Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"What do you mean, Peter is failing algebra and biology?" Erik demands.

"I mean exactly what I said. Peter is failing algebra and biology," Magda says, far too calmly for Erik's liking.

He bites his tongue to stop from saying what he really wants to—that Magda babies Peter, and that's why the kid doesn't take anything seriously. That Peter needs to grow up and stop treating life like one of the video games he's always playing. That maybe, if Magda actually disciplined Peter, he would behave.

He grits his teeth and says, "Okay. So what do we do about that?"

Magda sighs, like this is somehow the wrong answer. "We don't have to anything. I got him a tutor."

"We've tried tutors before," Erik says. They had, and it never ends well with Peter—he's too hard to teach, he doesn't pay attention, he terrorizes the tutors once he gets tired of trying to play by their rules.

"Yes," Magda says patiently, like she's talking to a child. "But I have a good feeling about this one. He teaches one of my classes. He's—"

"Does he know that Peter's a mutant?" Erik says, because that's the most important thing, really. He won't subject his child to any anti-mutant bigot, even if the guy could get Peter on the honor roll.

"Yes, Erik. Of course." Magda sounds like she's losing her patience. It's not something that Erik had heard until they got divorced. It had been an amicable end to an amicable marriage, so he thought that their divorce would be equally amicable. Maybe that had been foolish of him, like Emma says.

Magda goes on, "He's a mutant, too. A telepath."

Erik relaxes. "Oh. Okay. And he's aware that Peter is… difficult?"

"He's aware of Peter's learning difficulties, yes. In fact… he's already met Peter. It seems like it's a good fit."

"What the hell, Magda? That's the kind of thing we should—" Erik stops and takes a deep breath. What's done is done. "Fine," he grits out. "You said it went well?"

Magda's quiet for a moment, and then she says, "Yes, it did."

"Great,” Erik says shortly, rubbing at his forehead.

"He agreed to tutor every weekend," Magda says. "Are you okay having him at your place this Saturday?"

"Every weekend? And you said he teaches one of your classes?" Erik frowns. "How much are we paying this guy?" And this time, we refers to Erik, because between the kids and attending school, Magda has her hands too full to work full-time, and Erik pays for everything. He's happy to, really, but it's—a lot, and he imagines that a college professor wouldn't be tutoring a high schooler unless they made it worth his time.

"Nothing, actually,” Magda says. "He said that he's very interested in teaching mutant children, and he's happy to help. He's a nice kid, Erik. You know I wouldn't introduce anyone to Peter unless I was confident it was the right decision for him."

Erik feels immediately chastened. She's right. Magda is an amazing mom, even if their parenting styles seem to be diverging the older the kids get. He trusts her more than he trusts anyone. "You're right. Sorry, Mags."

"It's okay," she softens. "I know you're just looking out for him. So I can tell the tutor yes?"

Erik's pretty sure Magda already did, but he guesses he appreciates her asking anyway. “Sure."

"Great! We'll see you Friday."

"See you then," Erik says.

"Daddy!" Lorna squeals and throws herself into Erik's arms.

"Hi, Loo," Erik says, squeezing her tight. He squeezes her until she starts giggling and trying to wriggle out of his arms, and then he starts tickling her.

"Daddy, noooo, stop!" Lorna screams, laughing and flailing about.

Erik stops when he can hear the pots in the kitchen clanging against each other. He steadies the metal right away, hoping Magda didn't hear it. "Shh," Erik laughs and shushes Lorna, who's still giggling and beaming up at him.

"I thought I heard you," Magda says, walking into the foyer. "I wasn't sure until my dinner almost ended up on the floor."

"Sorry about that," Erik says, winking at Lorna.

She winks back, though it's more of a full-face scrunch, and says, "I'll go get Wanda and Petey!" and runs off.

"How've you been?" Erik asks Magda.

"Good," she says, but doesn't volunteer any more information. It's been nearly two years, and Erik still isn't used to not being privy to every detail of her life. It feels wrong.

"Classes are going well?" he says.

She brightens a bit, "Yeah. I've even made some friends."

"Yeah?" Erik says. It's her second semester back at school, and she had complained many times about not fitting in with the kids in her classes. He can't blame her—anyone under the age of twenty-five feels like a child, at their age.

"It turns out there's a whole study group for old people who go back to school," she says.

"Oh, come on," Erik says. "You're not old."

"I'm almost forty," Magda laughs.

"You don't look a day over thirty," Erik says. It's true; Magda is an incredibly beautiful woman. Her hair is as red and vibrant as it was the day they'd met.

Magda's face falls, like he's said the wrong thing. Again. He stopped being able to say the right thing to her a few years ago, it turns out.

Peter and Wanda trudge into the room, followed by Lorna. "Hey Dad," Peter says cheerfully.

"Hey, you two. How's it going?" Erik claps Peter on the shoulder and pulls Wanda in for a quick hug.

"Hi," Wanda says quietly. She gives him a small smile.

"Come on, guys! Dad said we can get ice cream on the way to his place!" Lorna says, tugging at her siblings.

"I don't remember saying that," Erik laughs.

Magda hugs their kids tightly and kisses Lorna on the head.

"I'll see you guys Sunday," she says, as the kids file out the door. Erik turns to leave—evidently, this is not one of those times where they awkwardly hug goodbye—and she says, "Wait, Erik."

"Hm?" he looks back at her.

"I took care of everything with Peter's tutor. You're still good with that, right?"

"Daaad," Lorna yells from the car.

"Yeah, that's fine," Erik says. "Thanks for taking care of that, Mags. See you Sunday."

After the divorce, Erik took a higher-paying job about an hour away from his old house, and got an apartment in between the two. He hadn't wanted Magda to feel any financial strain, even when he had to basically double his living expenses. His new job was mind-numbingly dull and still had a thirty minute commute from his apartment, but he refused to be a full hour away from his kids.

Peter and Wanda will be turning sixteen later this year, and as terrifying as it is to imagine Peter behind the wheel of a car, he wants to be close enough that they can easily visit him. He doesn't know if they actually will, but… he wants them to have the option.

They end up getting ice cream on the way home, like they usually do. Every two weeks, Lorna seems to con him into it. It's impossible to say no to her, when she grins at him like he's made all her dreams come true, just from an ice cream cone.

He wishes it was that easy to make Wanda smile, these days. She won't even eat the ice cream. She says it hurts her teeth, but when Erik offers to get her a hot chocolate, she turns that down, too.

Peter is always happy about it, though Erik thinks he really doesn't need the sugar.

Two out of three isn't all that bad, Erik thinks. Not these days.

On Saturday, Erik wakes up early and makes breakfast with Lorna. The twins are sleeping in, but he and Lorna make extra pancakes so that they can warm them up when they finally get up. Erik washes some fruit for them as well, even though they probably won't eat it.

Then Lorna sneaks back into the room she shares with Peter, quietly so she doesn't wake him up, and retrieves her friendship bracelet supplies. She's been obsessed with making them all year, and every two weeks, she sits at the small dining room table and spreads her supplies out all over it and makes bracelets.

Erik sits with her and makes a bracelet while he waits for one of the twins to get up so he can go for a run. Lorna tells him about school, and her seemingly ever-growing group of friends.

"—I invited him to play with us, but he didn't want to, so we just sat on the swings together. It was kind of boring, but—Dad." Lorna looks at Erik's bracelet, unimpressed.

"What?" Erik says. It's cartoonishly large, easily six times the size of Lorna's bracelet.

"That's way too big," Lorna says seriously.

"Is it?" Erik says. "Huh. Maybe it can be a friendship necklace?"

"That's not a thing," Lorna says. Erik shrugs and ties it closed, and then puts it around Lorna's neck. "I can't even read it!" Lorna giggles, pressing her chin down to try and get a glimpse of the necklace. "What does it say?"

"It says 'Lorna Sally Lehnsherr is the coolest third-grader ever'," Erik tells her without missing a beat.

"No, it doesn't! That's way too many words!" Lorna says, but she squints harder. Erik shrugs and walks to the kitchen, kissing the top of her head on the way.

Right then, Wanda comes out of her room. She's dressed for the day already, and doesn't look like someone who's just woken up. She's probably been laying in bed for a while, on her phone.

"Hi, Wanda!" Lorna says cheerfully. "Can you tell me what my necklace says?"

"Morning," Erik says. "What do you want for breakfast? I can make you some eggs. Or we have pancakes I can warm up for you."

Wanda doesn't answer him, and pulls at Lorna's necklace to read it. "It says 'Lorna Loo'." Lorna makes a disappointed noise. Wanda turns to Erik, "Can I have coffee?"

Erik hesitates. He doesn't know if Magda lets the kids drink coffee, but Wanda is fifteen now, so it's probably fine. "Sure. I'll make a pot before I go on my run. Just make sure to eat some breakfast, too."

Wanda flashes him a rare smile. She looks just like Magda when she smiles, but far more commonly, she looks like Erik when she scowls.

Erik makes her coffee, changes into his running clothes, and tells them he'll be back in an hour.

It's much later in the day than it usually is when he runs, so even in the early spring weather, the sun is bright and hot. He's incredibly sweaty when he returns, and he pulls his shirt to mop at his face as he lets himself in his apartment with a wave of his hand.

He's not surprised to hear Peter up, finally—it's almost eleven—but he is surprised to hear an unfamiliar, lilting voice, chatting with his children.

"What the fuck?" Erik says, staring at the stranger at his table, sitting with Peter and Lorna, who is still surrounded by hundreds of plastic beads.

"Dad!" Lorna says, scandalized.

The man—boy, really, he looks terribly young—is staring at him, looking incredibly surprised for someone who is trespassing in his home.

"Who the hell are you?" Erik demands, and the kitchen shudders with a loud rattling noise. The kids at least, look calm, which is the only thing stopping Erik from making an actual threat.

The man's face falters, "I'm sorry, I was told you were expecting me. Peter said…"

Peter rolls his eyes, "Dad, this is the Prof. Mom told you he was coming today, remember?"

Peter's tutor. Erik doesn't remember Magda saying he'd be in Erik's apartment, but he does remember her saying he'd be working with Peter every weekend. Somehow, he thought that'd meant every weekend at her place.

A sense of relief floods through Erik that a strange man hasn't broken into his home where his three children are. Wanda scoffs from her spot on the couch.

"Please, call me Charles. You can all call me Charles," the man says, looking at Peter with an amused look, like he's said this before. He stands up and strides over to Erik, holding out a hand. "I'm so sorry about the miscommunication. I can leave, if it's a bad time."

"No, it's fine. I just—forgot," Erik says. He looks at Charles' hand, "I'd shake your hand, but…"

"Right," Charles says. His eyes flicker to Erik's shirt, which is plastered to his skin with sweat. He clears his throat. "Well, it's very nice to meet you…"

"Erik," Erik says, relaxing further.

"Erik," Charles repeats, with a winning smile. "I'm Charles Xavier. Call me Charles."

"You said that," Erik says, "Charles."

"So I did," Charles laughs. Had Magda said this guy was her professor? He hardly looks old enough to attend a college class, let alone teach it. He must have one of those baby faces, Erik supposes. He's certainly not hurting for it, in any case. He's good-looking in a charming, boyish way; bouncy dark hair, cheerful blue eyes, and lips so red that Erik wonders for half a second if he's wearing makeup. Between his looks and his pleasing accent, Erik assumes he must be the recipient of many student crushes.

"Dad," Lorna says, "Mr. Charles said that friendship necklaces are not a thing."

"I said that they're not a thing to my knowledge, Lorna," Charles says. "There's plenty of things in the world that we don't know about, but that doesn't mean they're not things."

"Maybe I invented them," Erik says, and winks at Charles before stepping around him. "Loo, why don't you clean up your bracelet stuff so Peter and Mr. Charles can have the table to work?"

Peter grins, "Or we could just skip tutoring and make bracelets!"

Lorna cheers. Erik frowns, "Peter. If someone is taking time out of their day to help you, you need to appreciate that. Don't give him a hard time. Lorna, please clean up your things. Now."

Peter is also still wearing his pajamas, which drives Erik crazy, but he's learned to pick his battles with his son. Or, he's trying to learn. He at least waits until after his shower to snap, "Peter. Go put some real clothes on." Peter rolls his eyes and returns in a flash, fully dressed. Erik thinks the eye-roll is wholly unnecessary, considering the gesture itself took longer than the action he was protesting.

"Can I get you anything to drink, Charles?" Erik says. "Or if you're hungry, I could order some pizza. Wanda, did you eat breakfast?"

"Oh, can we get pizza, Dad?" Peter says. "I can run to Tony's and get some."

"I'll go with you," Wanda offers. Peter groans playfully, even though his sister is probably the only person in the world he doesn't mind slowing down for.

"Does that sound okay?" Erik says to Charles.

"Pizza sounds lovely, thank you," Charles says. His posh accent makes everything he says sound silky.

They order and the twins take off—even though Peter could have them there and back in a moment, it's a beautiful day out and Peter is surely itching to stretch his legs. Erik feels better with them sticking together, anyway. He can't help but worry about Wanda using her powers in public on accident and attracting attention from the wrong person. He knows that Peter would never let anything happen to his sister.

Lorna stays behind, eyes glued to the cartoon she's watching.

"Did you want anything to drink?" Erik says again to Charles.

"I'd take tea, if you have it." Charles says, and he joins him in the kitchen, looking with interest at the fridge. It's covered in random junk—paperclips, bottlecaps, and various utensils.

"I'm working with Lorna to train her powers," Erik says, gesturing to the fridge. He turns and starts looking through his cabinet to see what he has in the way of tea. "She's getting really good at making semi-permanent magnets. Those are from a few weeks ago."

A few visits ago, he thinks. Not weeks. Sometimes it feels like his life is just sitting around waiting for the next time he sees his kids. "I only have chamomile tea, is that okay?"

"That's perfect," Charles says.

Erik fills the kettle with water and holds a hand out to heat the metal. He's not really sure why he does it. Boiling water the usual way doesn't take all that long. But surely Charles would appreciate having his tea as soon as possible.

"So what exactly is Lorna's power, then?" Charles says.

Erik puffs up with pride, "She can control electromagnetism, same as me."

"Oh!" Charles' eyes light up. They really are so blue. "That's wonderful. She's so young for her powers to have manifested, too. It must be so nice to be able to offer her guidance."

"It is," Erik says. Lorna is certainly much easier than the twins, in almost every way. Peter is… well, Peter. And Wanda used to be easy, but since her powers have developed and become more unpredictable, she's become withdrawn and moody. Magda also says that's just how teenage girls are. He just hopes that Lorna doesn't shut him out one day, too.

It's right then, that Erik remembers what else Magda had said about him. That he's a mutant too. "You're a telepath," Erik says. He can feel the water start to boil, so he prepares Charles' tea.

Charles smiles, "Yes. Is that a problem for you?" His voice takes an edge, so subtle Erik could be imagining it.

"Not at all," Erik says. "Wanda is a telepath, among other things. And Emma, the kids' aunt—a family friend, that is—she is, too." He levitates the mug over to Charles, using the metal strips affixed at the base.

"Oh, thank you." Charles says happily accepting the mug, tension fleeing like it was never there. "That explains your shields, then. They're remarkably proficient."

"When Wanda's powers manifested, I asked Emma to teach me." Specifically, when Erik's marriage started falling apart; he had never wanted Wanda to hear anything about that, ever. He can only hope that Emma's lessons with Magda taught her well enough, too.

"I see," Charles says. "You seem like a wonderful father."

Erik's face heats up. It's an incredibly personal thing to say, and Charles doesn't even know Erik.

"I just mean," Charles says, "it's nice of you to—you're very involved with your children, it seems. Magda speaks very highly of you."

"She does?" Erik says, bewildered. He only sees the kids every other weekend, and Magda always seems like she's pissed off with him.

"Yes," Charles says, eyebrows knitted in confusion. "I'm sorry if I misspoke. She made it sound like you have a very, ah, cordial relationship."

An unpleasant thought occurs to Erik. "Are you sleeping with Magda? I know she's older, but she's still your student. That's still very—"

"What?" Charles yelps, and he jumps so hard he splashes tea on his hands. "Oh, Christ, that's hot—"

"Shit, are you okay?" Erik quickly waves the mug to the counter and ushers Charles to the sink, which is already on and running cool water by the time they get there. He grabs Charles' hands and holds them under the water.

Charles' face is bright red, "I'm certainly not sleeping with Magda."

"Right," Erik says, feeling very guilty. "Of course. I'm sorry. That was rude. I just…"

"It's all right," Charles says, staring at his hands, which are still being held by Erik's. Erik lets go of them like he's the one that's been scalded.

"Sorry, I just—I went into dad mode," Erik laughs sheepishly, "and uh, ex-husband mode, I guess."

Charles snorts. "It's all right," he says again. "I can only imagine how complicated marriage can be." He turns off the water and inspects his hands, "No harm done. I'm just dramatic."

"Good," Erik says in relief. "I'd hate to ruin Peter's chances at passing tenth grade."

Charles laughs, "No need to worry on that front. I'm confident I'll be able to help your son."

"So what did you think about Charles?" Magda asks, the next time he calls to check in.

"The tutor?" Erik asks, like he doesn't know exactly who Charles is. Charles, who had somehow gotten Peter to pay attention and show an interest in biology. Charles, who had stayed for several excruciatingly long hours on Saturday before finally leaving.

It's not that Erik wanted him to leave, exactly, it's just that… he felt much more comfortable when the man was gone. He's just not used to having someone in his living space other than his kids, or Magda, or Emma. It's a bit uncomfortable, especially since Charles refused when Erik had followed him outside and tried to pay him. Charles hadn't even considered it, like Erik was silly to offer him money. Erik doesn't know what to do with a stranger who's helping his family out of seemingly just the goodness of their heart.

"Yes, the tutor," Magda says. "Did you like him?"

"Sure. I mean, I don't have to like him. He just has to be good with Peter."

"Yes," Magda says slowly, "that's what I'm asking. Do you think he was good with Peter?"

"Oh," Erik says. "Yeah, I do. Peter seemed like he was actually listening to him."

Magda breathes out in relief, "Yeah. I thought so too. I think this could really work."

