever they would both be most comfortable. ] Snow is no fun to clean from the floors anyhow. [ A delicate attempt at humor, but his heart really isn't in it, not now. He pushes down on the wheels with a bit of effort and maneuvers himself around a table expecting
( ... )
Hmm. [ Part agreement and part dismissal-- he's not here to talk about Shaw's legacy; and all he's done to accelerate that legacy into another creature entirely. ]
It would do you well not to make yourself ill. [ As he walks past the other man, and into the small space around the fire; a well worn armchair and sofa angled towards it-- when he passes, and it's either a genuine slip up, or a conscious bid at bridging an element of the distance, the back of Erik's fingers brush against the telepath's neck. He says nothing, and sits on the couch-- unsure if Charles will join him; the other man tended to be a touch uncomfortable with the disability-- even after two years passing. Erik stretches a foot out towards the fire. ] I have-- longer than usual this time, you know. Away from the Brotherhood. The weekend.
[ He halts, if only for a moment, at the touch feeling the light sensation cause an ache down to his bones. He recovers quickly, and smiles just a tad when he feels the warmth of the fire tickling his face. Heating it and letting some of the color return to his skin-- he hadn't realized how cold he had let himself get till he was warming back up. ] Cold doesn't make you ill, at least not usually, just germs. [ He murmurs in an absent habit of correcting the children; not condescending just... mechanical. He angles the chair near an open space on the couch and seems to be consciously debating on joining him. It was always a little awkward, to have someone watch you strain and struggle to move what was once so easy-- but he was as stubborn as ever. He wasn't going to sit in his cold, metal chair and enviously eye Erik on the couch like some sort of puppy too short to hop on the cushions. Instead he lodges the break into place like he had before and using far better practiced-- if still not effortless-- movements to transfer himself from
( ... )
[ He does not move to help Charles from the chair onto the couch-- instead watching his progress with a steady gaze; a mixture of responsibility and guilt warring on his features. He'll never quite be used to the idea that Charles cannot simply stand from the chair and walk over to him-- the image is too ingratiated into his mind; too familiar; and for it to be contradicted here is still uncomfortable to him. Once the telepath is settled, he chances closer-- arm resting on the back of the couch, brushing against the collar of Charles' sweater-- even the fabric itself has picked up the chill from the wind outside. ] If you'll have me-- I'll stay. [ Fingertips settle against the telepath's neck, consciously this time-- and it's a tender gesture; more like the way they used to be, than what they had now. Both a touch bitter, possibly. ]
[ Erik shifts even closer-- still not enough to encroach on Charles' space, but it's no longer a platonic distance; there's always been a certain lack of ambiguity in Erik's gestures; though subtle,
( ... )
Of course I'll have you. [ His tone makes it sound as if that should be the most obvious thing in the world to Erik. And perhaps, in some ways, he thinks it should be. Charles had never turned him away before; he hadn't a clue why the man might think he would now. He turns his head, and some of his torso, mostly so he can get a good look at him-- or as much as the light of the fire would allow. He's changed so much and yet so very little, it's almost surreal in its complexity.
