X-Men First Class COMPLETE fic: Late Bloomer (33/33)
Phew. Done. This final chapter is almost certainly full of mistakes, absolutely definitely full of angst and may not make sense, but, you know, DONE. YAY.
I think the whole fic clocks in at around 80,000 words all told. Never again. Seriously. Not ever doing this again.
Chapters 1-28:
Late Bloomer on
1stclass_kink
Late Bloomer on
xmen_firstkink
Chapter 29 on this journal.
Chapter 30 on this journal.
Chapter 31 on this journal.
Chapter 32 on this journal
Title: Late Bloomer (33/33)
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: R (overall)
Word count: 6,500 (this part)
Warnings: ...only for the excessive angst.
Summary: High school AU. Erik is a mutant jock with ISSUES. Charles is a geeky transfer student and totally human... (or is he?)
***
‘I’ll be out for dinner,’ Erik says, pressing the phone firmly to his ear so he can hear over the sound of laughter. ‘No, mom, it went fine. Really. All done for another month. No, I’m not tired, and I’m not four years old. We’re going to get some pizza and hang out.’ He makes a face across the growing pile of dry twigs and branches that Jubilee and Peter have been collecting. Charles meets his eyes and grins before turning back to teasing Raven, both of them bubbling over with the general party atmosphere. Everyone seems to be in a good mood. Erik gets the feeling that they were all bracing for disaster and are just happy to be sitting in the quarry in the sunshine instead of waiting in the police station while he's charged with aggravated assault.
He's pretty relieved about that too, come to think of it.
After a moment he realises that his mom’s stopped talking about the evils of pizza and is saying his name impatiently. ‘What?’ he says. ‘Oh. Yeah, of course Charles is here. And a bunch of people. Just people, mom. Okay, I have to go.’ He sighs. ‘I’m hanging up.’
‘Erik,’ Peter yells. ‘Come help us out.’
‘With what?’
‘This log’s too big,’ Jubilee says, gesturing at something that’s less a log and more the trunk of Yggdrasill. ‘We need to chop it up.’
‘Give me a break.’ His powers still feel thin and shaky, and probably will do until he’s had a decent percentage of a pizza. ‘Where’s Havok? Why can’t he do it?’
‘He’s not here.’ Jubilee makes an impatient face. ‘Come on, Erik. We need stuff to burn, right?’
Erik groans and pushes himself to his feet. ‘Yeah,’ he admits.
‘Obviously,’ Charles adds, deadly serious, before breaking into a grin.
Erik grins back over his shoulder as he goes. By the time he’s played axe and buzz saw there’s enough wood to last for as long as they want to stay out, and the half-built bonfire in the blackened dip in the rocks is reaching the size where it could probably roast a hog once they put a match to it.
The group around Charles seems to have magically acquired food, which makes it all the more attractive for Erik to go over and nuzzle up to him, pulling him close and stealing his pizza in one smooth movement. ‘Where did the beer come from?’
‘Tony,’ Charles says, snagging a bottle from the ground and another slice of pizza from the box, and presenting them both to Erik with the gravitas of a maître d’.
The beer isn’t as cold as it might be, but it goes down smoothly. Erik feels a tiny bit more tension seep out of his shoulders. ‘Don’t get too drunk,’ he tells Charles, kissing the corner of his jaw. ‘I’m taking you home after and you’re going to want to be awake for it.’
‘Dragging me off to your cave.’
Erik grins. ‘Yeah. And look, I made fire.’
‘Neanderthal.’
You love it, he thinks, flashing a mental image of slinging a fur-clad Charles over his shoulder and carrying him away.
Charles chokes on a laugh. Maybe. I know I love you.
Peter puts his face in his hands with a low moan. ‘Oh god, stop brain-fucking or get a room.’
The chorus of fervent agreement from around the fire makes Charles blush and wriggle away to coax Peter into forgiveness with talk of gene splicing. Erik lets him go, and spends the next half hour or so tossing a football around with Azazel as dusk falls around them.
It’s half dark already when Azazel comes to a halt and tosses the ball deliberately wide.
Erik spins to follow its path. Awkwardly, almost stumbling on the turn, he sees Havok standing on the track down from where they parked their cars. Beside him, one foot planted forwards to brace for the catch, is Riptide.
Erik feels his jaw muscles clench. Every part of him tenses as he stalks over. He can feel a ghost of remembered pain in his knuckles from where they collided hard with Riptides jaw.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
Riptide glares down at the ball in his hands. His mouth twitches uncertainly. After a second’s pause he grunts, ‘Blame Havok. I didn’t want to come.’
‘I told him to,’ Havok says easily, as though there’s nothing at all surprising in it. ‘I mean, come on Erik. That thing with Charles was a dickwad move, but it’s Rip, you know? You can’t stay mad forever, right?’
Erik stares at him. It’s hard to say anything truly vicious in the face of Havok’s general good nature, but seriously, what the fuck?
‘He really can,’ Riptide says, stepping nervously backwards. He looks ready to flee, but unwilling, as though somehow he’s hopeful, deep down. God, Erik realises, almost painfully, they were friends, Riptide and Havok. They used to be really close, and Havok took Charles’s side without a second thought.
He feels his fury melting into exasperation. ‘Yeah, I really can. Jesus, Rip, first it’s Sebastian fucking Shaw, and now you don’t even dare come near me without Havok to protect you. Havok, for fuck’s sake. Even you can’t be that pathetic.’
‘Hey, I’m not protecting anyone,’ Havok objects. ‘How about if I hold him still and you hit him a few more times?’
‘Screw you,’ Riptide snaps.
Havok grins. ‘Yeah, man, I love you too.’
‘Erik?’
It’s Charles, wandering up nibbling on another slice of pizza. He smiles vaguely. ‘Oh, hello Riptide.’
Instinctively, Erik shoulders slightly in front, holding out a shielding arm. Charles gives a little sigh and steps around him. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he says calmly.
‘Right…’ Riptide says, glancing sidewise at Havok, who makes an imperative gesture. ‘You too, I guess.’ He shifts on his feet, one hand clenching on the end of the ball, and fixes his gaze on the rocks about a foot to the left of where Charles is standing. ‘Look, uh, Charles, I should say sorry about what happened. You know, at Tony’s party.’
Charles looks at him, head on one side. He seems to be deep in thought. Finally he asks, ‘Do you have beer?’
‘Huh? Uh, yeah,’ Riptide says, looking even more uncertain. He tucks the football under his arm and picks up a carrier bag from by his feet, jiggling it by way of demonstration. ‘Brought a six pack. And some Doritos.’
Charles nods. ‘I will accept them as your penance. This way.’
He looks perfectly steady on his feet, but Erik knows that owlish look and the all-encompassing friendliness. ‘You’re drunk,’ he says wearily.
Charles sticks out his tongue. ‘Only a little bit. And now I’m going to get a teeny bit drunker. Come and be friendly and maybe I’ll let you all have one of my nice new beers.’
‘Charles, those are half mine,’ Havok grumbles. ‘You can’t confiscate them.’
‘Are they? Well, then you can definitely have one. Or maybe two.’
‘Hey!’
‘Take it up with Erik,’ Charles says happily.
Havok groans, giving it up as unwinnable. Riptide shoots a cautious, questioning look at Erik, who finds himself shrugging. Like a lot of things the grudge over Seb doesn’t seem to matter so much anymore. ‘Whatever,’ he says. ‘Go, stay, do what you want. Just don’t piss me off again or I’ll crush you inside your own car.’
‘Don’t you fucking touch my car,’ Riptide says automatically. He’s scowling, but something else in his face seems to ease. In that moment Erik has to wonder what he’s been doing lately and who he’s been hanging out with. Not with them, certainly, his best friends since middle school. It was Charles’s presence that sent him to Seb, Charles that cost him his place in the group. Rip deserved it and worse, but in a way it’s a miracle he came back at all.
‘Beer,’ Charles yells from halfway to the fire, waving encouragingly. ‘Erik!’
Riptide hefts the carrier bag. ‘I still hate your boyfriend,’ he says, with a strange smile that Erik’s never seen before. ‘Still, I guess I do owe him a beer.’
***
Despite Erik’s best efforts Charles is cheerfully tipsy and half asleep by the time they get home. Erik rolls him into bed and climbs in after him, squishing himself into the awkward space against the wall.
He can't sleep. Riptide’s return has shaken him. The world behind his eyes swirls with choices and compromises, changing alliegences, people who admit they’re wrong, or pretend to, to get what they need.
‘Love you,’ he whispers, pressing a kiss to Charles’s temple.
At times like this he knows that this is everything he needs, this simple, straightforward love. And it’s such an awful responsibility, knowing that Charles wouldn’t be happy without him.