Erik allows the thought to settle. Things might be okay with Peter. "Good. He might finally grow up and stop fucking around so much," Erik says.

Magda's silent, and Erik can picture the pinched look on her face as clearly as if she were standing in front of him. "Peter's trying his best, Erik."

"I highly doubt that," Erik mutters.

"Okay, well," Magda says testily, "I'm glad Charles has your blessing." And it's weird, because even though Magda is surely older than Charles, shouldn't she call him Professor Xavier, or something?

Erik grunts noncommittally.

She sighs, "Sorry. I'm just—stressed. I know you're just worried about Peter."

"The tutor does seem like he'll be able to help Peter," Erik says. "Thank you for finding him, Mags."

"Of course," Magda says. "And isn't he so cute?"

Erik frowns. Sure, objectively he's—his hair is nice, and his eyes are very blue, and his skin is—but still, that's just. Completely inappropriate for Magda to say about her professor. It really rubs Erik the wrong way.

"You're not sleeping with him, are you?" Erik has to check.

"What the fuck, Erik? No, of course not," Magda says incredulously. "Are you kidding?"

"I had to ask," Erik says defensively.

"You really didn't," she says flatly. "God, he's so young. I would never do that."

And that's a bit of an overstatement, Erik thinks. Charles does look quite young, but he's a college professor. Surely he must be around thirty. And Magda is not even forty—it's not that much of a stretch. Still, Erik is relieved to hear that they're not sleeping together. Again. Now he knows for sure.

"Okay, fine. Jesus." Erik says.

"Jesus you," Magda snaps. And she's mad at him again, so Erik decides to get off the phone before he can piss her off any more.

Chapter Text

The next time Erik sees Charles, he's got a new system.

"I've noticed that Peter has a difficult time concentrating for long periods of time—no doubt, due to his mutation. I imagine he must get dreadfully bored having to operate at everyone else's speed all the time. So for every hour of work we do, we'll take a twenty minute break." Charles explains this like it's no big deal.

Erik frowns, "Isn't that a huge waste of your time?"

Charles blinks, nonplussed. "Why would it be a waste of my time?"

"I mean," Erik shrugs, "what are you going to do while he's fu—messing around for twenty minutes every hour?"

"Well," Charles says slyly, "I suppose I could chat with you. If you're not busy." Charles smirks, like he knows Erik doesn't have anything going on other than hanging around the apartment.

"It does get pretty busy around here," Erik says.

"Oh?"

"Lots of bracelets to be made," Erik says.

"Ah," Charles says, eyes sparkling. "Of course."

Erik sounds like he's joking, but he's kind of not. Lorna has decided to make a bracelet for everyone in her class this weekend. During the second break of the day, she and Charles and Erik sit on the floor in front of the television, working diligently while Lorna regales them with every classmate's name and favorite color, and how imperative it is to incorporate those elements into their bracelets.

"How do you remember all of this, Lorna?" Charles asks. "Is that your mutation?"

"No," Lorna says emphatically. "My mutation is controlling metal! Same as my dad." She beams at Erik.

"Yes, Loo." Erik says. He boops her on the nose with the "L" pendant on her necklace. He'd gotten one for all of his kids, but Lorna is the only one who still wears hers. "But technically, we control magnetism, not metal." Lorna holds out a small hand and uses her powers to tug at Erik's watch affectionately.

"Mm, so what's the difference, exactly?" Charles says.

"Well, specifically, I control electromagnetic fields, including the ones around metal." Erik says.

"All electromagnetic fields?" Charles says, sounding shocked.

"Yep!" Lorna says. She's heard this many times—Erik believes very strongly that mutants should be very knowledgeable and proud of their powers. Naturally, this has taken the most with Lorna, who can learn about hers firsthand from Erik.

"But the Earth has electromagnetic fields," Charles says. "Does that mean you can—fly?"

"It's not the most convenient way to get around, and it takes a lot of energy," Erik snorts, "but yes, I can levitate."

"What else can you do?" Charles says.

Erik clears his throat, "I can generate electromagnetic pulses, or summon a force field of sorts. Really, everything I've thought to try I've managed. Though, it's taken years of training, and there's not much practical use for most of it." Frankly, it's one of the few things he does with his free time. He's learned a lot more about his powers since the divorce.

"Wow," Charles says. "I admire your dedication, Erik."

Erik flushes, "I just think that we owe it to ourselves to learn about the powers we've been gifted." He concentrates on adding some light blue beads to the "Bobby" bracelet Lorna has instructed him to make.

"I couldn't agree more," Charles says. When Erik looks at him again, Charles is watching him with bright eyes, cheeks stained pink. He really is handsome, Erik thinks, though handsome is only part of the equation. He's also quite pretty.

Charles' red lips curl into a grin, and Erik realizes there's a real chance Charles has picked up on his thoughts. Wanda is out with Peter at the moment, so Erik's relaxed his shields considerably. Fuck. He puts his shields back up and stands, dropping the completed bracelet in front of Lorna. "I'm going to get started on lunch. Wanda and Pete should be back soon."

He makes BLTs for lunch, and when he's finished preparing everything, it's time for Peter's next twenty minute break. Erik lays out everything out so that the kids can make their sandwich to their tastes. Peter likes cheese on his sandwich, Wanda likes extra crispy bacon and avocado, and Lorna likes ketchup instead of mayo.

When Erik asks if Charles has any special requests, he says, "Oh, I'm easy."

Erik takes that to simply mean 'no', and he calls the kids to eat.

"Oma Edie said bacon's not kosher," Lorna says. She looks at her sandwich and says mournfully, "I love bacon."

"Oma was just teaching you," Peter says. "You can eat bacon."

"If it bothers you, I can buy cow or duck bacon," Erik says. "That's what I ate when I was little."

"Mmm," Lorna says, taking a big bite and chewing thoughtfully. "I'll let you know."

"You do that," Erik says. Charles shoots him an amused look.

After lunch, Lorna says, "Dad, can Petey and Wanda and me walk down to Scoops and get ice cream?" She looks back at Peter with a furtive smile. He shoots her a thumbs up. Next to him, Wanda scoffs but smiles.

Erik looks at Charles, who is politely occupying himself with his phone. "I don't know," Erik says. "Lunch took a little longer than I planned, and Charles has a schedule—"

"Oh, please don't say no on my account," Charles says, looking up with a grin. "I can help clean up while they're gone."

Erik hesitates, "Okay, but just one scoop. You guys just had ice cream last night." Lorna cheers and high-fives Peter, while Erik pulls his wallet out and counts out enough money for the kids. After a moment of thought, he adds more and says, "Get me a scoop of chocolate. Charles, do you want any?"

Charles perks up, "Oh, sure."

He reaches into his pocket, and Erik quickly says, "No, it's on me."

"Okay," Charles says easily. "One scoop of butter pecan please, Miss Lorna."

Lorna wrinkles her nose, "That's an old person flavor. It's Oma's favorite."

"Lorna," Erik scolds, but Charles just laughs.

"I suppose you're right. My sister calls me an 'old fart' all the time," Charles says, and Lorna giggles. "Your Oma sounds like a very smart lady," he tells her.

"Be safe," Erik says to the kids as they leave. Charles starts stacking up the dishes, and Erik says, "You don't actually have to help clean up. You can just… play on your phone, or whatever."

Charles laughs, "Is that what you think young people do for fun?"

"Is it not?" Erik raises an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe," Charles says, "but as I've already established, I am widely considered to be an 'old fart'." He takes the dishes to the sink and starts rinsing them off, making a bit of a mess. 

Erik snorts and starts putting the leftover food away. He'd made plenty extra, because Peter eats a shocking amount of food, even for a teenage boy. A consequence of his mutation, almost certainly.

"So, your new schedule with Peter—it's working, do you think?" Erik says, after a few minutes.

Charles makes a thoughtful noise, barely heard over the clanging of the dishes as he puts them in the dishwater. "It's too early to say for sure, of course, but I have a good feeling about it. Not every student learns in the same way. Mutant children, particularly, need extra care and attention. There is much to learn about their mutations as well, as you so aptly pointed out earlier."

Erik considers Lorna, who at only eight years old, has an impressive handle on her abilities, because Erik has been working with her for years. Wanda, on the other hand, struggles far more with her powers. Emma helps when she can, but she lives an hour away from Erik, and is very busy running her law firm besides. Peter, on the other hand… he seems to understand his powers very well. It's everything else he doesn't seem to get.

"In the real world, Peter won't get to take a twenty minute break every hour, though," Erik says. "Don't you think it's—babying him?"

"What do you mean?" Charles says, sounding genuinely puzzled. "Peter's mutation is incredible. He could do any number of things after high school, even if he chooses not to pursue any sort of college degree."

When Erik makes a sound of dismay, Charles goes on, "Think about it. Even with the most practical of applications, his speed alone means that he could do a full day's work in—an hour, maybe less. If he were to apply himself to a specialized skill, such as computer programming, or car repairs, or anything really, he could offer an extremely valuable service to anyone in need. Time is one of the few things money can't buy, after all—unless you're buying from Peter," Charles laughs. "His powers are wonderful. It's more a question of what he can't do with them."

The trick, Erik thinks, would be getting Peter to actually care about anything. Charles is right, of course—and it's the lack of effort on Peter's part that grates at Erik. If Peter can't even muster up so much as a C in his high school classes, what are the odds of him figuring out any sort of steady job in the future? All that potential, wasted.

Erik opens his mouth to say this, but before he can, the door to his apartment slams and Lorna is standing in the kitchen, holding two ice creams and looking faintly green, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"What—" Charles says, looking alarmed.

"Peter." Erik says, aggravated. A second later, Peter and Wanda show up too, windswept and cheerful. Wanda is the only person that doesn't seem to get nauseous when Peter transports her with his power.

"Lorna, are you okay?" Erik says.

She opens her eyes and grins toothily, "Yep! Just had to reac—reaci—re—"

"Reacclimate," Charles says, smiling.

"Yes!" Lorna says. She holds out a cup of ice cream to Erik, "I got you sprinkles!"

Erik frowns at Peter, "Jesus, Peter. You can't just move your sister around like that. It makes her sick."

"She's fine, Dad," Peter says.

"I'm fine, Dad!" Lorna parrots, though she still looks a little pale.

"You have to think about these things," Erik says, exasperated. "You can't just—"

"He was thinking," Wanda snaps. "He was trying to get back faster since you were pissed about him missing study time already." She slams a cup of ice cream on the counter and stalks down the hall and into her room, banging the door shut behind her.

"I wasn't—" Erik pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated. "Fine. Whatever."

After a few moments of tense silence, Lorna says, "They had chocolate sprinkles too, but rainbow's prettier."

Erik takes the cup from her finally. "Thank you, Mäuschen. The sprinkles are very pretty. All green sprinkles would be prettiest, though."

Lorna beams. Charles takes the ice cream Wanda had left on the counter. He pouts, "No sprinkles for me?"

Lorna shoots Peter a look, "I told you Mr. Charles wanted them!"

Peter holds his hands up in mock surrender, "Okay, okay. You're the ice cream expert. I'll never doubt you again." Lorna looks very smug.

"I'm just teasing, Lorna. Thank you very much," Charles says. "Should we get back to work, Peter? Can you eat and study at the same time?"

"No prob, Prof," Peter says cheerily, with a salute. They lay out Peter's textbooks again and get back to work, while eating their ice cream.

"Dad," Lorna says, "do you want to go for a walk? It's really nice out!"

"Yeah, that sounds great, Loo." Erik knocks on Wanda's door to invite her to go with them, but there's no answer.

"How is it possible that Peter has been working with Charles for six weeks and he's still failing?" Erik says. He's here to pick up the kids, and Magda had met him outside to speak to him when he got here.

"A D isn't… failing, exactly," Magda says.

"I think it's that sort of statement that's enabling Peter's behavior," Erik says.

"Excuse me?" Magda says, eyebrows raised incredulously. Her hands are on her hips now, which is how Erik knows he's fucked up.

"I just mean," he backtracks, "obviously something has changed, with Peter. He never had great grades, but he wasn't outright failing before."

"Gee," Magda says flatly, "I wonder what changed."

"You think—because of the divorce?" Erik says. "But I—I did everything I could, to make it as easy as possible."

"That doesn't make it easy," Magda says quietly. She wraps her cardigan around herself and shivers, red hair blowing in the evening spring breeze.

She looks sad, and Erik feels lost. "So what do we—"

"Daddy!" Lorna flings the front door open and runs up to Erik, throwing her arms around his waist.

"Hey, Loo," Erik says, chest filling with warmth. He bends down and picks her up with a grunt. She's getting so big, soon he won't be able to pick her up at all.

Magda watches them with a small smile. "We can talk about it another time. I just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Right," Erik says, "I'll give you a call tomorrow—we could talk then?"

Magda shakes her head, "No, I need—I have plans, this weekend." She steps forward and reaches her arms out. Erik only realizes she's going in to hug Lorna and not him after he's already leaning in, too. She freezes, and then awkwardly pats him too. Lorna doesn't realize anything uncomfortable is happening and just seems delighted to be in between both of her parents.

"I'll send Peter and Wanda out," Magda says, "Bye Loo, see you in a couple days."

"Bye, Mama!" Lorna says cheerfully. "Daddy, put me down! I'm not a baby."

"Fine," Erik groans, like it's an inconvenience, but truthfully, his arms are killing him. He puts her down and shakes them out surreptitiously.

"Can we get ice cream on the way?" Lorna says.

"That depends," Erik says. "Would you rather get ice cream tonight, or tomorrow with Charles?"

Lorna looks caught. "Um… both?"

"Nice try," Erik says, "I'm on to you."

Lorna huffs, "Fine. Tomorrow." She opens the car door and clambers into her booster seat. "Mr. Charles is very nice, isn't he?" She sticks her tongue out slightly as she concentrates on using her powers to grab the seat belt and click it into the buckle.

Erik watches her proudly. It's more difficult than it looks, to do something even as simple as buckling a seat belt with their power.

"Isn't he?" Lorna says again. "I like him."

"Yeah," Erik says, "he's very nice." It's an understatement, really. Erik has spent the better part of two Saturdays with him, and has never seen Charles be anything other than patient, kind, and charming. Honestly, someone as nice as Charles would normally strike Erik as insincere—surely, no one is actually that perfect. But above all else, Charles seems genuine.

And the kids seem to like him, too. Peter actually listens to him—which is why Erik is so dismayed to find out that Peter is barely passing, at this point—and Erik has even caught Wanda snorting with laughter when Charles gets extra ridiculous and British. Last weekend, he'd stubbed his toe and had hopped around saying, "Bloody—motherfuck—oh Lorna darling, I'm sorry, it's just—blimey, that hurts."

Erik finds himself looking forward to these Saturdays, if only to see Wanda smile more often.

"I've been thinking of things we could do in only twenty minutes," Charles says, the next day. "But it's not a lot of time, is it? It's fine for a quickie, I suppose—"

Erik chokes on the water he'd been drinking. He'd just come back from his run, and had headed straight to the kitchen to get a drink before his shower—it really is unseasonably warm—and Charles had followed him in almost immediately.

Charles steps up to him and pats his back, although it's more like… rubbing, really. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Erik says, throat straining with the urge to cough.

Charles frowns and moves his hand to Erik's shoulder, squeezing once before letting go. Erik can breathe a bit easier, without Charles touching him, he finds.

"Anyway," Charles says, "we could have a quickie—"

"I don't think you're using that word correctly," Erik interrupts.

Charles looks at him in surprise, "What word?"

"Quickie," Erik says. His face is hot because he's just finished a workout.

"Am I not?" Charles says, perplexed. "I just mean a—quick activity, like a card game. As opposed to a longer activity, like a… good workout," he says, eyes dipping to Erik's chest.

Erik tugs the shirt away from his skin, self-conscious of the way it's clinging to him with sweat.

"Does it mean something different here?" Charles steps closer to Erik, "Having a quickie, I mean."

Erik wants to take a step back, but he wants to speak quietly more so the kids don't hear him, "It means, um, to have a quick round of—sex."

"Oh!" Charles laughs, "How silly of me. I'm still learning American colloquialisms, it seems."

"Right. And uh, how long have you been in the States?" Erik asks, because he's having a hard time believing Charles doesn't know what a having a quickie means.

"Mm, on and off since childhood," Charles says airily.

Erik laughs; Charles is utterly ridiculous. He seems to light up a room just by existing in it. "Well, let me know if you think of anything," Erik says. "I'm going to go take a shower." He claps Charles on the shoulder on his way out.

When he returns, Peter and Charles are back at work on the dining room table. It looks cramped, and Erik wonders if it's time to finally upgrade the table. He still has all of the shitty, cheap furniture he'd purchased when he first moved out. He intends to buy nicer, sturdier furniture eventually, but… it's never seemed like the right time.

Wanda is curled up on the couch with a book in her lap, brow furrowed as she reads. Lorna's laying on her stomach on the floor, legs kicking in the air as she flips through a comic book.

"Hey, Red," Erik says softly. He nudges at Wanda to move over so he can have a seat. "What are you reading?"

She holds her book up—it's a collection of Shakespeare plays. "Hamlet," she says.

"Is your drama club doing Hamlet?" Erik asks. "Do you have a part?"

"I'm not in drama club anymore," Wanda says.

"You're not?" Erik frowns, "When did—"

"I quit last year," Wanda says flatly, "at the beginning of the school year."

"Oh," Erik says, dumbfounded. He had no idea. "Why? You were so good at—"

"It just sucked, okay?" Wanda snaps. She stands up and storms out of the living room. Her door slams a moment later.

Erik sits on the couch, stunned. Lorna looks at him sympathetically and says quietly, "I think Wanda got into a fight with her friends at school. They don't come over anymore."

Erik's heart aches at the thought. Wanda's always been like him; private, and slow to make friends, with little tolerance for inane social niceties that extroverts seem to excel at. If she's lost the few friends she'd made at drama club, Erik's willing to bet she hasn't yet replaced them.

He wishes Magda would have told him about this—maybe it's something he should have noticed on his own, but Wanda hardly talks to him anymore. Usually any effort on his part to start a conversation ends like this one just had; with a sullen teenager, a slammed door, and a lingering sense of regret.