Erik's fingertips burn at the back of his neck, warm skin contrasting cold; like the fire it's almost too hot, and yet he doesn't move away, he welcomes the contact. He doesn't get much of it, not anymore, besides the occasional hand on his shoulder-- everyone's so afraid he's going to break; but if anything Charles just finds it resentful. He was wounded not ruined. He has to draw his thoughts in, because now was not the time nor the place to allow himself to become embittered; he wanted to enjoy the small gift of time. ] I left the window open far too long,
( ... )
Then, I’ll stay. It’ll probably be for the best if no one knows-- I realize that I’m not your students’ most welcomed visitor; particularly after the recent clashes. [ And there have been clashes. Incidents-- between the Brotherhood mutants and those of the Xavier Academy-- usually involving the humans that Charles appears so keen to protect; nothing of much great consequence, but enough to cause a significant friction between the idealistically differing parties. But Erik is not here to debate politics-- after so much time, he’s learnt to reign in the philosophical debates. ]
Hmm, you did. [ Erik moves closer again, dropping his hand from Charles’ shoulder and sliding it down his spine-- more of their old intimacy in the gesture, and finally he’s right beside the telepath; other arm in its characteristic position around his waist; still under the pretence of keeping him warm-- something self-deprecating in his face, an edge of mingled concern and defeat. It always came back to this for him-- he could not, in anyway, escape the
( ... )
No, that's true. [ The students who, despite all their open hearts and minds could not understand his kinship with Erik. Could not understand why Charles refused to use force-- they wanted what was best, but it was easy when one didn't have to face the ethical and moral repercussions of the choices made. He couldn't force Erik, he couldn't change him, not like that-- he'd never forgive himself; even if it all ended well. ] They're young, far too young for this. [ He always thought that, no matter their age, because he found he could never think of someone as the proper age for battle-- for aggression, for risking their lives-- it was only out of necessity for the safety of the students (and the humans) that Charles had come to allow some of the older students to return to combat. ] Perhaps smarter than I am, though. [ A humorless smile crosses his lips, unsure of how wise their continued private meetings were, but unable to resist them nonetheless
( ... )
Everything I have done-- has been done to protect you. [ It's a fervent admission of love, as well as a curse-- the smallest hint of angry condemnation behind it, because he's done what was needed, and what others feared to do-- he's defending the one person he cannot stand to lose; the irony there being that in doing so, he's pushed him away with his own hands. ] But we've been over this, again and again and we still do not agree-- so it's best left alone. Charles-- [ Erik's fingers knot in the wool of the other's sweater, and it takes him a moment-- eyes flickering over the other's blue ones, something going out of him then, replaced with warmth. He does not have it in him this evening to maintain any kind of combative edge, in truth, he lives as much for their meetings as Charles does. ] I won't stop visiting, as long as you allow me in the window. [ It's not without humor either, but like Charles, he can't quite muster the enthusiasm to joke. ] And Charles, if you ever were ill-- or something happened, I'd want to know.
I know that Erik. [ His tone isn't argumentative, not this time; he's come to a simple understanding that they were both so terribly stuck in their ways; and it was out of love and not selfishness that causes such a violent refusal to budge. His smile is softer but no less sincere, glad that the slowly rising tone had died out. If it became an argument, now, he probably wouldn't have been able to stand it. It's been far too long and that ache in his chest had grown far too wide. ] Of course I'll always let you in, Erik. This is your home. [ Regardless how far he decided to venture, or the places he decided to live, Charles would always think of it as Erik's home, Raven's home, as much as it was his own. To do otherwise-- he refused to think about that. ]
I understand, time is... precious. [ He can hardly fault Erik when he hadn't made any ventures across the country to see him-- while that may have been more difficult in his position it was still possible. He was grateful to say the least. The little kiss earns him more of a smile
( ... )
This place is not my home, Charles; but as long as you're here-- this is where I'll come back to. [ He reacts instantly, covering Charles' hand with his own and lacing their fingers together-- and reaching to the telepath, he pulls him close-- allowing him to rest upright against his chest; still conscious of how cold the tips of Charles' fingers are-- and those elegantly made bones; so much more prominent now than they ever were when he had first come to the mansion.
Erik's head drops down, nose pressing softly into the other's shoulder, and it is like a final bridge between them.] It is. I would visit you far more frequently if it was in my power-- but for now we've got the weekend, at the very least.