Charles makes a tiny snuffling noise. He’s dead to the world, dreaming gentle, jumbled dreams, oblivious to the twisted mazes and dead ends of Erik’s thoughts. His warm body presses up against Erik’s propping elbow, a dead weight, taking up far too much of the bed. It takes Erik a bit of wriggling to settle them both with a semblance of comfort. Charles clings determinedly to sleep throughout, not even mumbling, his breaths slow and even. He’ll wake unwillingly at Erik’s alarm, muzzy from the alcohol, mumbling complaints until Erik brings him water and drags him into the shower. And they’ll eat their breakfast and go to school and be utterly normal, and Erik won’t say a word, but they’ll both know that deep down they’re still fighting that hopeless, endless battle they fought in Emma’s garden. The one where they’ve both picked a side and neither one of them is sure who’s right.
***
In the end, the ceasefire is officially laid out.
‘Please,’ Charles says to him, after school, ‘Erik, just for one day, let’s forget it all. We can be teenagers at senior prom. There’ll be slow dancing and spiked punch and everyone in their best clothes and people having romantic crises and crying in the bathrooms, just like in those awful movies. I’ve been looking forward to it.’
‘You have a strange idea of a good time,’ Erik says, slinging an arm around him, speaking mostly into the hair above his ear. His mind has latched on tight to the thought, and the answer is yes. He can’t give Charles everything, but he can give him this.
Charles knows it, of course, and there’s a relieved moment of stillness as the atmosphere lightens, like the change in pressure after a storm. He wriggles round to wrinkle his nose and grin, sliding into a teasing mode that means they're starting right away, no more worrying allowed. ‘Stop being grouchy, it’s going to be wonderful. Did I mention that my date is the captain of the football team? He’s really hot.’ He makes a thoughtful face. ‘You know, he says he’s crazy about me but I’m a bit worried that he might expect me to put out after the dance.’
‘Yeah, he might,’ Erik says, grinning. ‘Some guys are dicks like that.’
Charles pouts. ‘Well that’s just going to ruin my night.’
He's the perfect picture of petulant disapproval. Erik tugs him closed and kisses him on the nose. ‘How about we ruin this afternoon instead?’
‘That,’ Charles says seriously, ‘is an excellent idea.’
***
On Saturday morning Erik wakes feeling happy. It’s so unusual that he sits up at once, glancing around and trying to work out what’s different. No Charles - he didn’t stay over last night. It’s luxuriously late, but he almost always wakes late on Saturdays.
There’s the prom tonight, of course. But he can’t seriously be this excited about senior prom. It’s just a dance in the gym and the usual slightly insane party at Tony’s. Ok, it’ll be nice to see Charles in a tux and maybe get a cheesy photo of the two of them in front of some kind of sparkly backdrop. And he has a rose for Charles’s buttonhole which is keeping fresh in the fridge, the same kind of red rose that he once gave him in front of everyone on the steps of the school. It’s a silly gesture, it’s not like Charles will remember what type of rose it was the first time round, but Erik wanted to do it anyway. And his own tux looks pretty good. Actually, Charles will probably flip a little bit when he sees it. But it’s no big deal.
With some disgust, he realises he’s grinning all over his face.
To complete a great morning there are pancakes for breakfast, his dad smiling gently from the stove while his mom mainlines coffee and makes plans for the day. Unlike her, Erik’s own plans do not involve shopping or meeting friends or working in the garden. Pretty much they just involve sex.
Charles in a tux. It’s an image that lingers.
A quick jerk-off session in the shower helps a little, but his body is yearning for the real thing. They’ll probably have plenty of drunken post-prom sex at Tony’s tonight - the Stark house is well-equipped with bedrooms - but the thought of a whole day of just being kids, of maybe driving out into the hills and finding some private spot, just them and a picnic blanket and the blue sky, a lazy make-out session and then peeling off Charles’s jeans, sliding down his underwear…
His phone rings.
‘What do you want?’ he demands shortly, because he checked the caller ID and this can’t be good.
‘Decorations,’ Emma tells him, just as short. ‘I need things pinned to the ceiling. You’re helping.’
‘Christ, Em, use a stepladder. I’ve got stuff to do.’
‘Sugar, it’s this or I ask Charles to do it, and it’ll take him a lot longer than it’ll take you.’
Erik stifles a groan of despair. ‘He’ll say no. We have plans.’
Emma laughs. ‘You’re so adorably delusional. Be at the gym in half an hour.’
She hangs up.
Erik lowers the phone from his ear and glares at it, cursing both Emma’s devious mind and Charles’s eternal willingness to oblige. After a minute or so of silently absorbing his irritation it rings again.
‘Emma says you’re helping her with decorating,’ Charles says cheerfully on the other end of the line. ‘I’ll meet you there so I can watch you be an all-powerful master of magnetism.’
Erik laughs. ‘She’s making me levitate thumbtacks.’
‘Thumbtacks come under the heading of things you all-powerfully magnetise,’ Charles agrees earnestly. ‘Also there might be nails. And manly toolboxes and electric cables. And you can take your shirt off.’
‘Why would I take my shirt off?’
‘Who needs a reason?’
Looking at it like that, Erik begins to feel a bit better about the whole thing. Less so when Emma presents him with about ten miles of sparkling icicle-style strandy stuff and several billion thumbtacks.
He’s too annoyed even to glare.
‘You knew. You bitch, Em, you planned this, there’s no way you could do this without me.’
Emma trills a laugh. ‘You’re a resource at my disposal, Erik. Of course I planned for you.’
‘Fuck you. You know what I could be doing right now?’
‘Darling, it’s not as though you’re in a dry spell.’
Erik growls something obscene and goes to lie on his back in the middle of the floor. The strands have some kind of metallic glitter sprinkled over them, enough for him to feel but far too little to grasp and lift. It’s easiest to pinch the head of a thumbtack around the string as he goes and embed it in the ceiling before catching up the next section with the next tack. Once he gets into a rhythm the task is quick and almost soothing, pinch-lift-jab over and over, with a little stream of thumbtacks flowing steadily upwards. By the time Charles arrives half the ceiling is covered with rippling tendrils and Erik is starting to see spots in front of his eyes.
‘Hello,’ Charles says, as Erik props himself up on his elbows to receive a kiss. ‘Having fun?’
‘Really, really not.’ I want to push you down right here and suck your cock, he thinks pointedly, and Emma is a slave-driving sociopath with a heart of ice.
I heard that, Emma’s voice says sweetly in his head, as Charles blushes fiery red and tries to suppress a smile.
Good, Erik thinks viciously back at her.
Behave, Charles tells them both. Except, actually, let’s misbehave.
This last is directed to Erik on something more like a private channel, accompanied by a mental image that has him hastily dragging Charles off to the farthest bathroom.
Some twenty minutes later, when they slink back in, flushed, dazed and disheveled, Emma pins them with a disgusted glare from across the room. You’re both shameless, she tells them, and also terribly boring. Remind me to give you some pointers.
Charles looks more horrified than Erik’s ever seen him, big eyes blinking in shock, and Erik can’t help cracking up. Astonishingly enough, Emma bursts out laughing too, and comes over to give Charles a hug, which he returns but wriggles out of after a couple of seconds, moving to huddle against Erik and thinking firmly, If you get a white leather catsuit and a whip I am never, ever speaking to you again.
Later on, when Erik remembers Emma’s untroubled laugh, he realises that whatever game of denial he and Charles are playing today, she’s playing it too.
***
‘Mom, will you quit it?’ Erik complains. ‘I can dress myself.’
‘No,’ his mother says firmly, ‘you can’t. Not tonight. You’re going to your prom looking perfect if I have to chloroform you and arrange your clothes while you sleep.’ She fusses over him, tweaking and tucking things that are going to get untweaked and untucked the second he moves. ‘There. Now you look nice.’
‘Thanks,’ Erik says patiently.
She takes a step back, looking him up and down, and suddenly there’s something else in her expression than motherly micromanagement. ‘You look so grown up. Oh, Erik.’ She smiles at him but her eyes are suspiciously shiny. ‘I remember when you were first put in my arms, this little, helpless thing, and now…’
‘Mom.’
She wipes at her eyes. ‘Have a wonderful night, sweetheart. Give my love to Charles. You look after that boy, you hear, and tell him… tell him to look after you.’
‘Mom…’ Erik says again. ‘Oh god, please don’t cry.’
She hugs him briefly, pushing him towards the door. ‘I’m not crying. How could I be crying? I’m not going to get tears on that tuxedo, not after I’ve fixed you up. Go. Go on.’
***
He made a promise. Tonight is about being kids at the prom. They’ll walk into the gym arm in arm in their fancy clothes and slow-dance in a romantic haze, and then move on to Tony’s after-party to enjoy some much less wholesome pursuits. You only get one senior prom. It’s special.