Erik sighs. Wanda will come out of her room when she's ready. "What do you want for lunch, Loo? Any special requests?"

"Hm," Lorna says. She rolls on her back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking. "Can you make chicken salad wraps? With the croutons and the cheese? Wanda really likes those."

Erik fights the urge to scoop Lorna up and hug her as tight as he can. "Yeah, I can do that," he says instead. "Do you want to help?"

"Okay! Can I use my powers to chop things?" Lorna says, springing to her feet.

"Yes, but you have to be very careful," Erik says.

He keeps a handle on the knife too, just in case, but Lorna shows excellent control over her powers. She chops the lettuce and then the chicken, and then she's sweating a little, so Erik takes over. She heaves a big sigh of relief and says, "I'm sure earning that ice cream, today."

Erik laughs, "You sure are." When lunch is ready, he sends Peter to the store to pick up shaved Parmesan cheese—"Make sure you pay," he says, handing him money—and gently knocks on Wanda's door. "Hey, lunch is ready. I made chicken caesar salad wraps."

"Not hungry," Wanda replies, after a moment.

Erik bites back a sigh. "Okay, well, it will be ready for you when you are." When she doesn't reply, he tells everyone else that lunch is served.

Peter gets the wrong kind of cheese, but Lorna is delighted to have "sprinkle cheese", so Erik doesn't say anything.

Charles makes an indecent moan when he bites into his wrap, and says something incomprehensible through the food in his mouth.

Lorna chastens him with an appalled, "Mama says we do not talk with our mouths full!" and he has the grace to look embarrassed.

"Sorry," he says, once his mouth is clear. "I was just saying this is excellent. You're a great cook, Erik."

"I just made the chicken," Erik says, though he's quite pleased with the praise. He is a great cook, and he doesn't get to cook for people all that often anymore.

"I don't often get home-cooked meals," Charles admits. "I mostly eat, um, takeout or anything that can be microwaved." He takes another huge bite, looking less like a professor and more like a starving college student with how quickly he's eating.

"Take some home with you," Erik says, without thinking about it. "I made plenty." He'll have to make more food for Peter again later, but that's fine.

"Really?" Charles says, perking up. His cheeks are bulging a little with food.

Erik laughs, "Yes, on the condition that you don't choke and make me an accomplice in your death."

Charles salutes him, grinning.

After lunch, Lorna and Peter ask Wanda to join them for ice cream but she declines. "Walk back this time. Slowly," Erik stresses at Peter.

Lorna shrugs, "Okay, but your ice cream is going to be all melty when we finally get back."

"That's okay. I don't need any this time," Erik says. Lorna looks at him in horror.

"I'll pass too," Charles says.

"I hope I never get old," Lorna says in disgust.

Not long after Peter and Lorna leave, Wanda's door opens and she emerges, holding her book from earlier.

"Are you hungry, Wanda? I can make you a wrap," Erik says hopefully.

Wanda shrugs and sits at the table. Erik takes this to mean 'yes', so he goes to the kitchen to prepare her lunch. He sets aside the rest of it in glassware for Charles to take home. When he brings Wanda's food to her, she's talking to Charles.

"I just think it's stupid to kill yourself over a boy," Wanda says. "How derivative."

Charles hums thoughtfully, "Yes, but it might not be quite that simple. The wonderful thing about Shakespeare is that so much of it is left for us to interpret. While some see her death as a clear suicide, others have argued that it was an accidental drowning. She was dragged down by the weight of her dress, or consider, perhaps, a symbol of her femininity. I'm partial to that reading, myself. There's also a theory that she did kill herself, but as a way to reclaim her agency, of which she has very little, due to her station and status in life."

Wanda watches Charles speak, listening intently. Erik is certain she's never listened to anything he's said that attentively.

"In fact, while the text claims she's gone mad prior to her death, the very actions that depict her as mad might suggest that she—" Charles stops abruptly and flushes with embarrassment when he notices Erik standing there. "Sorry," he laughs, "I've been known to talk a lot. I hope that um, any of that was helpful to you."

"Uh, yeah, thanks." Wanda says, smiling and looking down into her lap. Erik sets the plate of food in front of her. "And thanks for lunch, Dad." She takes a dainty bite and covers her mouth with one hand. She uses the other to give him a thumbs up.

Erik forces himself not to celebrate the victory right there. Instead, he just smiles at her and then goes back to the kitchen to start cleaning up.

Charles follows him and says, "Wanda's a bright girl. I didn't know she was in Honors English."

"She is," Erik says proudly. "Her and Peter couldn't be more different."

"And yet they seem very close," Charles says.

"They are," Erik says. "When they were little, Mags and I couldn't discipline either one of them without the other running to their defense. It always turned a small talking-to into a huge spectacle." He smiles, thinking about Wanda standing with her tiny hands on her hips, looking for all the world like a miniature Magda.

"That must be nice," Charles says wistfully, "to have a sibling like that."

"Don't you have a sister?" Erik says.

"Oh—of course I do, yes," Charles says quickly. "Raven. She's wonderful. But we're not exactly twins. I'm just envious of that connection, I suppose."

They finish cleaning up right when Peter and Lorna return. Peter lights up when he sees Wanda out of her room. "I got you ice cream. It's a little melted, because I walked slowly," he draws out the word while rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, making Wanda laugh, "the whole way back."

Erik watches them with a smile. Even if Wanda is having trouble with her friends at school, she'll always have Peter.

Chapter Text

When Erik drops the kids off on Sunday evening, the twins disperse to their rooms right away, but Lorna hangs around with him by the front door.

"Magda?" Erik calls out. He knows she's home, because he can feel the jewelry she always wears—the locket her mom had left her when she died, and a silver watch she wears every day. When they first separated, the absence of her wedding band had been disorienting and unsettling, but he's used to it now. Mostly.

"Coming!" Magda calls from across the house.

"I want to talk to your mom privately, okay Lorna?" Erik says.

Lorna looks up at him, looking uncharacteristically sullen, "Maybe you could stay for dinner?"

Erik's heart breaks. "Oh, Loo. I really can't. I'm sorry." He kneels down and gives her a big hug.

"I wish I could be with you every weekend," Lorna says. "But I like being here with Mama and my friends, too."

Erik blinks, hit with an unexpected wave of grief. He waits until he knows his voice will be clear to say, "I had so much fun with you this weekend."

"Hey," Magda says, coming into the room.

Lorna hugs her mom hello and says, "Bye, Daddy! Love you!" She gives him a big smile and a wave before going upstairs to her room.

"Love you too," Erik calls out.

Magda gives him a tight smile, "What's up?"

"Wanda told me she quit her drama club at the beginning of the school year?" Erik says.

"Mhm," Magda nods.

"Okay," Erik says slowly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"What is there to tell?" Magda says. "She's fifteen years old. She doesn't need our permission to quit something."

"No, of course not—that's not what I have a problem with," Erik says, frowning.

"Okay, then what do you have a problem with?" Magda crosses her arms.

"With you not—saying anything to me about it. I want to know what's going on with our daughter's life," Erik says.

"You can talk to her, too. You see her twice a month," Magda points out.

"She's not very forthcoming with information," Erik says, once he moves past the injustice of Magda saying twice a month, as if that's enough time. "If neither of you are telling me things, then how am I supposed to know what's happening with her?"

"Well, that's what happens when you leave, Erik," Magda snaps. "You miss out on things."

Erik knows their kids spend the majority of their time with their mom, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't try to keep each other informed. He'd never keep anything from her like that. Although, a small voice reminds him, there's nothing the kids would tell him that she wouldn't already know, anyway.

"I didn't want to leave, Magda," Erik says, hurt. Magda's defensive posture eases. He goes on, "But we agreed—the kid shouldn't have to move, and I wanted you to have the house, anyway."

Magda's expression hardens again, "Right. You wanted me to have the house. So maybe stop letting yourself in, all the time?"

"I—what?" Erik says. "Where's this coming from?"

"It's coming from us not being married anymore. It's—confusing, when you act like you still live here."

Erik looks down at his shoes, which he's still wearing, standing in the foyer of the house he'd lived in for fifteen years, after dropping his children off until he can see them again in two weeks. He certainly knows he doesn't live here.

Magda sighs, suddenly sounding exhausted. "Just—start knocking, okay?"

And what's one step further away from his old life, Erik thinks. "Fine. Sure. I'm just asking to be kept up to speed on our kids, okay? If Wanda's having trouble with her friends, I want to know. I care."

"Yeah. I know you do," Magda says. "Honestly… she didn't want me to say anything to you."

"Oh," Erik says, feeling like he's been punched in the gut.

"I'm sorry," she says, stepping up to him. Her face is soft and creased with concern, an abrupt shift from her previous demeanor. "That's just how teenage girls are, Erik. It's not like she talks to me about her life all that much. She's very much your daughter," Magda says ruefully.

It's not a very apt comparison, because he's always been open with Magda, Erik thinks. But she's right; Wanda is private, and she had eventually told him about drama club, when he'd asked. In fact, it had been a pretty good weekend with the kids. He's not going to let that be ruined, now.

"Okay," he says. "That's all I wanted to talk about. I'll uh, get going now. And I'll knock. Next time."

Magda smiles at him, "Thanks. Have a safe drive home."

Erik thinks about what Magda said to him all week. When he meets Emma in the city for lunch on Saturday, he tells her about it.

"She asked me to knock. That's—it's ridiculous, isn't it?"

Emma signals their server for another bottle of wine.

"It's two p.m., Emma," Erik says. "Jesus."

Emma squints at him, "And I've been listening to you talk about your divorce for two years. Your life is sad, Erik."

He frowns. "That's rude."

"Yes," Emma says, "but it's true, and you know it. You live in the world's most depressing bachelor pad. At least hang a basketball hoop on your door or something."

Erik laughs, "You're such a bitch."

Emma smiles prettily at him, "Tell me something fun. How are my nieces and nephew?"

"Lorna's great," Erik says right away.

"Of course."

"Wanda… she's okay," Erik says. "She's been having some trouble with her friends."

"Hm," Emma frowns. "What about?"

"No clue. She apparently quit drama club at the beginning of the year, and her friends stopped coming around." Erik sighs.

Emma purses her lips. "Maybe you could try to get her into mutation counseling."

"Wanda would never go to something like that willingly," Erik says. "Why? You think it's related?"

Emma shrugs, "It could be. Being a telepath is not… without its difficulties, especially as a teenager. And Wanda's… more than a telepath."

That's an understatement. Wanda's powers seem indefinable and complicated. When she was younger, they thought she was simply telekinetic, and then she claimed she could hear them talking even when their mouths weren't moving. A couple years ago, she'd accidentally burnt a hole through her wall with a bolt of red energy. She'd been quite shaken up, but refused to go to mutation counseling, and hasn't had any issues with it since. Erik thought maybe they should have forced her to go to counseling, but… then Magda had asked for a divorce, and Wanda had been happy to fall back under the radar.

"I'll talk to her," Erik says. "The issue with her friends could have nothing to do with her powers, but it's a good place to start. Thanks, Em."

Emma sits back, preening. "I am a great aunt, even from afar." The server finally brings the second bottle of wine, and they wait while he fills up Emma's glass. Erik declines another glass; he's got to drive home still.

"And Peter? How's my favorite troublemaker?" Emma says.

"Staying mostly out of trouble for now," Erik says. "He's doing poorly in school, but Magda thinks that's because of our divorce."

Emma shrugs, "Could be. You two are a hell of a lot better at being divorced than my parents were, I'll tell you that. But… I think your kids actually depend on you, for love and stability and all that." She sips her wine.

"We're trying," Erik says. "We, uh, got him a tutor." He must not sound as nonchalant as he'd hoped, because Emma's eyes snap up to him right away.

"Go on," she says.

"Not much to say," Erik says. "He's a professor at Magda's school. He's a telepath, and apparently has interest in helping mutant kids, so he agreed to tutor Peter. He's nice."

"Uh huh," Emma says slowly. "You've met him?"

"Yeah, he comes around every Saturday." Erik says. "When the kids are at Magda's, he goes to the house. And when they're with me, he comes over to mine."

"To your place? Aforementioned sad bachelor pad?" Emma says.

Erik scowls, "It's not that bad." Maybe he should upgrade some of the furniture, though.

"How long has he been working with Peter?" Emma says, watching Erik a bit too shrewdly for his liking.

"About two months."

"Oh my god," Emma says. "He's attractive, isn't he?"

"What?" Erik says. "I don't—I don't know."

Emma throws her head back and laughs. Erik buries his head in his hands and says, "Shut up."

"You don't know?" Emma crows, "Wow, he must be really handsome."

More like pretty, Erik thinks, but knows better than to say. He strengthens his shields further.

"So he's nice, and he's attractive, and he's coming over to your apartment every two weeks," Emma says, counting on her fingers. "When are you going to ask him out?"

"I'm not," Erik says. "He's there to help Peter, that's it. And he's too young, anyway."

"Didn't you say he's a professor? He can't be that young." She might have a point, because Charles had positively lit up when Erik had offhandedly mentioned he had a chess board laying around somewhere. They managed to play most of a game before Charles left, and he's quite good—living up to the old fart moniker, indeed.

Emma says, "I'm not suggesting you marry the guy. God, no. But you could certainly stand to get laid. When's the last time you had something other than sad, failing-marriage sex?"

Erik glares at her, "Watch it."

Emma huffs, "Fine. When's the last time you had something other than loving, committed, missionary sex?"

Erik's still not going to answer that. "It doesn't matter. He's not seriously interested in me."

Emma looks at him in disbelief. "Of course he is. Don't be stupid. Have you seen yourself? You've gotten even more—" she waves her hand vaguely at him, "since the divorce. Oh my god, are you still going on runs every morning? Is he there when you get back?"

"Sometimes," Erik says uneasily.

"So he's seeing you post-run, all hot and sweaty, and he's seeing you do your whipped dad routine with Lorna?"

Erik frowns, "What does that mean?"

"Please. That little girl has you wrapped around her finger. It's cute. Don't worry about it. My point is, he definitely wants to fuck you." Emma takes a drink, eyeing him knowingly. "I bet he's been flirting with you and you've been pretending not to notice."

Erik thinks about Charles saying they could have a quickie. He flushes and doesn't say anything.

Emma goes on, "And considering you've known this guy for two months and this is the first I've heard about him, I'm guessing it's mutual."

"You're ridiculous," Erik mutters, finishing off his glass of wine. "I don't know why I'm friends with you."

Emma smirks, eyes gleaming. "Let me know how he is."

This is all Emma's fault, Erik thinks the following weekend, because during Peter's first break of the day, Erik walks into the kitchen to see Charles on his tip-toes, reaching for something on the top shelf of the cabinet. His shirt rides up, revealing a tempting expanse of pale skin. His stomach is slender and toned with the suppleness of youth, and it looks soft and smooth. Erik's fingers twitch.

Right then, Charles turns and sees him, grinning brilliantly. "What good timing," he says, "I was just thinking I could use a good few inches." He drops flat to his feet and looks Erik up and down. "Looks like you've got some to spare. If you're willing."

Erik's brain short-circuits. "Sorry?"

Charles' mouth quirks, "To get the tea. It's a bit out of my reach."

"Oh," Erik says dumbly. He clears his throat, "Right. Sorry." He raises a hand and the tin flies into it, smacking against his palm. "Actually," Erik says, "I bought more for you." He uses his powers to pull several more tins of tea from the cabinet. He could reach them easily, but he likes the wide-eyed way Charles watches him use his powers.

"I thought you might like more options, so…" Erik shrugs. He'd gotten an English breakfast tea, a green tea, and a variety pack of interesting flavors. He'd gotten a fancier brand than he would for himself, which feels embarrassing after the fact. He'd just figured—Charles is British, he clearly knows tea.

"That's—that's very kind of you, thank you," Charles says, sounding genuinely touched. He picks up the black tea.

Erik flushes, "It was nothing. Put them wherever you like, and I'll keep them there from now on. And help yourself to whatever you need to make it how you like."

"Okay," Charles murmurs, "I'll just make myself at home." He turns the tin over in his hands, smiling.

"Great," Erik says, to fill the silence. "There's milk and creamer in the fridge, and honey and sugar in the pantry. If you need anything else just let me know, and I'll pick it up next time I'm—"

"No, that's all right," Charles says, looking up at Erik. "You've taken such good care of me already." His eyes bore into Erik's, something molten in them. "I'm ready to go."

Erik swallows.

Charles' lovely mouth slowly curls into a smile, and then he opens his mouth to say something—

"I have to check on Lorna," Erik blurts, and he swiftly escapes.

A few hours later, he decides he's actually going to kill Emma. Because the moment the kids leave to check out a garage sale down the street, Charles turns to him and says, "You know, I've been having some neck pain. I hate to be a bother, only…" he looks at Erik's hands, which are currently cupped around a mug of coffee. "You seem like you're good with your hands. Maybe you could rub me off?"

Erik, who has wisely decided to stop taking drinks when he thinks Charles might say something, keeps an admirably straight face when he says, "Sure, I can give it a shot."

Charles' face falls a bit, but he brightens up again when Erik sets his coffee down and approaches him with raised hands. Charles turns around and tilts his head forward slightly. He has freckles, Erik realizes. A faint but clear smattering of light brown against his pale skin. Erik places his hands on Charles' shoulders by his neck, and starts massaging.

"Your neck actually is pretty tight," Erik says, surprised.

Charles snorts, "What, did you think I was lying?"

"A bit," Erik admits. He rubs firm circles into the spot where Charles' neck meets his shoulder.

"I can assure you," Charles says coyly, "I'm very tight."

Erik's hands stutter for a only a moment before he forces himself to huff a laugh and say, "You're outrageous." His breath tickles at the back of Charles' neck.

Charles shivers, and Erik pauses, staring at the way his hands look on Charles' smooth, taut skin. "Your hands are warm," Charles says quietly. "They feel good."

Erik swallows. He doesn't say anything, but he resumes the movement, rubbing until he finds a small, persistent knot. "Take a deep breath," Erik says lowly. He presses his thumb down hard as Charles does so, shaky on the inhale and then smoother on the exhale.

Two things happen at once: the knot loosens considerably under Erik's thumb, and Charles moans—not too loudly, but it sounds thunderous in the silence of Erik's apartment. It sounds like a genuine, involuntary moan torn out of him. All of the blood in Erik's body rushes to his dick.