I hope none of yours were hurt in the last confrontation. It was not my intention to harm your students, but I had no choice. [ It is not easy to go from the two opposing leaders, back into their old dynamic-- the affection is always there, just beneath the surface for him, but he has to pack away the angry accusations, your damn X-
( ... )
[ There's a small flicker of hurt at his words; to think Erik wouldn't call it his home anymore shouldn't surprise him or bother him but for some reason it does. Perhaps it's just because it's another line severed between them, and Charles had to wonder just how many threads were still holding them together. Pulled into Erik he offers no resistance, head tipping to the side just a bit as he huddles close. ]
Then we'll enjoy the weekend. [ It's all he can hope for, a little bit at a time; something to dull that swollen ache that threatened whenever Erik had to leave-- whenever he was gone too long-- Hell, whenever Charles let his thoughts wander too far. ]
There's always a choice, Erik. [ He murmurs, but its quiet, almost painful-- as if he can't resist saying the words and yet he doesn't want to. Not now. Not really. He's terrified of starting an argument but that stubborn belief eats away at him and he can't help himself. It's almost miserable, the way he can feel his words pulling at his insides, reminding him that each one could
( ... )
[ He keeps running his one hand up and down the other's back, other hand edging up to trace Charles' jaw line-- from the hollow below his ear, to his chin-- fingers grazing his throat. Erik gentles the kiss, their noses brushing briefly while he moves reluctantly back those few inches so that he can look into the telepath's face. A singular comment from Charles-- while being abrasive, is not enough to make him angry; he's too relieved to simply be at the house again, and he strokes back the other man's hair, smoothing it down with his fingers. The tension that Charles emanates-- and the tinge of misery in his stiffened shoulders offsets the comment, and Erik presses a kiss to his temple. ] I did what I believed was right-- but that's a discussion for some other time. It's alright, Charles; I'm not going anywhere.
[ Erik gravitates to him, arms securely around his ribs; for those months at the mansion, Charles had been an unending source of support for him-- at the very least, he could provide something of that understanding, and put
( ... )
Alright. [ It's quiet and perhaps a little broken like Charles, he can't understand why all these emotions-- things he could so easily surpress in other people-- fin their way to the surface so fiercely when he's around Erik. As if his magnetism could draw out things other than that in him; as if the man himself was one giant draw to him and he'd willingly let himself get sucked in every time. A few blinks, mostly to clear his vision and give him time to breathe as he sinks further into his pull, deeper into the whirlwind. ]
No, much better now. [ His thumb traces over Erik's knuckles, comforted by the familiarity of their position despite the stark differences in situation. He tilts his head to the side a little more, brushing his cheek gently against Erik's own. ] Thank you.
Good. [ He relaxes into Charles, arms tightening around his waist just a little, and he sits quietly with him for a while, fingers moving against the sweater-- and he drops his head to rest on the telepath’s shoulder-- in a way, it is a relief to come back; to actually be able to come back-- he knows that with each passing year he’s distancing himself from Charles idealistically, but never losing that raw link. A part of him believes that there will be a day when he stands outside the window and is not welcomed back-- but until then he intends to steal as much time as he can.
He stirs, turning his head to the side to speak into the other man’s jaw-continually crowding closer to him, and it might not be enough to broach that emotional distance that has grown between them, but it’s more than nothing-and he’s willing to take what he can get after so much time spent in opposition. ] Charles-- [ He’s vaguely unsure of what they have to speak about now, because he’s been wrapped up in the brotherhood’s activities. He settles for something
( ... )
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[ Erik cants his head to the side, leaning further into the touch-- the one corner of his mouth tilting upwards and breaking the solemnly miserable expression he'd been sporting since he'd set foot inside the Westchester House's gates with Azazel earlier that evening. The small pause between Charles' words catch his attention, but he honestly does not need to voice the recognition of it; he knows their shared difficulty, all too well. ] Much the same. Busy, too-- we've acquired several new recruits lately; and there are socials to attend in order to keep up appearances at the club, of course. [ Removing his hands from around Charles, he pulls away-- getting to his feet, and giving the telepath that same old searching look-- snow flurries into the room from the open window, ( ... )
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[ Truth be told he had welcomed the cold, letting it sting the places he could still feel it-- but there's no fight, no resistance, he wanted to go wherever they would both be most comfortable. ] Snow is no fun to clean from the floors anyhow. [ A delicate attempt at humor, but his heart really isn't in it, not now. He pushes down on the wheels with a bit of effort and maneuvers himself around a table expecting ( ... )
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It would do you well not to make yourself ill. [ As he walks past the other man, and into the small space around the fire; a well worn armchair and sofa angled towards it-- when he passes, and it's either a genuine slip up, or a conscious bid at bridging an element of the distance, the back of Erik's fingers brush against the telepath's neck. He says nothing, and sits on the couch-- unsure if Charles will join him; the other man tended to be a touch uncomfortable with the disability-- even after two years passing. Erik stretches a foot out towards the fire. ] I have-- longer than usual this time, you know. Away from the Brotherhood. The weekend.