‘Erik Lehnsherr,’ Erik says experimentally, pulling the car over and peering at himself in the mirror. If he tilts his head just right his face melds into the perfect teen movie cliché, the school bad boy tamed by love. ‘Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier.’ It sounds good, saying their names, it makes it feel real.
As he walks through the mansion gate the main door opens and Charles slips out, closing it behind him so quietly that there’s barely a click. Erik retreats behind the gatepost and waits, out of sight, while Charles’s footsteps scrunch over the gravel towards him. He comes into view all freckled innocence and neatly combed hair, like a figure in an old photograph, both breathtaking and heartbreakingly delicate.
For a moment they just stare at each other. Then Charles swallows and says, ‘Turn around, please. Slowly.’
Erik settles his thoughts. He obligingly spins on the spot, coming full circle with a questioning look. ‘Nice?’
‘Um, yes.’ The lascivious smile that spreads across Charles’s face instantly dispels any hint of vulnerability. ‘Very nice indeed.’
‘You too,’ Erik says feelingly. ‘Come here.’ He holds out the flower.
Charles blinks at it, lifts his eyes to Erik’s, and blinks again. ‘You’re a gigantic sap,’ he says, sounding more than a little choked up.
Erik grins, because yeah, he kind of is.
***
‘Oh wow,’ Tony says. ‘Steve, they’re so pretty. Can I keep them?’
Steve sighs his familiar, long-suffering sigh and ushers the two of them into the hall, playing the host because Tony so obviously isn’t. ‘Hey Erik. Hey Charles. Let me get you guys a beer.’
It’s not a party yet, though it will be after the prom. Right now it’s just a gathering, people coming in and out lounging around, sipping beer, chatting and eating extremely carefully, determined not to get the least smear on their outfits. One of the late arrivals, blonde and too grown up in a lacy dress, is Raven.
‘Wait, what? She can’t come,’ Erik objects as Charles drags him to the door to greet her. ‘She’s a sophomore. She’s fifteen.’
‘It’s not as though anyone’s going to know it’s her,’ Charles says cheerfully. ‘And she’s not going to have any alcohol. Absolutely not. Not a sip. Come on, Raven, let’s get you a soda.’
‘Yes Charles,’ she says obediently, tucking her arm into his and flashing her best ‘fuck you’ look over her shoulder at Erik.
‘I’m tasting that soda,’ Erik calls after them.
***
Raven’s still reasonably sober when they all scramble out of Tony’s limo, which, yeah, actually Tony’s limo. Not hired. Just one he had hanging around in the garage somewhere. Everyone else is in what Charles calls ‘a party mood’, giggling and swaying slightly as they make their way into the gym.
They all stop dead.
Erik’s seen most of the decorations before, but they look a hundred times more impressive now, with the full effect of the lighting and the finished backdrops in place. Emma hasn’t exactly gone for a theme unless you count white, which is pretty much a given, but the place has an undeniable fairytale feel with its snowy drapes and sparkles. There are graceful columns, little nooks under glittering arches and Erik’s rustling ice-strand ceiling that’s somehow in constant motion, ripples flowing across it like the wind on water.
‘Wow,’ Peter says, and it doesn’t sound like he’s just saying it to please Mary-Jane. Out of the corner of his eye Erik catches Azazel pressing a kiss to Emma’s hair in silent congratulation.
Charles is practically glowing. This is so silly, he thinks joyfully. I can’t believe I’m actually at a prom.
***
Erik jostles his way through the crowd that's tumbled and spread out to fill the busy hall. Even though he saw everyone here the day before the greetings feel like a vital part of the ritual. Wherever he goes people seem to nitice him. It feels like he's shared dirty jokes and back-slaps with every single member of the football team, and said hi to half a hundred other humans that he's somehow got to know. Charles slid away from his side quite early on. Apparrently it was necessary for him to tell everyone he met how lovely they looked and to be hugged affectionately and told he was adorable in turn. Erik’s downed another glass of punch by the time he finds him again, standing at the side of the room watching a vaguely familiar human girl. No, he realises. Not the girl, the gorgeous fair haired guy she’s laughing with.
Just as Erik opens his mouth to ask why, the guy’s eyes flash golden under the lights.
Charles glances up at him, catching the judder of emotion, and shrugs ruefully. She’s just having fun.
Dangerous fun. There's no real difference between tricking her way into a party and tricking her way into a flirtation, but somehow Erik knows that she's pushing the boundaries between disguise and deceit. If someone was watching - and it feels like someone is always watching - that kind of fun could set off alarm bells and breed contingency plans.
‘Erik,’ Charles says aloud, laying a hand on his arm, ‘don’t.’
Erik blinks the images away. ‘Sorry.’ No though of jail cells tonight. No secrets, no white coats and blood.
Charles’s smile is just slightly off now, not enough that anyone else would notice. He takes a little huffing breath. ‘Do you want to dance?’
The smile forces Erik to get a grip, to relax back into the atmosphere, because there’s no way in hell that he’s spoiling tonight. ‘What happens if I say no?’ he says, as naturally as he can.
‘Possibly the universe explodes,’ Charles says thoughtfully, ‘because I think there’s some kind of physical law that says you can’t not dance with me tonight.’
Erik grins, and this time it really is natural. ‘I guess I can do it to save the universe.’
‘My hero.’ Charles takes his hand and draws them together, his steps already falling in time with the music.
***
At most other school dances Erik has only danced with the girls, and sometimes Havok as joke. This feels different. It takes him a few beats to work out that this time he’s not the one calling the shots. 'How come you get to lead?' he complains.
'Because you don't know anything about dancing,' Charles says, grinning and guiding him smoothly into the centre of the floor.
'And you do?'
'Well, yes, actually. I took lessons when I was little. Now, relax.’ He slides his arms more firmly around Erik, wrinkling his nose with a hint of discontent. ‘It’s a shame you’re so tall, but there’s not much we can do about that.
‘Borrow Emma’s high heels.’
‘I hate you.’
Charles actually does know what he’s doing. He’s good enough that Erik can just hang on and go where he’s pushed, and from the whistles they get it must look OK. There’s even a smattering of applause as the song ends. Erik realises that they’re standing in a little clear space with a whole bunch of people watching, which should be embarrassing, but isn’t. All he can do is grin around at the spectators, thinking, yeah, my boyfriend is totally fucking awesome.
Likewise, Charles thinks at him, tugging him closer as the music melts into something slow and sultry. The dance floor fills up with couples and Erik figures they’ve done their bit with the whole showing off thing, and now it’s ok just to shift from foot to foot and whisper and kiss. At the end of the next song Jan sweeps up imperiously and extends her hand to Charles. ‘You may have the pleasure of this dance,’ she informs him. Erik is claimed by Pepper for about a song and a half, and follows that up by dragging a loudly protesting Havok into what might generously be called a waltz. Then he realises that Tony has usurped Jan’s place and rushes over to loom and growl while Charles and Tony cling to each other, laughing helplessly.
After that the evening quickly devolves into partner swapping and threesomes and a conga line stuck in there at some stage. Erik’s left wondering how many different people decided to spike the punch and what the eventual alcohol content turned out to be, and is still wondering, rather hazily, by the time the prom king and queen are announced. Steve and Angel come up to the dais, both looking a little surprised, and Emma steps in to award them their crowns with a short and incredibly funny speech, which seems oddly out of place to Erik until Charles elbows him and whispers ‘It’s Raven again.’
Erik chokes back a disbelieving laugh and takes a second look. Sure enough there are just a few hints of Raven’s body language, and a slight brashness in place of Emma’s unquestioning confidence. He can’t worry this time, he’s too drunk and too impressed at the imitation. ‘What the hell is she doing?’ he asks. ‘Where is Emma, anyhow?’
Charles tilts his head. Then he smiles. ‘Come outside.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’
The quiet outside is like another world. As Erik follows Charles across the parking lot he hears Emma’s unmistakable trilling laugh coming from above. Charles tugs him backward away from the school until the angle lets them see onto the roof. Emma and Azazel are dancing up there without music, above the party. Emma’s white dress glows in the moonlight. Azazel, in black, is barely visible. It almost looks as though she’s dancing alone, until his arms go around her and they sway together to the non-existent beat.
‘I bet she’s leading.’
‘Hush,’ Charles says, poking him in the side. ‘It’s lovely.’ He smiles and reaches down to interlace their fingers. ‘Everything’s lovely tonight. You know, I can’t remember a time I’ve been happier than this. Not a single one.’
***
Erik has so many images of that night. Raven, now dusky blue and beautiful in the shadows under one of the archways, tentatively leaning in to brush her lips against Jubilee’s much more practiced mouth. Steve, up on the podium with his crown crooked and his hair mussed, making some kind of semi-drunken speech which starts off being about bright futures but ends as simply ‘I’ll miss you.’ Angel sprawled on Tony’s couch, her hand tucked possessively into Riptide’s arm, her head resting against his shoulder. Tony’s lascivious grin as he points Erik the way to a handy bedroom.