"There," Erik manages eventually, "you're—good now, right?" He claps Charles on the shoulder and rushes out of the room before Charles replies.

He goes to his room and closes the door as calmly as he can. He presses the heel of his palm against his cock, letting out a stifled groan at the pressure. Embarrassingly, he's more than half-hard, and Erik can't stop thinking about the way Charles' skin had felt under his hands, the breathy, satisfied noise he'd made at Erik's touch. Erik wants to wrench more of those noises out of Charles, knows he'd sound so pretty stretched around Erik's cock.

Erik closes his eyes and clears his mind—he refuses to jerk off in his room like a creep while Charles is in the next room over. It's just… he hasn't felt more than a perfunctory erection in—years, really. God, Emma was right about his sad life. And clearly, Charles knows exactly what he's doing to Erik, though it's surely just a lark.

Thinking about Emma mocking him for this very situation quickly takes care of his erection, and a few minutes later he hears the kids return, grumbling loudly about how the garage sale had nothing but DVDs and self-help books.

Thankfully, Charles was nearly done with his tutoring, and Erik manages to keep himself busy for a couple hours until he leaves. He does some laundry, takes a walk with Lorna, and makes a couple distracted chess moves. Charles seems completely unbothered by his avoidance, content to chat with Wanda about Shakespeare during his breaks. When Erik meets his eyes, he just smirks.

Erik can't help but feel relieved with Charles leaves, until he sees that he's been checkmated, and there's a slip of paper folded under his king with a phone number and the words: In case you'd like to chat about Peter's progress—or anything else.

On Sunday, Erik drags Wanda out with him, leaving Peter and Lorna at the apartment. He takes her to a local cafe; a nice, quiet spot he goes to sometimes when he gets a little stir crazy alone in his apartment. She stops pouting quite so much when she sees the expansive selection of coffee beverages. She picks a sugary sweet mocha with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. Watching his daughter—who tries very much to be all grown up, at the big age of fifteen—happily sip a glorified hot chocolate tugs at Erik's heart.

"Wanda," he starts, "I wanted to talk to you about what you said last time you were over. About drama club."

Wanda stiffens and sets her cup down on the table hard. Some of the whipped cream sloshes over the edge and drips down. "What about it?" She says, annoyed.

"I'm just—I'm sad to see you quit something you liked so much." Erik says. Wanda shrugs noncommittally. "Is… everything okay with your friends?"

Wanda's eyes snap up to meet his, and while she may have Magda's beautiful brown eyes, the burning intensity within them is all Erik. "Mom told you," she says, sounding betrayed.

Erik sighs. He hadn't wanted to involve Magda, but Wanda's too smart to think otherwise. "We're just worried about you," he says honestly.

"Don't be," Wanda mutters. "I'm fine."

"Schatz…"

Wanda's eyes soften at the pet name. She stirs her drink with a spoon, staring at it forlornly. They sit in silence for a few minutes as Erik gives her time to weigh her words. Wanda's certainly his only child that could ever sit in a comfortable silence, he thinks appreciatively.

"Dad," Wanda says quietly, sounding terribly young, “were you ever… scared of your powers?"

Erik's heart sinks. He's so tired of Emma being right about everything.

The truth is—no. He's never been afraid of his powers. In the small German town he'd grown up in, he was the only mutant—as far as he knew, at least—but his parents had never pushed him to hide his powers. Instead, they'd readily embraced his mutation and encouraged him to accept himself entirely, even happily supporting his move to the United States when he'd brought up the idea, eager to meet other mutants.

But he knows that those with psionic powers receive far more discrimination than other mutants, from both humans and mutants alike. Until Wanda—and now Charles—Emma had been the only telepath Erik knew, and she's always been impervious to all intolerance, rolling her eyes and mocking anyone who dared to disparage her for her powers.

Erik's daughter is a far cry from tough-as-diamonds Emma Frost. Wanda may try to present herself as unbothered and aloof, but she's still the little girl that cried so hard at the Lion King that he and Magda had to turn the movie off and make up a story about the dad reuniting with his son at the end.

Wanda sighs dejectedly, "Who am I kidding? Of course you've never been scared of them."

"No, I haven't been," Erik admits. "But your powers are different than mine, Wanda."

"Yeah, I know. Lorna's the one who got your powers." Wanda says bitterly.

"That's not what I mean. I'm just trying to say that it's okay to react different to your powers than I did to mine, or Lorna and Peter do to theirs," Erik says.

Wanda stares at her drink, watching the whipped cream melt into it.

"Maybe you'd find it helpful to learn more about them. We could try counseling—"

"No," Wanda says emphatically, "I'm not a freak."

"Of course you're not," Erik says. "Who—Did someone say that you were?"

She doesn't reply. Her friends, Erik realizes with a pang. He hates that he can't protect her sensitive heart from all of the bullshit that the world is going to throw at her for being a mutant.

"Okay," Erik says. "You don't have to go to counseling if you don't want to. But I don't want you dealing with this stuff by yourself. You can always talk to me or your mom, you know."

Wanda rolls her eyes. "Mom's a baseline. She doesn't get it."

"There's nothing wrong with being baseline." Erik might not think much of baseline humans in general, finding them to be close-minded and cruel towards mutants most of the time, but he's always tried to keep those beliefs to himself, so the kids never thought less of Magda for not having powers. But… Wanda is right—as accepting and sympathetic as Magda is, she doesn't fully understand what it's like to be a mutant. "You can talk to me," he says.

Wanda sighs and stares into her coffee again. She's barely touched it. Erik feels bad for ambushing her when she'd been excited about her drink.

"You can talk to me or your mom, you know. But I understand that you might not want to, for whatever reason. That's okay." Erik says, even though it hurts him to think that Wanda doesn't feel like she can come to him about mutant stuff. "You have to talk to someone, though. Would you be up for talking to your Aunt Emma about it?"

Wanda looks up with interest. She's always idolized Emma. "That might be okay," she says. "If she's not too busy."

"You know she'll make time for you." Emma is exceedingly busy, but she loves the kids. Erik has no doubt that she'd be willing to give Wanda a call.

"Okay," Wanda says, with a small smile.

Erik breathes out, relieved that he's managed to navigate this conversation in a way that didn't end with Wanda storming out. He gestures to her drink, "Is that cold now? Want to get another one?"

"Can I get a piece of cake, too?" Wanda asks slyly.

"Just don't tell your sister," Erik says.

Wanda beams at him.

Erik fills Magda in on the situation with Wanda the next time they talk on the phone. He'd wanted to catch her Sunday evening when he dropped the kids off, but she texted him saying she was in the middle of a cleaning project and to just have the kids let themselves in.

"Why wouldn't Wanda tell me about that?" Magda frets.

Maybe, Erik thinks but doesn't say, if Magda had told him about Wanda's issues with her friends they could have resolved this already. Instead, he repeats her logic, "She's just a private person."

Magda sighs. "Well, thanks for getting to the root of the problem. Should we find a mutation counselor for her?"

"Not yet," Erik says. "I asked her about that, and she was just opposed to it as she was the first time we brought it up."

"But we're her parents," Magda says. "It's up to us to make the right call for her, even if she doesn't like it."

Erik thinks this is a little rich, coming from the woman who says Peter's "best" is below a C average. "Let's just try it her way for now," Erik says. "Emma agreed to give her a call sometime this week."

Magda snorts derisively, "What's Emma going to do? Make her a drink and tell her to toughen up? Tell her about all the times she mind-whammied someone into peeing their pants because they were mean to her?"

Erik's long since learned how to ignore Magda's pointed commentary about Emma. "Emma's been dealing with being a telepath her whole life. She can certainly relate to Wanda more than either of us can."

Magda's quiet.

"And you know she loves the kids," Erik says.

"I know," Magda says finally. "I just hate that she can do something for Wanda that I can't."

"Trust me. You can do a lot of things that Emma can't."

"Like have feelings?" Magda says pettily.

Erik laughs, "Yes."

Magda laughs too, and Erik feels a swell of warmth at the sound. He can't remember the last time they've laughed together.

Chapter Text

The next time Erik picks the kids up, Magda is busy again, so he waits in the car and tugs at Lorna's necklace to let her know he's arrived. Sure enough, ten minutes later, Wanda, Peter, and Lorna pile into his car.

Wanda's in a terrible mood, and doesn't say a word to anyone. She has earphones in and she's listening to music so loudly that it takes everything in Erik not to tell her she could hurt her hearing—which makes him feel like he's a million years old. He'd been hoping to ask her how her chat with Emma went, but… he supposes this might be the answer.

"How's your mom doing?" Erik asks Peter and Lorna helplessly. It's strange not to see Magda at all when he comes to pick them up. He knew they'd be seeing less of each other after the divorce, but… sometimes it feels like Magda avoids him. "She's been pretty busy, huh?"

Peter shrugs, "Not really. Just the same old shit." Lorna giggles in the backseat.

"Language," Erik warns, shooting him a look.

The rest of the evening is low-key, although Lorna's brought a board game to play. Erik and Peter play with her, but it's mostly Erik reading the directions and trying to relay them to a hyperactive teenager and an eight-year-old. It's not great.

Eventually, Peter leaves to play video games, and Lorna makes up her own rules to the board game. Wanda sulks in her room with the door closed all night.

Saturday morning, he can feel her moving around by the metal in her earrings. He knocks on the door. "I know you're awake," he says. "Can I come in?"

There's a pause before the door flies open a little too suddenly to reveal Wanda curled up on her bed, scowling at him. "What?" She's got a book open in front of her.

He comes in the room and closes the door behind him quietly. "I just wanted to check on you."

"Here I am," Wanda mutters.

Erik sits on her bed and looks around. The room is stark and impersonal, nothing like the way he remembers her room looking at home. It looks closer to a hotel room than a teenage girl's room, all impersonal and neutral colors, like the rest of his apartment. Wanda's overnight bag lays on the floor. She hasn't even bothered to unpack.

"Did you talk with your Aunt Emma?" Erik asks. Emma had told him she'd call Wanda last weekend, but he hasn't spoken to her since.

Wanda doesn't answer him. Erik waits a couple minutes, and when she still stays quiet, he sighs and says, "Look. I'm not the telepath here. I can't help you if you don't talk to me, kid."

"No one asked for your help," Wanda says, like she'd been waiting to say it.

"Well, you clearly need it," Erik says.

"What do you know?" Wanda snaps. "You're not even around. You only make us come to your place every other weekend just to feel better about leaving."

Erik feels like he's been slapped. It's not the first time Wanda has said something like that to him, but he thought they'd been making progress. "Watch how you speak to me," he says harshly. "I'm still your father." He leaves her room before the conversation can devolve further.

He goes for a long run, banging on Peter's door before he leaves to yell, "Watch your sister while I'm out!"

When he returns, Lorna and Peter are playing the board game from the night before, seemingly with Lorna's made-up rules. Erik makes them bacon and eggs for breakfast, and Peter takes a plate to Wanda, who still hasn't left her room.

Erik's still in a bad mood when Charles arrives. "Peter, stop playing around," he snaps.

Lorna pouts, "Aw, Dad. I was about to win. Can we play for ten more minutes?" Her eyes are green and huge and pleading.

Charles grins and says, "I don't mind. I could use some tea." His eyes are blue and equally huge. Erik can't look at them for too long.

Erik lasts for about five seconds before grumbling, "Five minutes." She cheers and they turn back to their game.

Charles follows Erik to the kitchen. "So, how have you been?" he asks, eyes following Erik's hands as he fills up the kettle.

Erik is suddenly reminded that the last time he'd been alone with Charles, he'd given him an ill-advised neck massage and ended up popping a boner. "Fine," he says carefully. Politely. "How about you?" He pours himself a cup of coffee.

"Oh, I've been great," Charles says brightly. "I've been having some neck pain, as you may remember."

Great. Charles is also thinking about that. Erik takes a careful sip of his coffee and nods.

"So my best friend dragged me to yoga with her this week," he goes on. "I honestly didn't expect much, but it helped me quite a bit."

"Oh, yeah?" Erik says. Magda used to do yoga. Lorna shrieks with laughter from the living room.

Charles comes close, opening the cabinet and stretching past Erik to get his tea. "Yes—there was one position in particular. What was it called…" He frowns and taps a finger on his chin thoughtfully, "doggy style?"

Erik inhales sharply, and he's again thankful for his don't-drink-while-Charles-is-talking rule.

"Yes, that's it." Charles leans closer and lowers his voice, "It feels so good. What's your favorite position?"

Erik blinks at Charles, mind completely void of anything remotely appropriate to say. Don't think about bending Charles over and fucking him, he tells himself, because that's wildly inappropriate. Instead, he tries to think of what yoga position that could mean, but then he thinks of Charles, in form-fitting pants that cling to his round, perfect ass, bent over and—then he's back to the fucking-him part. His dick is extremely interested in the idea.

The longer the silence stretches on, the more Erik is aware that he needs to say something, and the more Charles looks like the cat that got the cream. Erik's trying not to stare at his lips, but they're so red and distracting, and—they're opening again.

"Maybe we could try a couple—"

"Daddy! I won!" Lorna yells, interrupting whatever indecent thing was about to come out of Charles' mouth next.

Thank god. Erik's going to buy her a pony.

"Ah," Charles says, not looking even a little put out. "Rain check?" He doesn't wait for a reply before getting back to preparing his tea, looking supremely satisfied with himself.

Erik excuses himself to his room so he can calm down and stop thinking about Charles in unrealistically tight yoga pants. Clearly, Charles is not giving up on his quest to… fuck Erik, or perhaps just fuck with him. If it's the latter, he's already succeeded. If it's the former, well… he's giving it serious consideration.

He'll talk to Charles before he leaves today, he decides. Something's got to give.

That doesn't mean that Erik has to spend all day dodging Charles' advances until then, though.

When Erik asks Lorna if she wants to go to the farmer's market to pick up ingredients for a late lunch, she agrees as excitedly as he knew she would. She loves the farmer's market. They don't go often, because she likes to look at practically every booth, and he usually finds himself buying something for her at most of them.

At least in this case, it's a win-win—Lorna gets to shop to her heart's desire, and Erik gets a break from Charles and his sparkling eyes and his quirked lips and his constantly amused, lilting voice.

One of the booths has jewelry supplies, and Lorna sees some very pretty glass beads that make her eyes huge and round. Erik tells Lorna he'll buy her one bag of beads, so they spend fifteen minutes carefully looking through them to pick the best colors. When Erik goes to pay, the woman working the booth tells him he's a wonderful dad, and lets him get a second bag for free. Ten minutes later, they finally make it out.

Erik picks up some fresh produce and chicken that he'll make into a stir fry when they get home, and Lorna talks him into buying a large tray of iced cinnamon rolls for breakfast tomorrow in exchange for eating an extra serving of broccoli at dinner. He gets them out of there before she can get him to buy anything else unnecessary.

Lorna's over the moon with her new bracelet supplies, and when they get home, she makes everyone stop what they're doing to give them adequate appreciation.

"These are beautiful, Lorna. This green is a perfect match for your hair." Charles holds a green bead up to his eye and squints at Lorna, smiling.

"Really?" Lorna says excitedly, and she grabs the bead from Charles and runs to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror.

"Who's Lucy?" Peter grabs the receipt and whistles, "Damn, Dad. You got rizz." Erik has no idea what that means. Charles shoots Peter an amused look.

"Language," Erik warns. "Give me that." He grabs the receipt and sure enough, there's a phone number written in big, round numbers, signed with the name Lucy. "She was the woman selling the beads. Lorna was just—making me look good. That's all." He crumples up the receipt.

"Mm, yes." Charles teases, "I'm sure that's it."

Erik flushes. "Lunch will ready in thirty minutes," he says gruffly, and excuses himself to the kitchen. He hears Charles say something in a low voice, and Wanda and Peter laugh.

Erik declines to eat lunch with everyone, instead eating in the kitchen while he does some meal prep for the rest of the weekend for the kids. He also packs up some stir fry for Charles to take home. After the last study block of the day, Lorna pleads with Erik to let them eat the cinnamon rolls before Charles goes home. Charles is amenable to the idea, so Erik agrees, thinking this was perhaps her plan all along. The kids go on a walk while he warms them up in the oven.

"Are you done avoiding me, now?" Charles says, joining him in the kitchen.

"I wasn't avoiding you," Erik lies. Not anymore, at least.

"Right," Charles says lightly. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, earlier."

"You didn't," Erik lies again. "I just—had something to do in my room. Urgently. Away from the crazy British man who keeps hitting on me."

Charles laughs, "Oh, good. I'd hate to think my advances were going unnoticed."

"I don't think that's possible," Erik says wryly.

"So," Charles says, coming closer to Erik, "does that mean you'll go out with me sometime?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Erik says.

"Why not?" Charles says, sounding genuinely puzzled. "You're very attracted to me."

Erik snorts. Charles is the most confident person he's ever met.

Charles pouts, "Don't tell me you'd rather take Lucy out."

"Who?" Erik says, only half-joking. He really had already forgotten about that.

Charles smirks, "So what's the problem?"

"I don't know—it's weird, right? You're my kid's tutor."

Charles shrugs, "So? I'm committed to helping Peter. That won't change. I don't see why we can't also have some fun."

Erik considers this while he opens the oven and retrieves the cinnamon rolls with a wave of his hand, moving them to the counter to cool. Charles tracks the movement appreciatively.

"You're younger than me," Erik says finally, "by a fair amount." It sounds stupid when he says it. Charles is an adult capable of making his own decisions, and hadn't Erik told himself it was reasonable that Magda might be sleeping with him?

Charles sounds even more confused, "And?"

"And—" Erik struggles, "I don't know. This can't be—I'm not looking for a relationship."

Charles' confusion melts into smugness, clearly understanding that he's close to getting what he wants. "We're on the same page, then." He steps up the cinnamon rolls and swipes a finger through the icing. He brings it to his mouth and sucks on it, cheeks hollowing obscenely. Erik swallows, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight.

"You know," Charles says, pulling his finger out of his mouth with a lewd pop, "I like ice cream and cinnamon rolls as much as the next person, but if you ask me… I love a good cream pie."