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[ Erik shifts even closer-- still not enough to encroach on Charles' space, but it's no longer a platonic distance; there's always been a certain lack of ambiguity in Erik's gestures; though subtle, ( ... )
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Erik's fingertips burn at the back of his neck, warm skin contrasting cold; like the fire it's almost too hot, and yet he doesn't move away, he welcomes the contact. He doesn't get much of it, not anymore, besides the occasional hand on his shoulder-- everyone's so afraid he's going to break; but if anything Charles just finds it resentful. He was wounded not ruined. He has to draw his thoughts in, because now was not the time nor the place to allow himself to become embittered; he wanted to enjoy the small gift of time. ] I left the window open far too long, ( ... )
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Hmm, you did. [ Erik moves closer again, dropping his hand from Charles’ shoulder and sliding it down his spine-- more of their old intimacy in the gesture, and finally he’s right beside the telepath; other arm in its characteristic position around his waist; still under the pretence of keeping him warm-- something self-deprecating in his face, an edge of mingled concern and defeat. It always came back to this for him-- he could not, in anyway, escape the ( ... )
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I understand, time is... precious. [ He can hardly fault Erik when he hadn't made any ventures across the country to see him-- while that may have been more difficult in his position it was still possible. He was grateful to say the least. The little kiss earns him more of a smile ( ... )
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Erik's head drops down, nose pressing softly into the other's shoulder, and it is like a final bridge between them.] It is. I would visit you far more frequently if it was in my power-- but for now we've got the weekend, at the very least.
I hope none of yours were hurt in the last confrontation. It was not my intention to harm your students, but I had no choice. [ It is not easy to go from the two opposing leaders, back into their old dynamic-- the affection is always there, just beneath the surface for him, but he has to pack away the angry accusations, your damn X- ( ... )
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Then we'll enjoy the weekend. [ It's all he can hope for, a little bit at a time; something to dull that swollen ache that threatened whenever Erik had to leave-- whenever he was gone too long-- Hell, whenever Charles let his thoughts wander too far. ]
There's always a choice, Erik. [ He murmurs, but its quiet, almost painful-- as if he can't resist saying the words and yet he doesn't want to. Not now. Not really. He's terrified of starting an argument but that stubborn belief eats away at him and he can't help himself. It's almost miserable, the way he can feel his words pulling at his insides, reminding him that each one could ( ... )
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[ Erik gravitates to him, arms securely around his ribs; for those months at the mansion, Charles had been an unending source of support for him-- at the very least, he could provide something of that understanding, and put ( ... )
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No, much better now. [ His thumb traces over Erik's knuckles, comforted by the familiarity of their position despite the stark differences in situation. He tilts his head to the side a little more, brushing his cheek gently against Erik's own. ] Thank you.
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He stirs, turning his head to the side to speak into the other man’s jaw-continually crowding closer to him, and it might not be enough to broach that emotional distance that has grown between them, but it’s more than nothing-and he’s willing to take what he can get after so much time spent in opposition. ] Charles-- [ He’s vaguely unsure of what they have to speak about now, because he’s been wrapped up in the brotherhood’s activities. He settles for something ( ... )
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