The image that will stay with him is Charles, pale and naked, half sobbing for breath as they move together, half just plain sobbing. There are messy tears trickling down his cheeks which Erik is too breathless to kiss away, although he wants to, and wants to say how sorry he is for everything he’s ever done to make Charles cry.
Afterwards, when they’re curled up together, Erik feels Charles’s lips move against his skin, shaping a rough, gasping thank you.
Their minds are so thoroughly tangled that they barely have a separate thought, and yet he has no idea what Charles is thanking him for.
***
He wakes to a finger poking him firmly in the side.
‘It’s almost morning,’ Charles says. The words are nearly swallowed up by a yawn. His hair’s flattened down on one side, and the corresponding cheek is scrawled with pillow marks. He looks about halfway between drunk and hung over, verging slightly on the drunk side.
‘Yeah,’ Erik agrees vaguely, closing his eyes again and burrowing back under the bed clothes.
‘Erik… Erik. Erik.’
‘What?’ Erik blinks unwillingly as Charles peels the blanket back from his face. ‘I’m sleeping.’
‘Wake up,’ Charles says gently, ‘please.’
‘Why?’
Charles shifts on the bed, stretching and smothering another yawn. ‘Because… I know it’s silly, but I want to watch the sun come up.’
Erik manages not to say anything regrettable. He manages not to pull the covers back over his head and ignore Charles completely. Instead he takes a second to pretend to consider the matter and then says firmly, ‘It’s too early.’
‘It’s not going to wait until later,’ Charles says, laughing and leaning down to rub his nose against Erik’s cheek. ‘Not even for you.’
‘Yeah, but… no. Really, no.’
Erik feels a hand ruffle gently through his hair. Charles’s voice is warm and amused and just a little scratchy. ‘That’s a yes, isn’t it?’ he says.
‘You’re impossible.’ Erik pushes himself up on one elbow and pries his eyes fully open. Through the window the sky is barely lightening, but he can’t deny the approaching dawn. ‘Ok, fine. But only if there’s food. Water and food. Where are my pants?’
They stumble back into the lounge. Erik’s head feels thick and fuzzy with sleep. Picking his way across a floor littered with trash, and stepping over a couple of sleepers sprawled on sofa cushions he comes across a half-full bag of chips. Salt and grease sound really good right now. In the kitchen Charles unearths flat, warm soda and a bunch of bananas. ‘Perfect,’ he says, with a look that’s altogether too sparkling for the semi-darkness and the horrendously early hour.
Back to bed? Erik thinks, hoping against hope.
‘Come on.’
Tony’s house is on the peak of a rise, and the lawn stretches out into a view over the outskirts of town and all the way to the low hills further out, just visible in the pre-dawn gloom. The sun will be cresting those hills soon. Past the pool a handful of sun loungers are set out on the grass. Dragging two of them around to face east leaves Erik stumbling as the pumping blood seems to drive a haze of leftover alcohol into his brain. He collapses onto one while Charles settles himself, catlike, onto the other.
They munch for a while. Chips and bananas, Erik discovers, are a surprisingly good combination, though the soda is unpleasantly sweet. They don’t speak at first, just watch as the dawn breaks by tiny increments. Erik finds himself happy in a fragile way, but he can feel a change in the expanding stillness as their thoughts stray away from the simple sleepy thoughts of morning. It feels like standing on the edge of a precipice.
‘We need to talk,’ Charles says into the silence. ‘I mean... you know what I mean.’
‘You said we weren’t going to think about it.' Erik feels a tiny shudder run through him, and a moment of dissociation, almost dizziness, that has nothing to do with his hangover.
‘For one day we weren’t,’ Charles says, sighing. ‘It’s tomorrow now. The first day of the rest of our lives.’
The strange thing is that, even though he knew it was coming, Erik’s still surprised to finally be here. Something has been funneling down to this point in time. Last night was just a time to step back, breathe, forget and then return with clearer eyes.
The rest of their lives, Erik tells himself, swallowing his fear. There’s one part of that idea, just one, that he can cling to with hope. ‘Charles, this… us. Do you think it’s - you know… do you think it’ll last? In fifty years or something, and still…’
It’s not the most coherent question he’s ever asked but he means it seriously, and Charles takes it seriously, pausing, one fingertip brushing against his lip as he thinks. ‘We’re eighteen,’ he says. ‘Everybody… everyone thinks that their first love is the real thing. I don’t think we can possibly be sure.’ He gives a slightly rueful smile. ‘I’m trying to be logical about it, you understand, rather than just coming straight out and saying that you’re the love of my life.’
‘High school sweethearts,’ Erik says staring up at the sky. Wish upon a star, his mind echoes at him. That’s the fairy tale. ‘And they lived happily ever after.’
Charles chokes out a laugh, bitter and edged with tears. ‘There’s isn’t a single word in that sentence that’s guaranteed.’
They both look upwards for a while longer, avoiding each other’s eyes. The stars are fading out one by one, merging with the blue-grey dawn.
‘You want to go out and save the world,’ Charles says eventually, ‘but whenever you talk about leaving it’s always you, not us. You’ve never asked me to go with you.’
Of course he hasn’t. How could he take Charles into danger?
‘I don’t want you to,’ Erik says. Then, putting into words something that he’s always known, ‘You wouldn’t, anyway. No matter what I said, you’d never come.’
Charles's fight will always be peaceful protest, civil disobedience, the slow change of minds. He wasn't built to destroy.
‘No,’ Charles says quietly, ‘I wouldn’t. But it’s not like that for you.’ He pauses, picking at the label on the soda bottle nervously before setting it aside and sitting up. ‘I hear you, you know. I hear you thinking, going over and over it, trying to find the strength to leave everything behind, to be some kind of fighter, this person you could become. But you’re not him. I know you want to go but you haven’t... you haven’t chosen yet.’
Erik shakes his head. It’s true, and it’s shameful. His thoughts have been whirling around the question for so long and he’s no closer to knowing what he’s going to do.
‘I can’t go with you,’ Charles continues, and there’s a note of desperate finality in his voice, ‘but you could stay with me.’ He takes a deep breath and fixes Erik with a look of utter determination. ‘I need you to. Don’t think any more. Imagine that the choice is already made. Stay.’
Erik stares at him for what must be a solid minute. The idea seems unbelievable. ‘It’s like telling me to toss a coin for it,’ he says. ‘You can’t do that, you can’t ask me not to think.’
‘I can. I am.’
Erik pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He’s so tired of it all.
There have always been two choices. There’s his way and there’s Charles’s way. If he takes his own path, with no compromises and no politics, only the righteous fury he feels, the constant pulse of this is not allowed to happen - if he chooses that then there’s no going back.
It will break them. With Charles’s softer methods, careful manipulation, time and sacrifices, allowing others to be sacrificed... at least they have a chance.
‘Are you going to tell me to trust you?’ Erik says, unable to find emotion to put behind the words.
Charles flickers a smile. ‘Do you?’ he asks.
Erik smiles back, strangely amused. ‘No,’ he admits. ‘Not about this.’
Time slows. A long, careful breath stretches out the seconds until he has to speak again. ‘Charles, you know what you’re asking me, don’t you?’
‘Do the wrong thing,’ Charles says. He stares out over the forming shadows of the day. ‘Ignore your conscience, take the easy way out. Hate yourself and hate me for making you do it.’ His hand slides into Erik’s, fingers interlocking. ‘Yes, I know what I’m asking.’
I can’t, Erik wants to say, but he doesn’t. It would be a lie. Charles is right, he does have a choice. If that’s his decision then the words are, I won’t.
‘For the rest of my life?’ he asks instead.
Charles shakes his head. ‘It won't be. I know that. But... for as long as you can.’
Perhaps this is the compromise. Perhaps Stryker was right about it all, he really did know that Erik could end up holding back, fighting a different battle, following a different leader than himself. Choosing love for all the wrong reasons.
Charles is waiting, white faced and tense. Erik manages a smile. ‘Give me your chess piece,’ he says.
Charles doesn’t ask why, or frown, or even pause, just fishes in his jeans pocket and brings out the little armoured knight. He passes it over silently. Erik turns it over in his hands, tilting it so the light gleams diffusely off the metal.
Charles’s knight.
If he chooses to leave there’s no going back. And it would only be for now. For tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Time for college, perhaps. Time to spend with Charles.
Not forever, but for as long as he can.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Yeah. OK.’
FIN
BUT THERE'S MORE, GUYS. To my everlasting joy the wonderful
tawabids has created Charles Xavier's Wikipedia page from some 30 years on, in which you can find the continuing story of this particular universe's star-crossed lovers.