Erik's first reaction is a hot lick of arousal straight to his cock, and then he fully processes what Charles has said. He bursts out laughing. Charles can only keep a straight face for a moment longer before he joins in. "You are, hands down, the most ridiculous person I have ever met," Erik says, wiping a tear from his eye. "I genuinely have no idea what to do with you."

Pleased, Charles steps up to Erik. "I can think of so many things you can do with me," he purrs.

"Do you have an off button?" Erik says, fighting down a smile.

Charles' grin widens, "Absolutely." He fists the collar of Erik's shirt and pulls him down to meet his lips. Erik hesitates for a moment before giving in—at the very least, this does seem like a good way to get Charles to stop spouting lines.

It's soft and chaste at first, like Charles is giving Erik a moment to catch up. Erik wraps an arm around Charles' waist and tugs him closer, and Charles feels so good, pressed against him like this. Charles makes a small noise of surprise, and Erik slips his tongue into his mouth, and then Charles takes over. He winds his arms around Erik's neck, deepening their kiss insistently, tongues pushing together eagerly in a wet, hot slide that tastes faintly of vanilla icing. Erik groans—he hadn't allowed himself to imagine kissing Charles like this, but even if he had, he would never have guessed it would be this good. Charles kisses like he can't get enough of him.

Mm, yes, he hears Charles in his head, and the realization that Charles is in his head is suddenly and dizzyingly hot. Erik loves it. The moment Erik has the thought, Charles moans loudly, and if Erik had thought the noise he'd made last time was sexy, it doesn't hold a candle to the desperate noise that just came out of Charles' sinful mouth.

Erik wrenches himself away, "Okay, that's—"

"Enough. Yes. Right." Charles says as they move apart. His lips are red and glossy with spit, and Erik has to close his eyes against an intense wave of arousal from the sight. He clears his throat.

"It turns out I'm very into older men," Charles says.

Erik rubs a hand down his face. "Go into the other room, please. I need a minute."

"Yes sir," Charles says, cheekily. Erik hates that his dick twitches at the words.

Erik busies himself making a pot of coffee to go with the cinnamon rolls, willing his semi to go down.

When the kids return, Erik tells Wanda she's welcome to the coffee to drink with her cinnamon roll. She avoids his gaze even as she accepts the offer. She drinks her coffee black, and cringes slightly every time she takes a sip.

The kids eat in the living room on the couch, watching a cartoon that they all like (although Wanda pretends she doesn't). Charles and Erik sit at the table in the adjoined dining room. Charles eats his cinnamon roll messily, and every time he catches Erik's eye, he has a new smear of icing on his lips to lick off.

"Do you need a napkin?" Erik asks, taking a sip of coffee to disguise his interest.

"No," Charles says blithely. He swipes his thumb along his lips, gathering icing before licking it off slowly, maintaining scorching eye contact with Erik the entire time.

Erik forces himself to look away.

Charles convinces Peter to study a little more after they're done eating while Erik cleans up. When they're done, Charles says politely, "Erik, could you walk me out? I had something I wanted to talk to you about."

Peter is already in his room, playing a game on some handheld device. Erik can hear Lorna in there with him, cheering him on and asking questions as he plays. Wanda's on the couch reading.

"Sure," Erik says levelly. He grabs a light jacket on the way out. "I can't be gone long," he says as they make their way out of the building.

"I'm not going to attack you," Charles says, as if he hasn't been outrageously flirting with Erik for months. "I'm not an animal."

"I'm not entirely convinced of that," Erik mutters. Charles grins at him.

"Wanda asked me something earlier today," Charles says. They come to a stop by a nice car that evidently belongs to Charles. Being a professor must pay pretty well, Erik thinks. "She asked if I was going to be her new mum," Charles says seriously.

Erik spends two seconds frantically trying to make sense of that, until Charles cracks and he throws his head back, laughing. Erik laughs and shoves at him, and Charles catches his arm and pulls him close, amusement fading as he appreciates their new proximity.

It feels absurdly good to finally give in to his instincts and close the distance, Erik thinks. Charles tastes even better than he had earlier, and he makes a soft, eager noise that goes straight to Erik's dick, before kissing him back. Charles licks into his mouth hungrily, and Erik had thought he was satisfying a desire by kissing him, but the more he gets, the more he wants. He had forgotten what it's like to want someone with such ardor.

"I," Charles gasps, pulling away, "cannot believe I'm saying this, but I do actually have to talk to you about Wanda."

Right. It feels monumentally difficult to step away, but Erik does so, and he takes a moment to remind himself that his priority is actually not to have sex with an outrageously attractive man with an outrageously filthy mouth. He meets Charles' eyes and they share a heated, self-deprecating look.

Erik clears his throat, "What about her?"

"She asked if I could help her with her powers," Charles says.

"Oh," Erik says, surprised. Although maybe he shouldn't be. Wanda does seem to like Charles quite a bit, which is more than she likes basically everyone. And if her talk with Emma hadn't been helpful… well, Charles is the only other telepath they know.

"I told her it was up to her parents," Charles says. "I didn't want to agree to anything without your permission. But… personally, I don't mind. I'd be happy to."

"I'll have to talk to Magda," Erik says. "But are you sure? You're already doing us a huge favor with Peter."

Charles smiles, "Of course. I'm passionate about teaching and helping mutant children. And Wanda is a wonderful, sensitive girl. I remember what it was like, growing up as a telepath, and…" his face darkens momentarily, before clearing into his typical cheer, "if I can make that easier for her, I'd be happy to."

Erik can already see how Charles would be more helpful than Emma, with his natural empathy and kindness. "Okay. Let me talk to Magda about it," he says. "Would you be working with her on Saturdays, too?"

"That's what I was thinking. I'd figure I'd try working with her during Peter's breaks, but if that proves to be too short a time, maybe I'll stay a little later to work with her without interruptions." Charles says, as if promising more of his Saturday away is trivial.

Charles is so selfless, it probably is trivial to him, Erik thinks fondly. Honestly, he feels a bit put out at the thought of not getting to chat with Charles during Peter's breaks.

Charles grins widely, looking absurdly pleased, like he's caught the thought. He probably has, Erik thinks, but he can't bring himself to mind, when it makes Charles look at him like that.

"I suppose we'll just have to see each other outside of tutoring days," Charles says demurely. He steps up to Erik and tugs him close by his jacket. "I was thinking maybe next Saturday? You don't have the kids, right? We could go out for a bite, or perhaps just stay in…" He's only a few inches away from Erik's face, and Erik thinks he'd agree to just about anything in this position. Although it's hardly an imposition to agree to something like that.

Erik has plans with Emma, but he thinks she'll approve of him rescheduling for this. "Sounds good," he says, and kisses Charles. He keeps it short, before he gets carried away again. He needs to get back to the kids.

Erik decides to give Wanda the weekend to ask him about Charles. He'll bring it up himself if he has to, but he'd rather hear it from her first. She's been quiet and withdrawn all weekend, treating Erik with an embarrassed sullenness he recognizes all too well. She feels guilty for lashing out at him in her hurt, and doesn't know how to apologize.

When she still hasn't brought it up by Sunday afternoon, he asks her if she wants to go to the cafe again. They have an hour or so before he has to take them home. She looks surprised at first, and then resigned.

"I don't want to talk about my friends, or what happened with Aunt Emma," Wanda says in the car.

"No," Erik agrees, "I can see that. I'm sorry that she wasn't helpful. Your Aunt Emma…" he says, trying to find the words, "she's a badass. But when you're feeling down, she's not always the most sympathetic person."

That's putting it lightly. Emma doesn't have a caretaking bone in her body. When the twins were first born, she refused to be around them until they stopped posing a threat to her immaculate white wardrobe. With Lorna, she only relented because she didn't want to stay away from the twins, though Erik had seen her throw a few besotted looks Lorna's way, when she was just a tiny thing with a shock of green hair.

Wanda snorts in agreement, and that's probably as close to an answer as he'll get. Erik will ask Emma the next time he talks to her.

"You know," Erik says as they walk into the cafe, "when I was your age, I accidentally ripped the glasses off of this girl I had a crush on. They stuck to my hand and I couldn't get them unstuck for hours. It was so embarrassing." It had been, too. What Erik doesn't say is that by the time he got them unstuck, the girl had come around to thinking it was cute. She was his first girlfriend.

Wanda gives him a complicated look and orders her drink. They sit down and Erik says, "Remember the time Peter got so excited about the new Mario game that he forgot to put pants on before running to the store?"

He'd saved up his allowance for months—a truly incredible feat for him—and the day the game came out, he went to the store first thing in the morning. He was only ten at the time, and he'd come home mortified and sniffling, but clutching the game nonetheless. He cheered up completely after playing for five minutes. Which was good, because Magda and Erik had to go to their bedroom to laugh until they cried, picturing Peter in his whitey tighties, holding a sandwich baggie of loose change and dollar bills, determined to buy the game.

We're terrible parents, Magda had said, wiping at her eyes. Then they had yet another conversation with Peter about not going places without them, though that one actually stuck, after they promised solemnly to never let him leave the house in only his underpants (and then they went back to their room to laugh some more).

"I know what you're doing," Wanda says, rolling her eyes. "This is the part where you'd talk about Lorna doing something stupid with her powers, except she's perfect."

"She's eight," Erik says. "And you're both perfect."

Wanda accepts her drink miserably from the barista. She'd gone with some caramel monstrosity today, and a slice of tiramisu. Erik just got a cup of decaf tea, and tries not to think about how it tastes a bit like Charles' mouth.

Erik's learned his lesson from last time, and doesn't push Wanda anymore while she's enjoying her drink. He does, however, use his powers to hover a cake-laden fork by her mouth. When she begrudgingly goes to eat it, he nudges her nose with the cake instead, smearing it with mascarpone frosting.

"Dad!" She lets out a loud, startled laugh and snatches the fork from the air. She wipes her nose with a napkin, still looking at him in disbelief.

"You weren't eating it," Erik says with a shrug. "I thought you might need help."

Wanda scoffs and takes a bite of the cake finally. Instantly, she makes a face and then tries to pretend she didn't. She hurriedly sets the fork back down on the plate.

"You don't like it?" Erik laughs, though he thought that might be the case when she ordered it.

"It's too—" Wanda struggles for the word.

"Coffee-y?" Erik supplies dryly.

She sniffs. "It's just not my favorite." She pushes the plate closer to Erik, "You can have the rest."

He eats the cake mostly just to occupy himself—though really, it's quite good—and halfway through a bite, she says, "I was thinking—" and then falls silent.

Erik freezes, mouth full of cake. When she doesn't go on, he chews slowly and swallows, like a sudden movement might startle her. "You were thinking…" he says patiently.

She huffs and looks away, "Maybe Charles could help me."

"Charles?" Erik says, like he's never heard the name.

Wanda shoots him a fondly irritated look. "I just thought… because he's a telepath, like me. And he's nice. And not in a fake, annoying way."

"He is genuine," Erik agrees. "You'd be willing to talk with him?"

She shrugs, "Yeah. I guess so. If it gets you off my back."

Erik tries not to reward the comment with a snort. "I don't see why that would be an issue, but let me run it by your mom," he says.

"Okay. Thanks, Dad," she says quietly. Gratefully. She looks like a weight's been lifted from her shoulders.

When they get back to his place, Lorna looks at him and Wanda suspiciously. "Where were you?"

"At the dentist," Wanda deadpans right away, stepping past Lorna to go get her things together to go home.

"Told you," Peter says. He catches Erik's eye and grins. Lorna squints at them before leaving to do the same.

Erik's hit with a rush of affection for his son. "Thanks for watching your sister, Pete."

"No problem," Peter says. He hesitates, "Is everything okay?"

Erik puts an arm around his shoulders and squeezes. "I think it will be."

Chapter Text

Erik wakes up on Monday morning with an erection. He'd been having a pleasant dream. He doesn't remember the specifics, only that it'd included swaths of creamy, smooth skin, and a soft, accented voice.

It takes very little imagination to figure out where that had come from. Erik rolls his hips lazily against the mattress. It's not uncommon for him to wake up with morning wood, but usually he just waits it out. Today, though… he glances at the alarm clock. He's got a solid half hour before he has to get out of bed.

It's an easy decision to close his eyes, rock his hips, and think about Charles. The way he had tasted, like tea and something else, masculine and unique to him. He hasn't been with a man since he'd gotten together with Magda in his early twenties. It's been so long that it feels entirely new. Kissing Charles had been exciting, feeling the way his slim, flat body had pressed against his. The sturdiness of his thighs, the dip in his waist—more subtle than a woman but no less enticing.

Erik palms himself and rocks forward, teasing himself the way he imagines Charles would. Charles, the incorrigible flirt, always pinning him with those eyes. The way he'd sucked his finger into his mouth—god, Erik wants to fuck his mouth so badly. Wants to feed his cock into those perfect red lips and ruin his throat. He knows Charles would be good at sucking dick, would swallow him down until he gagged and his gorgeous eyes were filled with tears.

Erik licks his hand and grips himself again, letting his body weight create the friction as he rolls his hips in a slow, rocking motion. It's not as wet as he normally likes, but there's something hot and dirty about the impatient slide of his hand. He's so hard, imagining Charles underneath him, twisting back to look at him, panting his name in that posh fucking voice.

But Charles is so—he's a paradox, demanding and kind, imperious and gentle. He makes Erik's head spin. He'd moan like a perfect, submissive cock-slut under Erik one moment, and the next he'd straddle and ride him, commanding and haughty. Erik flips to his back and fucks up into his fist, picturing Charles above him, infuriating and beautiful. He looks amazing naked, Erik just knows. He's mapped out Charles' body enough times with his clothes on to picture it. He probably has pink, perfect nipples—Erik wonders if they're sensitive.

Erik groans and uses his thumb to swipe at the precome beading on the tip of his cock, spreads it down his shaft and imagines it's Charles touching him. Getting his cock just slick enough so Charles can slide it into his ass, too impatient and slutty to wait for proper lubrication, too greedy to adjust to the feeling of Erik inside him. He'd start bouncing on Erik's cock right away, until his pretty mouth made that hot, desperate noise again as he came, untouched and striping Erik's chest.

Erik comes into his fist and pretends it's Charles that he's pumping into. It's the best orgasm he's had in ages.

He melts onto the bed, feeling completely and utterly relaxed. He fights the urge to laugh, just from pure giddiness—god, who even is he? He doesn't remember the last time he'd masturbated just for the hell of it. Just because he can't get someone out of his mind.

Erik cannot wait for this weekend.

"You sound positively cheerful," Emma accuses Erik, when he calls her to ask about Wanda and to cancel his plans with her that upcoming weekend. She gasps, "Did something happen with your child bride?"

"Shut up," Erik groans. "He's not that young."

"Something did happen," Emma says approvingly.

Erik sighs, because he knows he's going to have to give her details in order to get away with canceling their dinner this weekend. "Perhaps," he says, because she still enjoys dragging it out of him.

"What a delightful change of pace for you," Emma purrs. "Did you fuck him? Did he fuck you? Wait, don't tell me—he used his telepathy to fuck you while you fucked him."

"Jesus, I think you're the one that needs to—wait, is that a thing?" Erik says, brain catching up with her words.

Emma cackles.

"Aren't you at work?" Erik says, face feeling hot. He makes a mental note to ask Charles about that sometime.

"I'm the boss. I can talk about whatever I like, as loudly as I like."

"That is categorically untrue," Erik says.

"Enough stalling. Tell me," Emma says impatiently.

"Well, after that, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed," Erik says. "We just kissed." It sounds elementary when he says it like that, but it had been a pretty spectacular kiss. He can't remember the last time he'd felt that way just from kissing someone.

Emma makes a disappointed noise.

"But," Erik says, "he asked if I'm free Saturday." He smiles just thinking about it.

"Ah," Emma says knowingly, "I see." She heaves a long-suffering sigh, "I suppose I could make time for you on Sunday, instead."

"Thank you, Em," Erik says. She is actually quite busy, so he does appreciate it.

"I expect full details," she says.

"Probably not," Erik says.

She makes a sound that may or may not indicate she'll be taking a peek to see anyway. Erik opts to ignore that. Something he's learned with Emma is that there are truly very few secrets around a telepath—and frankly, he doesn't mind. He believes in honesty and standing by your decisions. He's known Emma far too long to have any real secrets from her, anyway.

That handled, it's time to get to the other reason he called.

"So, I spoke to Wanda," Erik redirects. He also knows her well enough to know that she's probably feeling a little sensitive about their conversation, if it went as poorly as Wanda had implied.

Emma clicks her tongue and doesn't say anything.

"I think she's going to be working with Charles," Erik says, "to help understand her powers."

"Well, isn't he just full service," Emma snips. "There's a reason I don't have kids myself, you know. I'm not… good with all the messiness. And god—teenagers make no sense. One minute she was ranting and then she was crying, ugh."

Erik feels for Emma, he does. It is through sheer adoration of his kids that he handles their messy teenage emotions. Still, he can't help but tease her. "It's not so easy, is it?"

"I never said it was easy," Emma snaps. "I'll stick to my aunt duties, thank you. Let me know when she needs someone to buy her booze or birth control."

Erik frowns. He hopes they're a long way out from that.

"So, Charles again?" Emma says. "You think he'll be able to help her?"

Erik thinks about Charles—about how patient he is with Peter, about the way he chats effortlessly with Wanda about her English homework. He's nice, not in a fake, annoying way, Wanda had said. She's right. Lorna likes him too. Charles seems to fit right into Erik's family, unrepentant flirting aside. And that… Erik doesn't mind all that much, either.

"I think so. I still have to talk to Magda about it."

"Are you going to tell her you're going out with him?" Emma asks.

"No," Erik says immediately. "It's not—it's not serious, anyway."

Emma hums, "Do you think she'd care?"

"About what, me seeing someone?" Erik says. "No, I don't see why she would. She's been avoiding me for a month."

"Really?" Emma says, "The super-cordial no-hard-feelings divorce thing is finally exploding?"

Erik doesn't know about exploding so much as… quietly dying, it seems. "I don't know. Maybe she's seeing someone." She had mentioned having plans a while ago, hadn't she? The thought is relieving to Erik. He wouldn't have to feel bad about seeing Charles at all, in that case.