I think the whole fic clocks in at around 80,000 words all told. Never again. Seriously. Not ever doing this again.
Chapters 1-28:
Late Bloomer on
1stclass_kink
Late Bloomer on
xmen_firstkink
Chapter 29 on this journal.
Chapter 30 on this journal.
Chapter 31 on this journal.
Chapter 32 on this journal
Title: Late Bloomer (33/33)
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: R (overall)
Word count: 6,500 (this part)
Warnings: ...only for the excessive angst.
Summary: High school AU. Erik is a mutant jock with ISSUES. Charles is a geeky transfer student and totally human... (or is he?)
***
‘I’ll be out for dinner,’ Erik says, pressing the phone firmly to his ear so he can hear over the sound of laughter. ‘No, mom, it went fine. Really. All done for another month. No, I’m not tired, and I’m not four years old. We’re going to get some pizza and hang out.’ He makes a face across the growing pile of dry twigs and branches that Jubilee and Peter have been collecting. Charles meets his eyes and grins before turning back to teasing Raven, both of them bubbling over with the general party atmosphere. Everyone seems to be in a good mood. Erik gets the feeling that they were all bracing for disaster and are just happy to be sitting in the quarry in the sunshine instead of waiting in the police station while he's charged with aggravated assault.
He's pretty relieved about that too, come to think of it.
After a moment he realises that his mom’s stopped talking about the evils of pizza and is saying his name impatiently. ‘What?’ he says. ‘Oh. Yeah, of course Charles is here. And a bunch of people. Just people, mom. Okay, I have to go.’ He sighs. ‘I’m hanging up.’
‘Erik,’ Peter yells. ‘Come help us out.’
‘With what?’
‘This log’s too big,’ Jubilee says, gesturing at something that’s less a log and more the trunk of Yggdrasill. ‘We need to chop it up.’
‘Give me a break.’ His powers still feel thin and shaky, and probably will do until he’s had a decent percentage of a pizza. ‘Where’s Havok? Why can’t he do it?’
‘He’s not here.’ Jubilee makes an impatient face. ‘Come on, Erik. We need stuff to burn, right?’
Erik groans and pushes himself to his feet. ‘Yeah,’ he admits.
‘Obviously,’ Charles adds, deadly serious, before breaking into a grin.
Erik grins back over his shoulder as he goes. By the time he’s played axe and buzz saw there’s enough wood to last for as long as they want to stay out, and the half-built bonfire in the blackened dip in the rocks is reaching the size where it could probably roast a hog once they put a match to it.
The group around Charles seems to have magically acquired food, which makes it all the more attractive for Erik to go over and nuzzle up to him, pulling him close and stealing his pizza in one smooth movement. ‘Where did the beer come from?’
‘Tony,’ Charles says, snagging a bottle from the ground and another slice of pizza from the box, and presenting them both to Erik with the gravitas of a maître d’.
The beer isn’t as cold as it might be, but it goes down smoothly. Erik feels a tiny bit more tension seep out of his shoulders. ‘Don’t get too drunk,’ he tells Charles, kissing the corner of his jaw. ‘I’m taking you home after and you’re going to want to be awake for it.’
‘Dragging me off to your cave.’
Erik grins. ‘Yeah. And look, I made fire.’
‘Neanderthal.’
You love it, he thinks, flashing a mental image of slinging a fur-clad Charles over his shoulder and carrying him away.
Charles chokes on a laugh. Maybe. I know I love you.
Peter puts his face in his hands with a low moan. ‘Oh god, stop brain-fucking or get a room.’
The chorus of fervent agreement from around the fire makes Charles blush and wriggle away to coax Peter into forgiveness with talk of gene splicing. Erik lets him go, and spends the next half hour or so tossing a football around with Azazel as dusk falls around them.
It’s half dark already when Azazel comes to a halt and tosses the ball deliberately wide.
Erik spins to follow its path. Awkwardly, almost stumbling on the turn, he sees Havok standing on the track down from where they parked their cars. Beside him, one foot planted forwards to brace for the catch, is Riptide.
Erik feels his jaw muscles clench. Every part of him tenses as he stalks over. He can feel a ghost of remembered pain in his knuckles from where they collided hard with Riptides jaw.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
Riptide glares down at the ball in his hands. His mouth twitches uncertainly. After a second’s pause he grunts, ‘Blame Havok. I didn’t want to come.’
‘I told him to,’ Havok says easily, as though there’s nothing at all surprising in it. ‘I mean, come on Erik. That thing with Charles was a dickwad move, but it’s Rip, you know? You can’t stay mad forever, right?’
Erik stares at him. It’s hard to say anything truly vicious in the face of Havok’s general good nature, but seriously, what the fuck?
‘He really can,’ Riptide says, stepping nervously backwards. He looks ready to flee, but unwilling, as though somehow he’s hopeful, deep down. God, Erik realises, almost painfully, they were friends, Riptide and Havok. They used to be really close, and Havok took Charles’s side without a second thought.
He feels his fury melting into exasperation. ‘Yeah, I really can. Jesus, Rip, first it’s Sebastian fucking Shaw, and now you don’t even dare come near me without Havok to protect you. Havok, for fuck’s sake. Even you can’t be that pathetic.’
‘Hey, I’m not protecting anyone,’ Havok objects. ‘How about if I hold him still and you hit him a few more times?’
‘Screw you,’ Riptide snaps.
Havok grins. ‘Yeah, man, I love you too.’
‘Erik?’
It’s Charles, wandering up nibbling on another slice of pizza. He smiles vaguely. ‘Oh, hello Riptide.’
Instinctively, Erik shoulders slightly in front, holding out a shielding arm. Charles gives a little sigh and steps around him. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he says calmly.
‘Right…’ Riptide says, glancing sidewise at Havok, who makes an imperative gesture. ‘You too, I guess.’ He shifts on his feet, one hand clenching on the end of the ball, and fixes his gaze on the rocks about a foot to the left of where Charles is standing. ‘Look, uh, Charles, I should say sorry about what happened. You know, at Tony’s party.’
Charles looks at him, head on one side. He seems to be deep in thought. Finally he asks, ‘Do you have beer?’
‘Huh? Uh, yeah,’ Riptide says, looking even more uncertain. He tucks the football under his arm and picks up a carrier bag from by his feet, jiggling it by way of demonstration. ‘Brought a six pack. And some Doritos.’
Charles nods. ‘I will accept them as your penance. This way.’
He looks perfectly steady on his feet, but Erik knows that owlish look and the all-encompassing friendliness. ‘You’re drunk,’ he says wearily.
Charles sticks out his tongue. ‘Only a little bit. And now I’m going to get a teeny bit drunker. Come and be friendly and maybe I’ll let you all have one of my nice new beers.’
‘Charles, those are half mine,’ Havok grumbles. ‘You can’t confiscate them.’
‘Are they? Well, then you can definitely have one. Or maybe two.’
‘Hey!’
‘Take it up with Erik,’ Charles says happily.
Havok groans, giving it up as unwinnable. Riptide shoots a cautious, questioning look at Erik, who finds himself shrugging. Like a lot of things the grudge over Seb doesn’t seem to matter so much anymore. ‘Whatever,’ he says. ‘Go, stay, do what you want. Just don’t piss me off again or I’ll crush you inside your own car.’
‘Don’t you fucking touch my car,’ Riptide says automatically. He’s scowling, but something else in his face seems to ease. In that moment Erik has to wonder what he’s been doing lately and who he’s been hanging out with. Not with them, certainly, his best friends since middle school. It was Charles’s presence that sent him to Seb, Charles that cost him his place in the group. Rip deserved it and worse, but in a way it’s a miracle he came back at all.
‘Beer,’ Charles yells from halfway to the fire, waving encouragingly. ‘Erik!’
Riptide hefts the carrier bag. ‘I still hate your boyfriend,’ he says, with a strange smile that Erik’s never seen before. ‘Still, I guess I do owe him a beer.’
***
Despite Erik’s best efforts Charles is cheerfully tipsy and half asleep by the time they get home. Erik rolls him into bed and climbs in after him, squishing himself into the awkward space against the wall.
He can't sleep. Riptide’s return has shaken him. The world behind his eyes swirls with choices and compromises, changing alliegences, people who admit they’re wrong, or pretend to, to get what they need.
‘Love you,’ he whispers, pressing a kiss to Charles’s temple.
At times like this he knows that this is everything he needs, this simple, straightforward love. And it’s such an awful responsibility, knowing that Charles wouldn’t be happy without him.
Charles makes a tiny snuffling noise. He’s dead to the world, dreaming gentle, jumbled dreams, oblivious to the twisted mazes and dead ends of Erik’s thoughts. His warm body presses up against Erik’s propping elbow, a dead weight, taking up far too much of the bed. It takes Erik a bit of wriggling to settle them both with a semblance of comfort. Charles clings determinedly to sleep throughout, not even mumbling, his breaths slow and even. He’ll wake unwillingly at Erik’s alarm, muzzy from the alcohol, mumbling complaints until Erik brings him water and drags him into the shower. And they’ll eat their breakfast and go to school and be utterly normal, and Erik won’t say a word, but they’ll both know that deep down they’re still fighting that hopeless, endless battle they fought in Emma’s garden. The one where they’ve both picked a side and neither one of them is sure who’s right.
***
In the end, the ceasefire is officially laid out.
‘Please,’ Charles says to him, after school, ‘Erik, just for one day, let’s forget it all. We can be teenagers at senior prom. There’ll be slow dancing and spiked punch and everyone in their best clothes and people having romantic crises and crying in the bathrooms, just like in those awful movies. I’ve been looking forward to it.’
‘You have a strange idea of a good time,’ Erik says, slinging an arm around him, speaking mostly into the hair above his ear. His mind has latched on tight to the thought, and the answer is yes. He can’t give Charles everything, but he can give him this.
Charles knows it, of course, and there’s a relieved moment of stillness as the atmosphere lightens, like the change in pressure after a storm. He wriggles round to wrinkle his nose and grin, sliding into a teasing mode that means they're starting right away, no more worrying allowed. ‘Stop being grouchy, it’s going to be wonderful. Did I mention that my date is the captain of the football team? He’s really hot.’ He makes a thoughtful face. ‘You know, he says he’s crazy about me but I’m a bit worried that he might expect me to put out after the dance.’
‘Yeah, he might,’ Erik says, grinning. ‘Some guys are dicks like that.’
Charles pouts. ‘Well that’s just going to ruin my night.’
He's the perfect picture of petulant disapproval. Erik tugs him closed and kisses him on the nose. ‘How about we ruin this afternoon instead?’
‘That,’ Charles says seriously, ‘is an excellent idea.’
***
On Saturday morning Erik wakes feeling happy. It’s so unusual that he sits up at once, glancing around and trying to work out what’s different. No Charles - he didn’t stay over last night. It’s luxuriously late, but he almost always wakes late on Saturdays.
There’s the prom tonight, of course. But he can’t seriously be this excited about senior prom. It’s just a dance in the gym and the usual slightly insane party at Tony’s. Ok, it’ll be nice to see Charles in a tux and maybe get a cheesy photo of the two of them in front of some kind of sparkly backdrop. And he has a rose for Charles’s buttonhole which is keeping fresh in the fridge, the same kind of red rose that he once gave him in front of everyone on the steps of the school. It’s a silly gesture, it’s not like Charles will remember what type of rose it was the first time round, but Erik wanted to do it anyway. And his own tux looks pretty good. Actually, Charles will probably flip a little bit when he sees it. But it’s no big deal.
With some disgust, he realises he’s grinning all over his face.
To complete a great morning there are pancakes for breakfast, his dad smiling gently from the stove while his mom mainlines coffee and makes plans for the day. Unlike her, Erik’s own plans do not involve shopping or meeting friends or working in the garden. Pretty much they just involve sex.
Charles in a tux. It’s an image that lingers.
A quick jerk-off session in the shower helps a little, but his body is yearning for the real thing. They’ll probably have plenty of drunken post-prom sex at Tony’s tonight - the Stark house is well-equipped with bedrooms - but the thought of a whole day of just being kids, of maybe driving out into the hills and finding some private spot, just them and a picnic blanket and the blue sky, a lazy make-out session and then peeling off Charles’s jeans, sliding down his underwear…
His phone rings.
‘What do you want?’ he demands shortly, because he checked the caller ID and this can’t be good.
‘Decorations,’ Emma tells him, just as short. ‘I need things pinned to the ceiling. You’re helping.’
‘Christ, Em, use a stepladder. I’ve got stuff to do.’
‘Sugar, it’s this or I ask Charles to do it, and it’ll take him a lot longer than it’ll take you.’
Erik stifles a groan of despair. ‘He’ll say no. We have plans.’
Emma laughs. ‘You’re so adorably delusional. Be at the gym in half an hour.’
She hangs up.
Erik lowers the phone from his ear and glares at it, cursing both Emma’s devious mind and Charles’s eternal willingness to oblige. After a minute or so of silently absorbing his irritation it rings again.
‘Emma says you’re helping her with decorating,’ Charles says cheerfully on the other end of the line. ‘I’ll meet you there so I can watch you be an all-powerful master of magnetism.’
Erik laughs. ‘She’s making me levitate thumbtacks.’
‘Thumbtacks come under the heading of things you all-powerfully magnetise,’ Charles agrees earnestly. ‘Also there might be nails. And manly toolboxes and electric cables. And you can take your shirt off.’
‘Why would I take my shirt off?’
‘Who needs a reason?’
Looking at it like that, Erik begins to feel a bit better about the whole thing. Less so when Emma presents him with about ten miles of sparkling icicle-style strandy stuff and several billion thumbtacks.
He’s too annoyed even to glare.
‘You knew. You bitch, Em, you planned this, there’s no way you could do this without me.’
Emma trills a laugh. ‘You’re a resource at my disposal, Erik. Of course I planned for you.’
‘Fuck you. You know what I could be doing right now?’
‘Darling, it’s not as though you’re in a dry spell.’
Erik growls something obscene and goes to lie on his back in the middle of the floor. The strands have some kind of metallic glitter sprinkled over them, enough for him to feel but far too little to grasp and lift. It’s easiest to pinch the head of a thumbtack around the string as he goes and embed it in the ceiling before catching up the next section with the next tack. Once he gets into a rhythm the task is quick and almost soothing, pinch-lift-jab over and over, with a little stream of thumbtacks flowing steadily upwards. By the time Charles arrives half the ceiling is covered with rippling tendrils and Erik is starting to see spots in front of his eyes.
‘Hello,’ Charles says, as Erik props himself up on his elbows to receive a kiss. ‘Having fun?’
‘Really, really not.’ I want to push you down right here and suck your cock, he thinks pointedly, and Emma is a slave-driving sociopath with a heart of ice.
I heard that, Emma’s voice says sweetly in his head, as Charles blushes fiery red and tries to suppress a smile.
Good, Erik thinks viciously back at her.
Behave, Charles tells them both. Except, actually, let’s misbehave.
This last is directed to Erik on something more like a private channel, accompanied by a mental image that has him hastily dragging Charles off to the farthest bathroom.
Some twenty minutes later, when they slink back in, flushed, dazed and disheveled, Emma pins them with a disgusted glare from across the room. You’re both shameless, she tells them, and also terribly boring. Remind me to give you some pointers.
Charles looks more horrified than Erik’s ever seen him, big eyes blinking in shock, and Erik can’t help cracking up. Astonishingly enough, Emma bursts out laughing too, and comes over to give Charles a hug, which he returns but wriggles out of after a couple of seconds, moving to huddle against Erik and thinking firmly, If you get a white leather catsuit and a whip I am never, ever speaking to you again.
Later on, when Erik remembers Emma’s untroubled laugh, he realises that whatever game of denial he and Charles are playing today, she’s playing it too.
***
‘Mom, will you quit it?’ Erik complains. ‘I can dress myself.’
‘No,’ his mother says firmly, ‘you can’t. Not tonight. You’re going to your prom looking perfect if I have to chloroform you and arrange your clothes while you sleep.’ She fusses over him, tweaking and tucking things that are going to get untweaked and untucked the second he moves. ‘There. Now you look nice.’
‘Thanks,’ Erik says patiently.
She takes a step back, looking him up and down, and suddenly there’s something else in her expression than motherly micromanagement. ‘You look so grown up. Oh, Erik.’ She smiles at him but her eyes are suspiciously shiny. ‘I remember when you were first put in my arms, this little, helpless thing, and now…’
‘Mom.’
She wipes at her eyes. ‘Have a wonderful night, sweetheart. Give my love to Charles. You look after that boy, you hear, and tell him… tell him to look after you.’
‘Mom…’ Erik says again. ‘Oh god, please don’t cry.’
She hugs him briefly, pushing him towards the door. ‘I’m not crying. How could I be crying? I’m not going to get tears on that tuxedo, not after I’ve fixed you up. Go. Go on.’
***
He made a promise. Tonight is about being kids at the prom. They’ll walk into the gym arm in arm in their fancy clothes and slow-dance in a romantic haze, and then move on to Tony’s after-party to enjoy some much less wholesome pursuits. You only get one senior prom. It’s special.