"Right," Emma says dismissively, like it's not even a possibility. And it certainly is, Erik thinks—Magda is a beautiful and eligible woman. Anyone would be lucky to date her. Erik will ask her, he decides, the next time they talk.

"Am I what?" Magda says, incredulously. "What on earth gave you that idea?"

Okay, maybe not, Erik amends. He doesn't think it was that preposterous an idea. "I don't know, you said you—you had plans a while ago! And you've been…" he trails off. He's been pretty off-base so far. Maybe he should rethink his next words.

"I've been what," Magda says, annoyed.

"Avoiding me," Erik decides to say anyway, because she has been. "So I just thought… maybe you were seeing someone."

Magda sighs, "I'm not seeing anyone. But I have been avoiding you."

It stings a bit, even though Erik had known it.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I just—I need some space, okay?" Magda says, contritely. "Now that things have settled down a bit, I just need to figure some things out."

"Yeah, I get that," Erik says. He doesn't. Frankly, now that things are settled down from their divorce, he'd like to focus on the co in co-parenting more than ever. But he loves Magda, and if she needs something from him, he wants to try and give it to her. "Take all the space you need."

"Thank you," Magda says gratefully.

"I just called to talk about Wanda," Erik says.

"After asking me if I was seeing anyone."

"Right."

Magda snorts. Erik says, "Wanda told me she'd like to start chatting with Charles about her powers."

"Oh," Magda says, surprised. "That… could work. He's got to be more suited to helping her than Emma."

Erik laughs, "She was a bit out of her depth with Wanda's hormones, I think."

"Aren't we all," Magda intones. They are, Erik thinks fondly. He'd take her messy emotions over her being as grown as she'd like to be any day.

"So you think that would be okay, with Charles?" Erik says. Wanda had seemed so relieved by the prospect, he just wants to make sure she's getting the support she needs.

"Honestly, I think it's a great idea. It will be good for her to talk to another telepath around the same age as her."

"What?" Erik says. That doesn't make sense.

"Well, not the same age, but certainly much closer than Emma," Magda says.

"Right," Erik says. "He's still—quite a bit older than her. Not to mention more mature. He's a professor."

"He's a TA," Magda corrects.

Erik freezes. That's—unexpected. Hadn't Magda said he was a professor?

"He is getting his PhD though," she adds.

Erik does some mental math. "So he's—what, twenty… eight? Six?"

"Twenty-two. He was some kid genius who graduated early…" Magda goes on, but Erik's not listening.

Charles is twenty-two.

He's twenty years younger than Erik. He's only seven years older than Erik's children. He could be Erik's child.

"That's way too young," Erik says, horrified. Erik had kissed him, had made him moan and thought about fucking him. Just the other morning, he'd masturbated—

Erik feels sick.

Magda is saying, "…to worry about—"

"What?" Erik says. His mind is still racing, frantically trying to recontextualize every encounter he's ever had with Charles.

"I mean, if you're so bothered by it, maybe we shouldn't—"

"No, I just—what did you say? I didn't hear you," Erik says.

She pauses, and Erik realizes how stupid that sounds. "I was just saying that I don't think we have to worry about Wanda and Charles. Do you think we have to?"

"What about them?" Erik says, bewildered.

"That he'd—take advantage of her, or something. I know they're pretty close in age, but he's a good guy. He wouldn't do that." Magda sounds concerned now, "Are you okay? You sound freaked out."

"Right," Erik says, faintly. "Of course he wouldn't."

"Erik?" Magda says, increasingly confused.

"I have to go," Erik says. "There's um. A car accident."

"What? You're driv—"

Erik hangs up before she can finish her sentence.

"Twenty-two?" Emma crows, laughing the hardest he's literally ever seen her laugh. People are starting to stare.

"Stop." Erik covers his face. "It's not funny."

Emma tries to collect herself, taking deep breaths that dissolve into laughter every time she gets close to stopping. "It's so funny," she says between giggles.

Erik is actually distressed about this. "Emma, can you take this—" She bursts into laughter again, tears streaming down her face. "You're a shit friend," he snaps.

"Oh," Emma says, sobering up a bit, though her lips keep twitching. "You're actually upset. Okay."

"I feel like that goes without saying," Erik says sourly. They're ten minutes into their lunch date and she's been laughing for five of them. "He's a child."

"He really is your child bride," Emma whispers gleefully, mostly to herself.

Erik's lips thin. "Emma."

"Oh, lighten up, Erik," she says. "It's not that big of a deal. You said yourself it wasn't serious. Honestly, I say you should still go for it."

"What?" Erik cries. "That's disgusting. He's—he's a kid. God, I'm a predator."

Emma rolls her eyes, "Don't be a prude. He's an adult. And frankly, with everything you've told me about him, I think you're pretty clearly the prey."

Erik buries his head in his hands again and groans.

"Wait—didn't you have plans with him yesterday?" Emma says.

Erik's stomach turns. "I canceled."

"You called him? Did you talk about—"

"I texted." It had been warranted, but he still feels guilty about it. Charles had replied kindly, simply asking when they could reschedule. Erik hadn't replied.

Emma laughs in disbelief, "You're so chickenshit, Erik Lehnsherr. My god. This kid has you terrified."

Erik can't even argue with her. He didn't think he could handle hearing Charles' pleasant, attractive voice over the phone. He's twenty-two. "What do I do?" he says helplessly.

"I told you. You should fuck him," Emma says simply. "Honestly, who cares? Like you're the first middle-aged guy to have sex with a hot twenty-something-year-old."

"But those guys are gross," Erik says. "I'm not going to take advantage of him." A terrible thought occurs to him. "What if he stops working with the kids because of this?"

"Somehow I doubt that's going to be the case. If you're worried about it though, you know what to do," she smirks deviously.

"Why are you encouraging this so much?" Erik complains, swirling the whiskey around in his glass.

"Are you kidding? This is amazing," Emma says. "You've been so fun since you've met him. Honestly… I haven't seen you this worked up about anything in years. You got divorced, and that was just like, one big inconvenience to you."

"That's not true," Erik frowns. Getting divorced sucked—he hardly gets to see his kids. And he'd had to move from his nice house into a shitty apartment. And he hardly talks to Magda, now. Although… maybe that last point should be the first thing he thinks of, and maybe it should hurt a lot more than it does.

Emma gives him a sad smile, "I just thought it was nice that you were getting out of your funk. That's all."

I'm not in a funk, Erik wants to say. But he can't even lie to himself, let alone to his scarily shrewd, telepathic best friend. Truthfully, his life has been… pretty nondescript for a while, now.

He works and he kills time until he can see his kids. He exercises, and reads, and watches TV he doesn't really care about that much. He's gotten depressingly good at cooking for one person. He sees Emma every weekend that he doesn't have the kids, but that's pretty much the extent of his social life.

He hadn't any interest in dating, even casually. Until Charles.

But that was a mistake. He'd made an incorrect—but understandable, he'd like to argue—assumption, and now that he knows, he'll course correct.

Simple.

For all of Magda's talk about needing space, when Erik pulls up to the house to pick up the kids, she opens the door and waves him in. His stomach drops—surely this isn't about Charles, right? He hasn't spoken to her since he found out about Charles' age. If she found out that he—god, Erik can't even think about it.

"Hey," he says uncertainly. The kids aren't even downstairs yet. "Everything okay?"

"Great! The twins got their progress reports this week," Magda says excitedly.

Erik could cry with relief. "Oh. How'd it go?"

Magda smiles widely, "Peter got a C in algebra, and a B-minus in biology!"

"What?" Erik says, stunned. "That's—"

"Amazing, right?" Magda finishes. She tugs on Erik's arm like a little kid.

"Yeah," Erik says. It is amazing. He genuinely cannot remember the last time Peter got above a C in anything other than gym.

"Charles is a miracle worker," Magda enthuses. "If he can help Wanda too, we might have to adopt him."

Erik makes a loud, panicked noise that he meant to be a laugh, but just sounds like a drawn-out cry for help. Magda looks at him in alarm.

"Daddy's here!" Lorna gasps from the stairs, saving him as always.

"Hey Loo," Erik says. He's absurdly glad to see her. She runs into his arms and hugs him.

"Wanda! Petey! Dad's here!" Lorna shouts, right into Erik's ear. He winces, and Magda laughs. The twins come down the stairs, both appearing to be in high spirits.

"I heard about your progress report," Erik says, pulling Peter in for a hug. "Great job."

"Thanks," Peter says awkwardly. He's not used to saying that to him, Erik realizes.

He clears his throat and steps away. "Wanda, how did yours go?"

"Good. Not as good as Peter's, of course," she rolls her eyes but she's smiling at her brother.

Peter clasps his hands together and stretches them, bouncing on his heels. "The trick is you gotta get bad grades first. Then everyone gets excited when you get straight C's." He shakes his head at her, "And they say you're the smart one." Wanda scoffs and swats at him. He returns it right away, and then they're laughing and pushing each other.

Erik feels overcome with emotion—between Magda's temporary truce, Peter's improved grades, and Wanda's good mood, this is the most whole his family has felt in years. Magda must feel similarly, because she rubs his arm and squeezes it, freely offering another smile when he looks at her.

A small, melancholy sigh sounds out beside them.

"Oh, what's wrong, Loo?" Erik says, when he notices her pouting.

"I got my progress report too," she says.

Erik and Magda exchange an amused glance. "And how did it go?" Erik asks. He kneels down and grabs her arms, swinging them back and forth until she's wiggling and fighting a smile.

"Miss D gave me an E for Excellent," Lorna says proudly.

"Wow, that's great!" Erik says.

"And she said I'm the life of the party, and very talkative," Lorna finishes.

"Oh," Erik says, swallowing his laughter. Magda hides her laugh behind a cough. "Well, that's very… perceptive of Miss D," he says. "You are the life of the party, indeed."

Lorna beams, "So can we make cookies this weekend?"

"Make them?" Erik says, taken aback. He likes to cook, but he's not really one for baking. "Can't I just buy them for you?"

"Please," Lorna begs. "Olivia made cookies with her dad last weekend and she said it was so fun."

If Erik is thinking of the right Olivia, he's pretty sure her dad runs a bakery. He seems to remember him bringing a very impressive array of baked goods to a bake sale a couple years back.

"Lorna's been thinking about it all week," Magda says pointedly.

Erik shrugs, "How could I say no?"

Erik's been practicing what he wants to say to Charles all week. You're too young, it's inappropriate, I'm not interested. Just like that. Polite, professional, and honest.

Charles is too young. It is inappropriate. And Erik is not interested.

And that's what he's going to tell him. Too young, inappropriate, not interested.

When Erik feels the familiar metal of Charles' watch coming up the stairs to his apartment, he opens the door before Charles can knock, and quickly closes it behind him. A lightning fast series of emotions flicker across Charles' face. First, he's surprised and pleased, features lighting up. Then his face creases in confusion before melting quickly into a scowl.

"For fuck's sake," he spits, looking extremely annoyed.

Erik blinks—he hasn't even said anything.

"I'm a telepath, moron," Charles snaps.

Erik fights the urge to laugh. He's never heard Charles sound this… rude. It's endearing, honestly.

Charles sighs and rubs at his head, "Sorry. I'm just—really, the age thing again? I thought we'd been over this."

"Well—I didn't know you were twenty-two," Erik whispers the last part, like someone might overhear him and take him to jail. He's a little surprised no one has, to be honest.

Charles gives him a highly exasperated look. "How old did you think I was?"

"I don't know—thirty? Maybe a little younger? I just—thought you had a baby face," Erik says.

"What's the difference between a little younger than thirty and twenty-two?" Charles says, crossing his arms.

"About seven years," Erik says. It is a big difference.

Charles scoffs. "I'm a PhD candidate and a telepath. I'm not your average twenty-two year old."

That's an understatement, Erik thinks. "Still, it's—I'm twenty years older than you. You should be dating guys your own age." Charles can clearly have anyone he wants—he's intelligent, and funny, and kind. He's gorgeous, and he knows it.

Charles smirks, and he steps closer to Erik, who steps back until his back hits the wall. Charles follows him until he's only a hair away from his chest. He reaches down and grabs Erik's hand, and brings it the side of his face. He lays his hand over Erik's, holding it there. Erik can feel the velvety apple of his cheek, the sharp line of his jaw. A paradox.

"Erik," Charles says, and his lips brush against Erik's thumb when he speaks, "I am very attracted to you. And I know you are to me. Why can't two consenting adults have some fun?" Charles says, so quietly it's almost a whisper. Erik rubs his thumb over Charles' bottom lip. The skin is plump and warm.

Then he remembers what he's doing, and who he's doing it with, and the age of the person he's doing it with. Erik rips his hand away and slides out from where Charles is essentially pinning him against the wall.

"I'm not—" he chokes out. He clears his throat, "I'm not interested."

Charles stares at him for a moment, before clicking his tongue, "Fine." He moves to open the door.

Erik blinks. That's it? "Wait," he blurts. Charles turns to him expectantly. "I just want to make sure that you're still—good to work with the kids."

A long, painful silence follows. Charles' eyes narrow, "Are you—asking if I'm still going to help your children, even though you're not going to sleep with me?"

Erik pauses. It sounds offensive when he says it like that.

"You are aware that I agreed to help Peter before I ever laid eyes on you? Surely, you don't think I decided to help Magda because I was looking for a sexual partner," Charles says, unimpressed.

"No. Of course not," Erik says. "But—you're doing us a favor with Peter. And now with Wanda. I'm just saying I could," he shrugs, "pay you, if you wanted. For your time. Now that… things have changed."

"Were you paying me in dick, before?" Charles asks brightly. "Is that what you're implying?"

"No!" Erik says, flushing. "Of course not. I was just—I'll just—stop."

Charles smiles sweetly, "Great." He lets himself into Erik's apartment. Erik stays out in the hallway for a minute, wondering how he always feels so out of his depth with someone a whopping twenty years his junior.

When Erik goes back inside, Charles and Peter are sitting at the table with Peter's textbook open in front of them. Charles is grinning down at a piece of paper. "You didn't tell me Peter got his progress report," he says to Erik, eyes holding none of their usual warmth.

"Yeah," Erik says. "We're very proud. And—thank you. For your work with Peter. We are very grateful to you." He sounds horribly awkward. Wanda's looking at him like he's grown a second head from her perch on the couch.

Charles stares at him blankly. Erik's face heats. He decides to cut his losses and goes to the kitchen.

Erik tugs on Lorna's necklace and starts writing a shopping list. "What kind of cookies do you want to make?" he asks her, when she shows up a minute later.

"Chocolate chip!" she says right away. Erik nods. That doesn't sound too bad. He can do that. "With gummy bears," Lorna adds.

"Gummy bears?" Erik says, alarmed. "I don't think you can bake those."

"You can," she insists. "Olivia's cookies had gummy bears in them."

Erik looks at her skeptically, but she just stares him down until he caves. "Fine. But only in half the batch." Lorna agrees easily, and Erik wonders how often she asks him things expecting to be negotiated down.

He looks up a cookie recipe and finds that they pretty much already have everything except for the chocolate chips—and now, the gummy bears.

Before they leave for the store, Erik asks if anyone else needs anything. He's half-expecting a thinly veiled innuendo from Charles, but Charles just smiles politely and shakes his head. The impersonal deference is jarring.

It's good, Erik thinks. It's what he wanted. His relationship with Charles should be—polite. Not flirty and rife with sexual tension. Certainly not intimate. In any case, it helps him relax a bit about the whole thing, knowing that Charles won't be pushing the issue.

When Erik and Lorna return from the store, Peter is sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing a handheld game. The apartment is quiet except for the tinny sounds coming from Peter's game.

Lorna takes the bags into the kitchen and starts unpacking them. Erik can hear telltale crinkling plastic as she undoubtedly gets into the gummy bears. He considers telling her not to eat them all, but frankly, he figures the less there are for the cookies, the better.

"Where's your sister?" Erik says.

Peter shrugs, not even glancing up from his game. Erik's about to ask again, less patiently this time, when he sees a note on the chessboard. Taking a walk with Wanda. Be back soon. — C

Erik stares at the note for a minute, impressed with the way Charles managed to sound so casual and so pissed off at the same time. He smiles to himself and wonders if he'll ever get used to Charles. He studies the chessboard and moves a knight, capturing a pawn.

Erik and Lorna get started on the cookies. "I bet you could use your powers to measure everything," Erik says, rattling the metal measuring cups and spoons. Her eyes light up with the challenge.

Measuring everything out with her powers is a slow, painstaking process. Erik could help her and make it go much faster, but he's inclined to leave her to it. It's good for her to build precision and stamina. He sips coffee and leans against the counter, watching her stick her tongue out in concentration and feeling like his heart might burst.

Charles and Wanda come into the kitchen, having returned from their walk a little bit ago.

"Oh, what do we have here?" Charles asks Lorna, skirting around her to fill up the kettle.

"We're making cookies!" Lorna says excitedly, looking over at Charles. The measuring cup she'd been scooping into the flour falls back into the bag with a thud, creating a comically large cloud of dust from the impact. Lorna freezes, face dusted with flour. "Oops," she says.

Charles laughs, "Are you using your powers to make them? That's marvelous, Miss Lorna. You know, where I grew up, we call them biscuits."

Lorna screws up her face. "Why? What do you call biscuits?" Charles looks stumped for a moment. Lorna shakes her head dismissively. "Let's just call them cookies."

Wanda looks over the ingredients with interest. Her nose wrinkles delicately, reminding Erik startlingly of Emma. "Why do you have gummy bears?"

"For the cookies," Lorna says, like this is obvious.

Wanda looks at Erik, bewildered. He just shrugs like, What can you do? "I made coffee, if you want some."

Wanda glances at Charles. "Actually, I was thinking I'd try tea today."

Charles nods approvingly, "I see you're developing some taste. None of that undignified bean-water nonsense."

"Oh yes," Erik says dryly. "Leaf-water is much more dignified."

Charles' lips twitch. "Precisely, Mr. Lehnsherr." His accent curls pleasingly around the name.

Erik blinks. He didn't know 'Mr. Lehnsherr' could sound like that.