‘Erik Lehnsherr,’ Erik says experimentally, pulling the car over and peering at himself in the mirror. If he tilts his head just right his face melds into the perfect teen movie cliché, the school bad boy tamed by love. ‘Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier.’ It sounds good, saying their names, it makes it feel real.
As he walks through the mansion gate the main door opens and Charles slips out, closing it behind him so quietly that there’s barely a click. Erik retreats behind the gatepost and waits, out of sight, while Charles’s footsteps scrunch over the gravel towards him. He comes into view all freckled innocence and neatly combed hair, like a figure in an old photograph, both breathtaking and heartbreakingly delicate.
For a moment they just stare at each other. Then Charles swallows and says, ‘Turn around, please. Slowly.’
Erik settles his thoughts. He obligingly spins on the spot, coming full circle with a questioning look. ‘Nice?’
‘Um, yes.’ The lascivious smile that spreads across Charles’s face instantly dispels any hint of vulnerability. ‘Very nice indeed.’
‘You too,’ Erik says feelingly. ‘Come here.’ He holds out the flower.
Charles blinks at it, lifts his eyes to Erik’s, and blinks again. ‘You’re a gigantic sap,’ he says, sounding more than a little choked up.
Erik grins, because yeah, he kind of is.
***
‘Oh wow,’ Tony says. ‘Steve, they’re so pretty. Can I keep them?’
Steve sighs his familiar, long-suffering sigh and ushers the two of them into the hall, playing the host because Tony so obviously isn’t. ‘Hey Erik. Hey Charles. Let me get you guys a beer.’
It’s not a party yet, though it will be after the prom. Right now it’s just a gathering, people coming in and out lounging around, sipping beer, chatting and eating extremely carefully, determined not to get the least smear on their outfits. One of the late arrivals, blonde and too grown up in a lacy dress, is Raven.
‘Wait, what? She can’t come,’ Erik objects as Charles drags him to the door to greet her. ‘She’s a sophomore. She’s fifteen.’
‘It’s not as though anyone’s going to know it’s her,’ Charles says cheerfully. ‘And she’s not going to have any alcohol. Absolutely not. Not a sip. Come on, Raven, let’s get you a soda.’
‘Yes Charles,’ she says obediently, tucking her arm into his and flashing her best ‘fuck you’ look over her shoulder at Erik.
‘I’m tasting that soda,’ Erik calls after them.
***
Raven’s still reasonably sober when they all scramble out of Tony’s limo, which, yeah, actually Tony’s limo. Not hired. Just one he had hanging around in the garage somewhere. Everyone else is in what Charles calls ‘a party mood’, giggling and swaying slightly as they make their way into the gym.
They all stop dead.
Erik’s seen most of the decorations before, but they look a hundred times more impressive now, with the full effect of the lighting and the finished backdrops in place. Emma hasn’t exactly gone for a theme unless you count white, which is pretty much a given, but the place has an undeniable fairytale feel with its snowy drapes and sparkles. There are graceful columns, little nooks under glittering arches and Erik’s rustling ice-strand ceiling that’s somehow in constant motion, ripples flowing across it like the wind on water.
‘Wow,’ Peter says, and it doesn’t sound like he’s just saying it to please Mary-Jane. Out of the corner of his eye Erik catches Azazel pressing a kiss to Emma’s hair in silent congratulation.
Charles is practically glowing. This is so silly, he thinks joyfully. I can’t believe I’m actually at a prom.
***
Erik jostles his way through the crowd that's tumbled and spread out to fill the busy hall. Even though he saw everyone here the day before the greetings feel like a vital part of the ritual. Wherever he goes people seem to nitice him. It feels like he's shared dirty jokes and back-slaps with every single member of the football team, and said hi to half a hundred other humans that he's somehow got to know. Charles slid away from his side quite early on. Apparrently it was necessary for him to tell everyone he met how lovely they looked and to be hugged affectionately and told he was adorable in turn. Erik’s downed another glass of punch by the time he finds him again, standing at the side of the room watching a vaguely familiar human girl. No, he realises. Not the girl, the gorgeous fair haired guy she’s laughing with.
Just as Erik opens his mouth to ask why, the guy’s eyes flash golden under the lights.
Charles glances up at him, catching the judder of emotion, and shrugs ruefully. She’s just having fun.
Dangerous fun. There's no real difference between tricking her way into a party and tricking her way into a flirtation, but somehow Erik knows that she's pushing the boundaries between disguise and deceit. If someone was watching - and it feels like someone is always watching - that kind of fun could set off alarm bells and breed contingency plans.
‘Erik,’ Charles says aloud, laying a hand on his arm, ‘don’t.’
Erik blinks the images away. ‘Sorry.’ No though of jail cells tonight. No secrets, no white coats and blood.
Charles’s smile is just slightly off now, not enough that anyone else would notice. He takes a little huffing breath. ‘Do you want to dance?’
The smile forces Erik to get a grip, to relax back into the atmosphere, because there’s no way in hell that he’s spoiling tonight. ‘What happens if I say no?’ he says, as naturally as he can.
‘Possibly the universe explodes,’ Charles says thoughtfully, ‘because I think there’s some kind of physical law that says you can’t not dance with me tonight.’
Erik grins, and this time it really is natural. ‘I guess I can do it to save the universe.’
‘My hero.’ Charles takes his hand and draws them together, his steps already falling in time with the music.
***
At most other school dances Erik has only danced with the girls, and sometimes Havok as joke. This feels different. It takes him a few beats to work out that this time he’s not the one calling the shots. 'How come you get to lead?' he complains.
'Because you don't know anything about dancing,' Charles says, grinning and guiding him smoothly into the centre of the floor.
'And you do?'
'Well, yes, actually. I took lessons when I was little. Now, relax.’ He slides his arms more firmly around Erik, wrinkling his nose with a hint of discontent. ‘It’s a shame you’re so tall, but there’s not much we can do about that.
‘Borrow Emma’s high heels.’
‘I hate you.’
Charles actually does know what he’s doing. He’s good enough that Erik can just hang on and go where he’s pushed, and from the whistles they get it must look OK. There’s even a smattering of applause as the song ends. Erik realises that they’re standing in a little clear space with a whole bunch of people watching, which should be embarrassing, but isn’t. All he can do is grin around at the spectators, thinking, yeah, my boyfriend is totally fucking awesome.
Likewise, Charles thinks at him, tugging him closer as the music melts into something slow and sultry. The dance floor fills up with couples and Erik figures they’ve done their bit with the whole showing off thing, and now it’s ok just to shift from foot to foot and whisper and kiss. At the end of the next song Jan sweeps up imperiously and extends her hand to Charles. ‘You may have the pleasure of this dance,’ she informs him. Erik is claimed by Pepper for about a song and a half, and follows that up by dragging a loudly protesting Havok into what might generously be called a waltz. Then he realises that Tony has usurped Jan’s place and rushes over to loom and growl while Charles and Tony cling to each other, laughing helplessly.
After that the evening quickly devolves into partner swapping and threesomes and a conga line stuck in there at some stage. Erik’s left wondering how many different people decided to spike the punch and what the eventual alcohol content turned out to be, and is still wondering, rather hazily, by the time the prom king and queen are announced. Steve and Angel come up to the dais, both looking a little surprised, and Emma steps in to award them their crowns with a short and incredibly funny speech, which seems oddly out of place to Erik until Charles elbows him and whispers ‘It’s Raven again.’
Erik chokes back a disbelieving laugh and takes a second look. Sure enough there are just a few hints of Raven’s body language, and a slight brashness in place of Emma’s unquestioning confidence. He can’t worry this time, he’s too drunk and too impressed at the imitation. ‘What the hell is she doing?’ he asks. ‘Where is Emma, anyhow?’
Charles tilts his head. Then he smiles. ‘Come outside.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’
The quiet outside is like another world. As Erik follows Charles across the parking lot he hears Emma’s unmistakable trilling laugh coming from above. Charles tugs him backward away from the school until the angle lets them see onto the roof. Emma and Azazel are dancing up there without music, above the party. Emma’s white dress glows in the moonlight. Azazel, in black, is barely visible. It almost looks as though she’s dancing alone, until his arms go around her and they sway together to the non-existent beat.
‘I bet she’s leading.’
‘Hush,’ Charles says, poking him in the side. ‘It’s lovely.’ He smiles and reaches down to interlace their fingers. ‘Everything’s lovely tonight. You know, I can’t remember a time I’ve been happier than this. Not a single one.’
***
Erik has so many images of that night. Raven, now dusky blue and beautiful in the shadows under one of the archways, tentatively leaning in to brush her lips against Jubilee’s much more practiced mouth. Steve, up on the podium with his crown crooked and his hair mussed, making some kind of semi-drunken speech which starts off being about bright futures but ends as simply ‘I’ll miss you.’ Angel sprawled on Tony’s couch, her hand tucked possessively into Riptide’s arm, her head resting against his shoulder. Tony’s lascivious grin as he points Erik the way to a handy bedroom.