Charles turns away to prepare his (and Wanda's) tea, but Erik sees the corner of his smile as he does. Erik stares for a moment too long before he remembers that he's not doing that anymore.

He clears his throat. "Okay Loo, let's try the flour again. Don't worry about the mess, we'll clean it up later."

Nearly a full hour later, the cookies are in the oven and Lorna is in the shower, washing off the impressive amount of ingredients she'd managed to cover herself in.

The longer she used her powers, the less precise her control had gotten. Erik was proud of how much she'd managed to do herself, but when she accidentally dumped far too much salt into the bowl, he took over for her. He got as much of the extra salt out as he could, and then he added extra chocolate chips to compensate.

Charles wanders back into the kitchen right when Erik is removing the baking tray from the oven. Erik sets it on the counter and holds a hand over it. When Charles gives him a curious look, he says, "I'm cooling the tray. Lorna will probably want to eat them right away."

Charles' eyes widen briefly before his expression flattens and he says coolly, "I see." He peers at the cookies with interest. "I have to say, those look better than I expected."

Erik is also surprised by how much the gummy bears held up in the oven—they're certainly a little melted, and they do perfectly good chocolate chip cookies a disservice, he maintains, but it's nothing like the burnt, blackened mess he'd been expecting. "Lorna will be thrilled," he says.

Right then, Lorna bounds back into the kitchen, hair wet and streaming down her back. She looks like a mermaid, Erik thinks affectionately. She gasps, "Can we eat them?!"

Erik snorts, "They should be good to eat."

"Guys, the cookies are ready!" Lorna shouts, much louder than the small apartment calls for.

Charles grins, "I was just telling your dad how wonderful your biscuits look. May I have one?"

"These are cookies," Lorna says.

"Of course," Charles says agreeably. "My apologies."

Lorna accepts this and says, "You can have one." She watches in clear anticipation as Charles picks a cookie from the tray.

Wanda and Peter make their way into the kitchen at the exact moment Charles takes a bite, which ends up being a miracle, because the way Charles' face spasms is absolutely not a flattering indictment of the taste. Lorna's too busy selecting a gummy bear cookie to notice. Peter takes one too, and Wanda takes a regular chocolate chip.

Charles blinks rapidly, schooling his face before Lorna turns to him for his review. He smiles at her, "I've never had a cookie quite like this, let me tell you. How wonderful."

Wanda wisely puts her cookie down and says, "I'm going to get some milk to go with mine. Anyone else?"

"Oh, yes please," Charles says quickly.

Lorna takes a giant bite of her cookie and instantly her face screws up and she spits it out. "It's salty!" she cries, looking up at Erik in dismay. Her eyes fill with tears, "I messed them all up!"

"It's okay, Loo," Erik says, startled by the intensity of her reaction. Lorna is not typically an easy crier. He tugs her into his arms and looks at the others, panicked.

Peter shoves the entire cookie in his mouth and grins around it, "I like it!"

Charles takes another bite, keeping his face admirably straight. "I do, too." He accepts a cup of milk from Wanda gratefully.

"No," Lorna says tearfully. "They're gross."

"They're not gross," Charles insists. "My favorite bakery makes sea salt chocolate chip cookies, and these taste just like those. A little better, even. Salty cookies are very fancy."

Lorna eyes him doubtfully. Erik takes a cookie too, "You know I don't like sweets all that much, so this is perfect." He takes a big bite and only then realizes he's grabbed a gummy-bear cookie. He fights the urge to grimace at the overwhelming salt flavor mixed with the chewy gummy texture. Lorna watches him carefully, and when he takes another bite her face starts to clear.

"They're really okay?" She says. Everyone makes some noise of assent. Wanda gamefully plucks the chocolate chips out of her cookie and eats them. Lorna smiles tentatively, "Do you think my friends at school would like them?"

There's a long pause. Charles says, "You know, actually Lorna, I would love to take these to my friends at school. Do you think I could? I would be happy to pay you for your baking services."

Lorna looks taken aback, but flattered. She frowns, "I don't know… I want to show Olivia I can make cookies with my dad, too."

Erik's heart clenches painfully, finally making sense of her overreaction. "We can—we can make more," he says. He exchanges a glance with Charles, "I don't think Olivia would appreciate the fanciness of this batch."

"Oh, certainly not," Charles says. "You would be doing me a huge favor, Lorna."

Lorna's eyes go wide and she says to Erik, "Really? We can make more?"

"Definitely," Erik says.

"Okay! Right now?" Lorna says excitedly.

"Maybe tomorrow?" Erik tries. He just did all the dishes and he still has to make lunch and dinner.

Lorna considers this. "Can we go to the store again and get more candy?"

They'll have to go back for more chocolate chips anyway, so Erik says, "Sure thing."

Lorna cheers. She still has tears drying on her face, but the crisis has been averted. Charles meets Erik's eyes, looking relieved. Erik returns the look, feeling like an asshole for thinking that Charles might not be willing to help with the kids anymore. It's so obvious that Charles is just a genuinely kind person—a very young person—who cares about helping mutant children. Erik's kids are lucky to have him around.

He holds Charles' gaze and does his best to project a mental, Thank you.

Charles looks startled at first, but then he smiles and looks away, cheeks pink. Don't mention it.

Chapter Text

"And then the blue shell chases whoever's in first place," Peter says.

Erik blinks, trying to follow everything. "You're in first place."

"Yep." Peter sounds nonchalant, almost bored, as his fingers fly over his controller. There's a ton of things happening on the screen, and music playing, and a constant jaunty spinning noise. Peter's eyes track everything lazily. His character spins out on-screen, and then a blue shell hits him. Erik expects him to make some indication of frustration, but instead his mouth just twitches into a smirk.

"Didn't you get hit?" Erik says.

"No," Lorna explains from her spot next to him on the couch, "he used a banana to stop the shell."

"What?"

Peter's character cruises across the finish line and he turns to Erik. "If you slip on a banana, you get one-point-five seconds of invincibility frames. If you see a blue shell coming, you can slip on a banana and time it so you're invincible when the shell hits you."

Erik understood none of that. "One-point-five seconds," he says. "That's a long time to you."

Peter grins, "Yep."

"Sometimes Petey forgets though," Lorna chimes in.

"I lose track of time," Peter admits.

"Peter's sense of time is completely different than our own," Charles says, walking out of the kitchen holding a cup of steaming tea. "It's fascinating. I can't begin to fathom it myself, and I have the benefit of having peeked into his mind."

"You've done that?" Erik asks.

"A bit. It gives me a headache. But it was certainly enlightening," Charles says. He slurps loudly from his tea and then sighs in satisfaction.

"Mama says slurping is rude," Lorna says, not disapprovingly.

"It certainly is," Charles agrees readily. "My mother always told me to never slurp tea. I make it a habit to disobey her as much as possible."

"Thanks, Charles. I really appreciate you being a good role model for my children," Erik says dryly.

"My apologies, Mr. Lehnsherr," Charles says sweetly. "I suppose I'm just still a child at heart." He blows on his tea, lips shaped into a perfect red 'o', eyes trained on Erik.

Erik looks away.

"Daddy, do you want to make bracelets? I want to use the pretty glass beads we got at the farmer's market." They'd been too busy baking cookies during Lorna's last visit to make bracelets. In the end they'd made two extra batches, because Lorna had wanted to add sprinkles to one batch, and Erik couldn't think of a good enough reason to say no.

"I do want to make bracelets," Erik says. "Should we invite your sister?"

Lorna rolls her eyes, "Wanda always says no."

"It's still nice to ask," Erik says. He nudges her little knee with his. Lorna opens her mouth to shout and Erik says, "Go to her room and ask her, please. No shouting." She gives him an exasperated look but does as he says.

"Peter, are you ready to get back to work?" Charles says.

"Yes Prof," Peter snaps off, and the dining room table shudders as he slides into his seat in the blink of an eye.

Charles lingers in the living room for a moment. "You should make a move." He nods toward the chess board. "I'm eager to get to the next game. I've got this one about wrapped up."

"Confident as ever, I see," Erik says, amused.

Charles smiles and goes to start his work with Peter. Erik takes a look at the chess board. Charles has indeed put him in a precarious spot. He considers his next move.

Lorna comes back into the room with her arms full of bracelet supplies. "Wanda said no," she says, with all the worldliness of someone clearly thinking I told you so. She drops the supplies unceremoniously onto the floor and settles herself in the middle of the mess. She pats the space next to her, "Sit!"

"Bossy," Erik remarks, but takes a seat next to her on the floor. Lorna tells him about her week at school while they make bracelets. Eventually, Wanda joins them in the living room to sip tea and watch one of those teen drama shows she likes. Erik's learned the shows are far too inappropriate to watch on the big TV where Lorna can see, but he lets Wanda use his laptop so she can still watch what she likes.

"You know," Erik says, "I bet your mom would like a bracelet with your new pretty beads for Mother's Day."

Lorna's eyes go wide, "Okay! I'm going to make her a rainbow bracelet."

"That sounds great," Erik says.

"Lorna told Mom about the lady who gave you her number," Wanda says, popping an earphone out.

"Really," Erik says blandly. He's curious about Magda's reaction—hopefully it was ambivalent, perhaps even positive—but he's not going to pump his kids for info.

"Are you gonna ask her out?" Wanda says.

Lorna looks up from where she'd been meticulously picking out a bead of every color. "Like a date?!" she says, panicked.

"What? No," Erik says, taken aback by Lorna's clear distress.

"Dad can date her if he wants to," Wanda says to Lorna. "That's what divorce means."

Lorna's face screws up in dismay.

"I don't want to," Erik says quickly. He's not lying, really. He'd been quite interested in dating Charles, but seeing how that's turned out… maybe it's a sign that he should wait until the kids are older. He shoots Wanda a look to tell her to stop antagonizing Lorna. Wanda rolls her eyes and goes back to her show.

Lorna works on her bracelet in uncharacteristic silence. Erik adds some bright blue glass beads to his.

"Loo, what did your friends think about your cookies?" he asks, tugging at her necklace. "You never told me." Lorna lights up and starts telling him about it, gloom easily forgotten.

A little later, Charles joins them again. "Peter's out stretching his legs," he says. He sinks to the floor gracefully, legs folded with the enviable effortlessness of youth. Erik's in pretty good shape, but no amount of stretching and exercise is going to make up for twenty more years of wear and tear. He's reminded of this even more when his knees make a cracking noise as he stands.

"That's a lovely bracelet you've made, Lorna," Charles says.

"It's a rainbow bracelet," Lorna says proudly, holding out the finished product to show him.

"Do you know how to remember the colors of a rainbow as they appear in the light spectrum?" Charles says, slipping easily into teacher mode. "You may have learned about it in science class."

Lorna gasps, "Yes! I forgot about that." She frowns at her bracelet, "I didn't put them in the right order."

"Oh, that's okay," Charles says right away. "The colors look lovely in any order."

Erik opens the patio door and a nice warm breeze comes in. He breathes in the spring air—it will be summer before too long. During the summer, the kids will stay with him more often. He's looking forward to it. Maybe he'll take them camping this year, though Wanda would probably hate it. Maybe he could bully Emma into going. The thought makes him snicker.

Lorna lets out a loud cry of dismay behind him. "Dad! I forgot yellow!"

When Erik turns around, Charles is saying, "It's a beautiful bracelet. I was just—" he looks up at Erik guiltily, mouthing Sorry.

Erik waves it off and sits next to Lorna. "What's the problem, Loo?"

She pouts, "I was showing Mr. Charles all the rainbow colors on Mama's bracelet and I realized I forgot yellow."

"That's okay. Can't we just untie it and add yellow beads?" Erik says reasonably.

"I don't even have yellow glass beads," Lorna says.

Erik picks up a bright yellow sparkly bead, "What about this one?"

Lorna shakes her head, green braids flying. "No, it has to match."

"Your mom will love it no matter what," Erik says.

"It has to match!" Lorna insists. She perks up, "Daddy, can we go to the farmer's market again?"

"Not this weekend," Erik says. He did all his grocery shopping ahead of time, and frankly, he's a little worn out. He'd had a work deadline to meet and had worked late all week. Technically, it's not expected until Monday, but since he has the kids this weekend he made sure to finish it before they came over.

"Please," Lorna says, giving him her biggest, most heartbreakingly hopeful eyes. "I can get more beads, and we can get cinnamon rolls again!"

"Lorna, I said no," Erik says. "Maybe next—"

"Dad!" Lorna cries, standing up and actually stomping a foot.

"Don't be a baby, Lorna," Wanda says from the couch.

"I'm not a baby!" Lorna says crossly.

"You are definitely not a baby," Erik says. "Which is why you're going to accept no for an answer, right?"

Lorna stares at him in disbelief. He really doesn't say no often enough to her, he thinks ruefully.

"Fine," she sniffs, and stomps out of the room. Erik will give her some time to calm down and then he'll ask her to clean up the mess of beads and string.

"That was not helpful," Erik says to Wanda.

"She was being a baby," Wanda argues.

"She's eight," Erik says. "She doesn't need us ganging up on her. Let me be the bad guy."

"Yeah right," Wanda shoots back. "You let her do whatever she wants."

"Wanda," Erik says warningly.

She scoffs, "Whatever," and leaves too. Erik realizes he's alone in the living room now. Charles must have made a tactical retreat a while ago. Smart man.

Erik sighs and goes to the kitchen, where he finds Charles.

"I'm sorry," Charles says right away. "I feel responsible for that—"

"Don't," Erik assures. "I don't even know where that came from, with Lorna." She's been easily upset lately, Erik thinks.

"If I hadn't mentioned the light spectrum—"

"She would've figured it out eventually anyway," Erik says. "She's a smart kid."

"Yes. She is," Charles says, voice tinged with relief. "They all are."

The front door slams, and Peter is back in the apartment. He disappears again, presumably checking in with his siblings. Charles laughs, "I'm still getting used to that."

"Eventually the chaos of having three mutant children around will seem commonplace," Erik says. Life is so much more quiet without them around. He misses the constant noise and drama.

Charles watches him, expression unreadable. "I made you coffee. I figured it was the least I could do for setting Lorna off like that."

"Thank you. But really, please don't worry about Lorna." Erik pours himself a cup and takes a sip. "Pretty good," he says, impressed. Usually other people make it too weak for his taste.

"I am a PhD candidate. I can manage to work a coffee machine." Charles adds under his breath, "Americans and your coffee."

"Germans and our coffee," Erik corrects.

"Ah. That's the accent," Charles says with a smile. "I was wondering."

"I moved here when I was eighteen," Erik says. "My folks live there still, in a small town not too far from Munich."

"What brought you here?"

"I wanted to meet people like me. Back then, America was the only place mutants were really… open about their powers."

"Back in ye olden days," Charles says sagely.

"It was over twenty years ago," Erik points out. "You weren't even alive when I moved here."

"I'm hardly out of the womb even now," Charles says, eyes glinting with mischief, "or so I've been told."

Erik laughs. "You are—"

The front door slams again, and then Lorna and Peter are standing in the foyer. Lorna looks pale as a sheet, and when Peter sets her down, she sways, takes one step forward and then promptly throws up all over herself.

Erik drops his coffee and rushes to brace Lorna before she falls. "What the hell?" he says, heart pounding. He hadn't even heard them leave. "Peter, what did I say about taking your sister places like that?"

"She said you said it was okay!" Peter says, holding his hands up.

"'m fine, Daddy," Lorna says. She holds up a small plastic bag of glass beads. "I got yellow!"

"Lorna, I said—you're bleeding," Erik says, stomach plummeting. Lorna has a gash on her temple. It hadn't been bleeding before, but now that she's moving at human speed again, her body seems to have caught up with the injury. Erik brushes her bangs away from her face and his fingers come back slick with blood.

"What did you do?" Erik says to Peter. "Did you—hit something, or, or—"

"I don't know!" Peter cries, voice high with panic. "I—they were trimming the trees at the gates, maybe I—maybe a twig hit her?"

"What's wrong?" Lorna says, eyes wide with fear. "I'm bleeding?"

"You're—you're fine," Erik chokes out, just to calm her down. Blood is dripping steadily down her face. Between the metallic blood scent, the rancid smell of vomit, and the nauseating fear gripping Erik's heart, he fights the urge to be sick himself.

"What do we do?" Peter says. "Let me help—"

"You've done enough," Erik snaps.

"Here," Charles kneels next to Erik and holds out a towel. "Press that to the wound. It looks worse than it is, I'm sure. Head wounds just bleed a lot."

"I know," Erik says, though it does nothing to quell his panic. He holds the cloth to Lorna's head, hand shaking. "Are you okay, Lorna? How do you feel?"

She glances at Peter. "I'm fine—"

"Do not cover up for your brother right now. Do you feel dizzy? Do you have a headache?" Erik's eyes rove around Lorna frantically. Color is returning to her face, but not quickly enough for his liking. She looks pale and frightened.

Her eyes well up with tears, "I don't know!"

"Fuck. What do we do? She threw up—that could be a concussion, right? Should I take her to the hospital? Maybe she needs stitches?" Erik's chest is so tight it hurts.

"Dad, I'm sorry—"

"Peter, I do not want to hear it right now!" Erik snarls. Lorna cries harder, tiny shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Hey," Charles says softly, laying a hand on Erik's back. "I know everyone is feeling a lot right now, but let's try and calm down so we can think rationally. Erik, if you're okay with it, can I help calm everyone down?"

Lorna can hardly breathe, she's crying so hard. Erik looks at Charles, and he's looking back, eyes clear and blue and comforting. Erik nods.

"Great," Charles smiles. Just like that, a sense of growing calm descends upon them. Erik's still afraid and angry and worried sick, but there's a clarity to the situation that wasn't there before. His chest loosens up. Lorna's sobs turn to sniffles.

"What's going on?" Wanda says, coming out of her room.

"Your brother decided to run Lorna to the farmer's market. Jesus Christ, Peter, that's across town. What the fuck were you thinking?" Erik says, clarity clouding with anger. He removes the cloth from Lorna's head. The wound trickles with blood again immediately.

Charles nudges Erik gently, "I can take over, and take a look in her mind. I'm not a doctor by any means, but I should be able to rule out any immediate concerns." He takes the cloth from Erik.