The image that will stay with him is Charles, pale and naked, half sobbing for breath as they move together, half just plain sobbing. There are messy tears trickling down his cheeks which Erik is too breathless to kiss away, although he wants to, and wants to say how sorry he is for everything he’s ever done to make Charles cry.
Afterwards, when they’re curled up together, Erik feels Charles’s lips move against his skin, shaping a rough, gasping thank you.
Their minds are so thoroughly tangled that they barely have a separate thought, and yet he has no idea what Charles is thanking him for.
***
He wakes to a finger poking him firmly in the side.
‘It’s almost morning,’ Charles says. The words are nearly swallowed up by a yawn. His hair’s flattened down on one side, and the corresponding cheek is scrawled with pillow marks. He looks about halfway between drunk and hung over, verging slightly on the drunk side.
‘Yeah,’ Erik agrees vaguely, closing his eyes again and burrowing back under the bed clothes.
‘Erik… Erik. Erik.’
‘What?’ Erik blinks unwillingly as Charles peels the blanket back from his face. ‘I’m sleeping.’
‘Wake up,’ Charles says gently, ‘please.’
‘Why?’
Charles shifts on the bed, stretching and smothering another yawn. ‘Because… I know it’s silly, but I want to watch the sun come up.’
Erik manages not to say anything regrettable. He manages not to pull the covers back over his head and ignore Charles completely. Instead he takes a second to pretend to consider the matter and then says firmly, ‘It’s too early.’
‘It’s not going to wait until later,’ Charles says, laughing and leaning down to rub his nose against Erik’s cheek. ‘Not even for you.’
‘Yeah, but… no. Really, no.’
Erik feels a hand ruffle gently through his hair. Charles’s voice is warm and amused and just a little scratchy. ‘That’s a yes, isn’t it?’ he says.
‘You’re impossible.’ Erik pushes himself up on one elbow and pries his eyes fully open. Through the window the sky is barely lightening, but he can’t deny the approaching dawn. ‘Ok, fine. But only if there’s food. Water and food. Where are my pants?’
They stumble back into the lounge. Erik’s head feels thick and fuzzy with sleep. Picking his way across a floor littered with trash, and stepping over a couple of sleepers sprawled on sofa cushions he comes across a half-full bag of chips. Salt and grease sound really good right now. In the kitchen Charles unearths flat, warm soda and a bunch of bananas. ‘Perfect,’ he says, with a look that’s altogether too sparkling for the semi-darkness and the horrendously early hour.
Back to bed? Erik thinks, hoping against hope.
‘Come on.’
Tony’s house is on the peak of a rise, and the lawn stretches out into a view over the outskirts of town and all the way to the low hills further out, just visible in the pre-dawn gloom. The sun will be cresting those hills soon. Past the pool a handful of sun loungers are set out on the grass. Dragging two of them around to face east leaves Erik stumbling as the pumping blood seems to drive a haze of leftover alcohol into his brain. He collapses onto one while Charles settles himself, catlike, onto the other.
They munch for a while. Chips and bananas, Erik discovers, are a surprisingly good combination, though the soda is unpleasantly sweet. They don’t speak at first, just watch as the dawn breaks by tiny increments. Erik finds himself happy in a fragile way, but he can feel a change in the expanding stillness as their thoughts stray away from the simple sleepy thoughts of morning. It feels like standing on the edge of a precipice.
‘We need to talk,’ Charles says into the silence. ‘I mean... you know what I mean.’
‘You said we weren’t going to think about it.' Erik feels a tiny shudder run through him, and a moment of dissociation, almost dizziness, that has nothing to do with his hangover.
‘For one day we weren’t,’ Charles says, sighing. ‘It’s tomorrow now. The first day of the rest of our lives.’
The strange thing is that, even though he knew it was coming, Erik’s still surprised to finally be here. Something has been funneling down to this point in time. Last night was just a time to step back, breathe, forget and then return with clearer eyes.
The rest of their lives, Erik tells himself, swallowing his fear. There’s one part of that idea, just one, that he can cling to with hope. ‘Charles, this… us. Do you think it’s - you know… do you think it’ll last? In fifty years or something, and still…’
It’s not the most coherent question he’s ever asked but he means it seriously, and Charles takes it seriously, pausing, one fingertip brushing against his lip as he thinks. ‘We’re eighteen,’ he says. ‘Everybody… everyone thinks that their first love is the real thing. I don’t think we can possibly be sure.’ He gives a slightly rueful smile. ‘I’m trying to be logical about it, you understand, rather than just coming straight out and saying that you’re the love of my life.’
‘High school sweethearts,’ Erik says staring up at the sky. Wish upon a star, his mind echoes at him. That’s the fairy tale. ‘And they lived happily ever after.’
Charles chokes out a laugh, bitter and edged with tears. ‘There’s isn’t a single word in that sentence that’s guaranteed.’
They both look upwards for a while longer, avoiding each other’s eyes. The stars are fading out one by one, merging with the blue-grey dawn.
‘You want to go out and save the world,’ Charles says eventually, ‘but whenever you talk about leaving it’s always you, not us. You’ve never asked me to go with you.’
Of course he hasn’t. How could he take Charles into danger?
‘I don’t want you to,’ Erik says. Then, putting into words something that he’s always known, ‘You wouldn’t, anyway. No matter what I said, you’d never come.’
Charles's fight will always be peaceful protest, civil disobedience, the slow change of minds. He wasn't built to destroy.
‘No,’ Charles says quietly, ‘I wouldn’t. But it’s not like that for you.’ He pauses, picking at the label on the soda bottle nervously before setting it aside and sitting up. ‘I hear you, you know. I hear you thinking, going over and over it, trying to find the strength to leave everything behind, to be some kind of fighter, this person you could become. But you’re not him. I know you want to go but you haven’t... you haven’t chosen yet.’
Erik shakes his head. It’s true, and it’s shameful. His thoughts have been whirling around the question for so long and he’s no closer to knowing what he’s going to do.
‘I can’t go with you,’ Charles continues, and there’s a note of desperate finality in his voice, ‘but you could stay with me.’ He takes a deep breath and fixes Erik with a look of utter determination. ‘I need you to. Don’t think any more. Imagine that the choice is already made. Stay.’
Erik stares at him for what must be a solid minute. The idea seems unbelievable. ‘It’s like telling me to toss a coin for it,’ he says. ‘You can’t do that, you can’t ask me not to think.’
‘I can. I am.’
Erik pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He’s so tired of it all.
There have always been two choices. There’s his way and there’s Charles’s way. If he takes his own path, with no compromises and no politics, only the righteous fury he feels, the constant pulse of this is not allowed to happen - if he chooses that then there’s no going back.
It will break them. With Charles’s softer methods, careful manipulation, time and sacrifices, allowing others to be sacrificed... at least they have a chance.
‘Are you going to tell me to trust you?’ Erik says, unable to find emotion to put behind the words.
Charles flickers a smile. ‘Do you?’ he asks.
Erik smiles back, strangely amused. ‘No,’ he admits. ‘Not about this.’
Time slows. A long, careful breath stretches out the seconds until he has to speak again. ‘Charles, you know what you’re asking me, don’t you?’
‘Do the wrong thing,’ Charles says. He stares out over the forming shadows of the day. ‘Ignore your conscience, take the easy way out. Hate yourself and hate me for making you do it.’ His hand slides into Erik’s, fingers interlocking. ‘Yes, I know what I’m asking.’
I can’t, Erik wants to say, but he doesn’t. It would be a lie. Charles is right, he does have a choice. If that’s his decision then the words are, I won’t.
‘For the rest of my life?’ he asks instead.
Charles shakes his head. ‘It won't be. I know that. But... for as long as you can.’
Perhaps this is the compromise. Perhaps Stryker was right about it all, he really did know that Erik could end up holding back, fighting a different battle, following a different leader than himself. Choosing love for all the wrong reasons.
Charles is waiting, white faced and tense. Erik manages a smile. ‘Give me your chess piece,’ he says.
Charles doesn’t ask why, or frown, or even pause, just fishes in his jeans pocket and brings out the little armoured knight. He passes it over silently. Erik turns it over in his hands, tilting it so the light gleams diffusely off the metal.
Charles’s knight.
If he chooses to leave there’s no going back. And it would only be for now. For tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Time for college, perhaps. Time to spend with Charles.
Not forever, but for as long as he can.
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Yeah. OK.’
FIN
BUT THERE'S MORE, GUYS. To my everlasting joy the wonderful
tawabids has created Charles Xavier's Wikipedia page from some 30 years on, in which you can find the continuing story of this particular universe's star-crossed lovers.