Erik nods and stands, so Charles can take his place directly in front of Lorna. He starts speaking to her in a low, soothing tone.

Erik turns to Peter, "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"She told me you were okay with it," Peter says weakly. His eyes are shining with tears, watching Lorna with a wretched expression.

"Why would you believe her? I've told you many times not to take her anywhere with your powers. And now she's hurt. She could have a concussion. We'd be lucky if that's all that happened. If you're stupid enough to be tricked by an eight-year-old, can you at least not be reckless enough to get her hurt? What if—"

"It was an accident!" Wanda shouts, stepping in front of Peter.

"Wanda, stay out of it!"

"You always do this. Peter makes one mistake, and then you blow up on him—"

"Your sister is bleeding!" Erik yells.

Peter cuts in, "Dad, I swear, I didn't know! She said—"

"Peter!" Erik barks, "Lying to you is on Lorna, but you believing her is the bigger issue. Use your fucking head! How incompetent can you—"

"Stop yelling at him!" Wanda shrieks. Lorna starts sobbing again.

"That's enough," Erik thunders. "I'm not debating this with either of you. Go to your rooms. Now."

"You're a dick," Wanda spits, then turns and storms off.

Peter looks like he's fighting the urge to say something, but he shoots one last guilty look at Lorna and disappears in a blink.

Erik goes back to Lorna, who's taking deep, shuddering breaths and trembling. "Loo, how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Lorna says in an impossibly small voice. Erik wants to cry. "I'm s-sorry for lying to Peter."

"We'll talk about that later," Erik says. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I think she's okay," Charles says gently. "I think she was just dizzy from traveling with Peter, and it made her sick up."

"Should we take her to the ER? Maybe just Urgent Care? She could be concussed," Erik says. He looks at the gash on her forehead. The bleeding has stopped entirely. The cut looks far less frightening now.

"Probably just nicked a blood vessel," Charles says quietly. He touches Erik's shoulder again. "Why don't I set Lorna up with a cartoon in the living room, and you and I can chat in the kitchen?"

Erik hesitates, looking at Lorna. Her shirt has a little vomit on it, and her bangs are matted to the side of her head with blood, though it looks like Charles got the worst of it out. Every time he blinks he sees Lorna there, ashen-faced and swaying like she's about to collapse. Lorna's eyes fill with tears again.

"Just for a moment," Charles says. You're scaring her, he says in Erik's head.

"Okay. Just—watch TV for a minute, Loo. I'll get you cleaned up soon. Don't touch your head," he says firmly, though that's probably the kind of thing that's freaking her out, now that he thinks about it.

Charles gestures for Lorna to follow him to the living room.

Erik gets some disinfectant spray and paper towel and starts cleaning the mess on the floor. He'd kneeled into it as well when he first saw Lorna, he notices with a grimace.

Charles returns and looks at Erik on the ground, bemused. "I would have cleaned that for you."

"You're Peter's tutor, not Lorna's nanny," Erik snorts. His hands are still shaking.

"Peter's tutor, Wanda's mentor… I could be a nanny too," Charles muses.

Erik stands up and throws the paper towels away. "Did you see if Lorna has a concussion? Is that something you can even tell?"

"As I said, I'm not a doctor, but everything seemed perfectly normal to me. I couldn't find any cloudiness or confusion," Charles says. "I recommend just keeping an eye on her the rest of the weekend."

Erik starts. "Should she be alone right now?" He cranes his neck to see her in the living room, staring forlornly at the TV.

"She's not alone," Charles says. "She's in your field of vision, and I'm keeping an eye on her too." He taps his temple and smiles reassuringly. "I'd like you to calm down a little. Lorna takes many of her emotional cues from you, you know."

Erik winces, "I know. I'm sorry, I just—"

"No need to apologize, Erik." He steps close to Erik and holds a hand out, almost touching Erik's face. "May I?"

For a long, confusing moment, Erik thinks Charles is asking to kiss him.

Charles clears his throat, cheeks pink. "May I touch your face, I mean. I can help you calm down, but it's easier with touch. You'll feel much better after, I assure you."

Erik nods, and Charles hand touches his temple, fingers brushing through his hair. "I know that was scary, but Lorna's okay. She doesn't even need stitches."

"We were lucky," Erik says, voice rough. "Lorna could have…" What if Peter had run by someone holding garden shears? He wasn't even paying attention.

"Erik," Charles says softly, "I can't imagine what it's like having children and constantly worrying about them. But you're doing a wonderful job. You and Magda have raised three smart, kind, brave children." As he talks, a strong sense of calm settles over Erik. This time, it entirely soothes away his stress and fear. He just feels relieved. Lorna is okay.

Charles goes on, "They are so smart and kind and brave, in fact, that your eight-year-old talked her brother into taking her across town to get beads for a special bracelet she's making for her mother." Charles' mouth twitches. "And I do apologize again for my part in that."

Erik huffs a laugh, "This was absolutely not your fault."

Charles looks up at Erik, and his face is relaxed, eyes kind. He smiles, "Let's just be glad everything turned out okay." His eyes flicker across Erik's face, and then he steps backs and removes his hand.

Even as the warmth of his touch leaves, the calm that he'd given Erik remains. "Thank you. I do feel better."

"Glad to hear," Charles says. "Would you like to go take your pants off now?"

Erik blinks. Was this happening again?

Charles coughs politely into his hand. "You knelt in some vomit."

"Right," Erik says. "I'll go change. And you can take off. I've got it handled from here. I don't think the twins are up for more excitement today."

Charles nods, "I'd like to check on Lorna again and say goodbye to her, if that's okay."

"Of course," Erik says. Lorna would appreciate it, he's sure.

He changes into a clean pair of pants, and when he comes back he finds Lorna squeezing Charles around the waist, sniffling into his shirt. He's hugging her back, petting her hair.

"It's okay, darling," he says. "I'm not mad at you. We were all just worried. You didn't ruin anything."

She looks up at him, face teary and snotty. She's probably wiping all sorts of bodily fluids on Charles' nice clothing, but he simply smiles down at her in unmistakable adoration. Erik's heart squeezes. Charles looks up to see him watching, and he pats Lorna's back and then extricates himself. "I'll see you next time, okay?"

Lorna nods, looking far less tearful than she had a moment ago. Erik wonders if Charles used his telepathy to calm her, or that's just his natural effect. Neither would surprise him.

Charles gathers his things, and he hesitates by the door. "At the risk of overstaying my welcome… I could come by again tomorrow. I didn't work much with Peter today, and he's got a big algebra test next week."

Selfishly, Erik would love to have Charles over tomorrow; he has a cheering effect on all of Erik's kids, not just Lorna. But Erik feels bad taking up even more of Charles' weekend. And if he's entirely honest with himself, his kids aren't the only ones who like having Charles around—and maybe that's why it's best not to have him back so soon.

The silence goes on for a beat too long and Charles flushes, "Of course, you likely want time with the kids alone. I already take up so much of your time with them. I'm sorry, forget I said anything."

The self-conscious look on Charles' face makes up Erik's mind for him, really. "No, that's not it. The kids would love that, honestly. They really like having you around. Just let me talk to them and see if they're up for it, after… today. If I'm lucky, Wanda will start talking to me again around breakfast tomorrow. She's frustratingly good at the silent treatment."

Charles snorts, "I can imagine. But okay, then. Text me. You have my number." He winks, back to his normal self in the blink of an eye.

Charles leaves, and Erik collects Lorna. "Time to clean you up, Loo." He takes her to the bathroom and helps her take off her shirt very carefully, holding the neck wide open so it doesn't brush against her cut. It looks like it's probably done bleeding, but he's not taking any chances. The bathtub faucet turns with a flick of Erik's wrist and starts filling the tub with warm water.

"You want to take a bubble bath? I'll help you wash your hair," Erik says. "And tonight, we're gonna have a sleepover, you and me."

"'m not a baby," she mumbles, looking down. Unlike the defiant way she'd said it earlier, now she's miserable and quiet.

"You are absolutely my baby," Erik says, "and it's my job to take care of you." He gets her undressed and into the tub. "I'm going to wash out your cut. It might sting a bit, but I know you're tough." He gently washes the cut with soap and water. All cleaned up and done bleeding, the cut looks small and inoffensive, much closer to a scrape than a gash. Erik's chest loosens considerably.

He undoes the braids he'd twisted her hair into this morning and gently massages shampoo into her scalp. The remaining blood in her hair washes out, making the bubbles pink for just a moment before disappearing entirely. The last of his tension washes out with it.

"Daddy, I'm really sorry about lying to Petey," Lorna says. When Erik looks at her, her eyes are filled with tears again.

Erik sighs. "Thank you for the apology. I think you owe one to Peter, too. You know lying is wrong, Lorna. I don't understand why you would do that. Close your eyes." He shields her eyes with his hand, just in case, and pours clean water over her hair to rinse out the suds. "When I tell you no, you have to accept that as the answer. You can't always get everything you want."

Lorna might not be the only one who owes Peter an apology, Erik thinks. But he keeps replaying that heart-stopping moment when he first saw Lorna bleeding. God, what would Magda have said if Lorna had gotten seriously hurt under his watch?

"I just wanted Mama's bracelet to be perfect," Lorna says.

"It is perfect," Erik says, "because you made it. We're pretty into you, kid." He pokes her, trying to get her to smile again, but her lip quivers.

"I'm sorry for ruining everything." Her eyes spill over with tears again. "We only get to see you once in a while, and—and—I made everyone upset," she starts sobbing in earnest, "and you yelled at Petey, and Wanda yelled at you, and Mr. Charles left early."

Erik's heart breaks. "Loo, it's okay. You didn't ruin anything, I promise. It's barely Saturday afternoon! We're going to have a great weekend. Hey, tonight, do you want to sleep in the living room? We can build a blanket fort."

Lorna's crying eases, and she looks up with a small smile, "A fort sounds fun."

It sounds like a backache for Erik, but it brings the smile he was hoping for to Lorna's face. He rubs the tears from her cheeks. "No more crying, okay Mäuschen?"

"Okay. Can… can Wanda and Petey sleep in the fort with us?"

"If they want to, absolutely," Erik says. "But if they want to have some alone time, we have to respect that too, okay?"

Lorna nods, disappointed. She knows as well as Erik that Wanda will probably not join them. Peter might, but… Erik hasn't yelled at him like that in a while. He feels a niggling sense of guilt about it, but at the same time, he's floored by Peter's poor decision making and lack of responsibility. He kept trying to shove all the blame at Lorna, as if he's not a whopping seven years older than her.

Erik twists her hair to wring out the excess water and then pulls it into a pile on her head. "Stand up, let's rinse you off." She stands up and holds her arms out. "You know," Erik says, as he rinses the last of the bubbles from her, "Mr. Charles might come over tomorrow."

Lorna gasps, face filled with almost comical joy. "Really?"

"Really," Erik confirms. "I'll have to check with your siblings to make sure they want to—"

"They'll want to!" Lorna says, and she throws herself at Erik, wrapping her arms around his neck. He gets utterly soaked in the process, but he laughs and hugs her back. "Can he go to the park with us?" she asks excitedly.

Erik had forgotten he promised Lorna he'd take her to the park in the morning. "I'll ask, but he might be busy until the afternoon. He's getting a PhD, you know."

Having thoroughly drenched Erik in bathwater, Lorna pulls away and steps carefully out of the tub. "What's that?"

Erik wraps a fluffy towel around her. "It's a college degree for very smart, hardworking people. It takes a lot of work, and probably demands a lot of his time."

"Mr. Charles is very smart."

"Yes, he is."

"I bet he'll come to the park with us," Lorna says confidently.

Erik smiles and uses another towel to dry her hair. He pulls the towel back and forth on her head. "Dad!" she squawks, "You're not supposed to rub it like that!"

"Like what?" Erik asks, rubbing until she's giggling and her hair is sticking out in every direction.

"Mama says you're supposed to pat it dry," she says.

"Your mom is so smart," Erik says.

"Just like Mr. Charles!"

Erik gets a band-aid and presses it onto her forehead. "Just like Mr. Charles."

With Lorna cheered up and swimming in one of Erik's shirts, they build a blanket fort using all of the blankets and pillows from his bed and some towels. It's a pretty sad fort, Erik thinks, but Lorna seems happy with it. He makes a mental note to buy some more blankets.

He knocks on Peter's door a little later. When he enters, Peter is sitting on his bed against the wall, frowning down at the console in his hands. He glances at Erik and then looks back at his game.

"Your sister's okay," Erik says.

Peter nods, "Charles told me."

"He said he can come by tomorrow, if you're up for it. He said you have a test this week," Erik says.

"Okay." Peter keeps his eyes on his game, though his hands aren't moving. It's uncanny to see him so still.

Erik sighs. He knows it was an accident, and he knows that Peter feels bad that Lorna got hurt. But he doesn't understand how Peter could even have been put in that position. He just doesn't think.

It's the kind of thing he would have sat and lectured Peter about, back when they lived in the same house. He had enough time back then to discipline his kids, to send them to their rooms or make them do chores. Now, he has to leave things on a good note with them or feel like shit until he sees them next. There's not time to lecture Peter, who never seems like he's listening, anyway.

"Did you pay for the beads, at least?" Erik asks, finally. He'd like to move on from this, but he has to check. Peter's shoplifting phase had been brief but highly concerning, once he and Magda had realized how difficult Peter was to actually catch stealing something.

Peter's jaw tightens. "Yes," he says dully.

Erik accepts this easily. Peter's always been honest. "Okay. We're watching a movie, if you want to join us. I'll order pizza in a little bit."

Peter bobs his head once but makes no other indication that he's heard Erik. Still, Erik thinks he'll join them soon enough. He's pretty quick to bounce back from things like this.

He knocks on Wanda's door, but when he tries to open it, it's stuck shut in a way that says clearly Wanda does not want any company. Through the door, Erik extends to her the same offer he had to Peter. She doesn't answer, but she does slink out later to take pizza back to her room to eat.

"Mr. Charles!" Lorna shouts, standing on her toes and waving, "We're over here!"

"I think he sees us, Lorna," Erik says. She's practically jumping up and down. People are staring at her. Some are smiling, like she's the cutest thing they've ever seen (she is, of course) and some are staring with a bald curiosity that Erik doesn't appreciate. He glares at them until they look away.

Charles is smiling broadly, waving back at Lorna, completely oblivious to the attention they're attracting. He's wearing a crisp white oxford with the first couple buttons undone. He looks summery and fresh-faced. He looks good. "Hello, darling," he says to Lorna when he reaches them. She throws herself at him and he hugs her back tightly, looking surprised but pleased.

If Lorna had liked Charles before, she adores him now, Erik thinks. He had clearly been a huge comfort to her yesterday. Erik doesn't want to consider how yesterday might have gone if Charles hadn't been there.

"How are you feeling today?" Charles asks Lorna.

"I'm great! We brought corn to feed the ducks!" She holds up a plastic baggie of corn Erik had taken out of the freezer last night.

Charles glances at Erik. "Everything went okay last night, then?"

"Yeah. I kept an eye on her all night," Erik confirms.

"We slept in the fort," Lorna says cheerfully. She tugs on Charles' hand, "Come on, I wanna go to the ducks!" They start walking toward a fairly large pond in the center of the park.

"You slept in the fort?" Charles says, bemused.

"I wanted to keep an eye on her overnight. I thought the living room would be more fun than sleeping in my room," Erik explains.

"And was it?"

"My back is killing me," Erik grimaces.

Charles laughs. "My, you are old."

"That's what I've been telling you," Erik says with a grin.

They stop at a coffee stand by the pond. Lorna pouts, "Dad, can I please go feed the ducks? They're right there." She's on her best behavior after yesterday, but her impatience is tangible. Her eyes are wide and pleading.

Erik doesn't really want her out of his sight, but the pond is right there. He pats his clothes until he finds some change in his pocket and then molds it into two small bracelets. She holds her wrists out automatically when she sees the bands forming. "No further than that picnic table over there," he points at a table not too far from them.

"I promise!" Lorna chirps, and runs off. Erik watches her go, and when he turns to order coffee, Charles is looking at him.

"You can use metal to keep an eye on her?"

Erik nods. "I can track her with just her necklace, but the more metal I can feel the better."

"I thought you could simply control the magnetic fields, but… you can feel metal?" Charles says, eyes wide. "You can feel… my watch, for example."

"Correct." In fact, if Erik thinks about it, he can feel the steadiness of Charles' pulse, the warmth of his skin against the metal. He doesn't think about it. Erik pulls out his wallet, "Order whatever you like. It's on me."

Charles is staring at Erik, mouth slightly agape. He seems to process Erik's words a second later. He shakes his head, "Oh, there's no need for that. I can pay for my own drink."

"It's the least I can do. You help my kids every weekend and won't even let me give you gas money." Erik hands the worker a couple bills and waves off the change.

"Working with them is helpful to me, too," Charles says. They get their drinks and start walking toward the pond, where Lorna stands, tossing sweet corn at a family of ducks. She likes to take her time, feeding them a couple kernels at a time.

Charles goes on, "I'm considering writing my dissertation on the relationship between adolescence and mutations, and your children are fascinating. Take Lorna, for example. Her powers manifested very early, and she has incredibly impressive control over them for her age. Much of that has to do with your work with her, of course, but perhaps there's also a genetic component to it. And I think Peter has actually gotten faster over the last few months. And Wanda... I think she's only unlocked a fraction of her true potential."

Erik looks at him in surprise. "Really? You think Wanda is that powerful?"

Charles nods earnestly, "Oh, yes. With more experience and training, she could be more powerful than even me."

Erik wonders exactly how powerful Charles is, for him to put it like that.

Charles continues, "It's a uniquely challenging experience, growing up with psionic powers. Wanda's telepathy seems less sensitive than my own, at least. But her powers are intricately linked with her emotions. It's scary to think that you could get upset and accidentally hurt someone."

Erik can't help but think about Wanda a couple years ago, on the other side of the hole she'd made in her wall, staring down at her own hands in horror, chest heaving. And then she seemed to just… put it away. She'd never done it again. She started spending a lot of time alone in her room, though. "That sounds… heavy. Overwhelming," he says.

"It is," Charles nods. "That's why I'm so happy to be able to offer Wanda some support."

She's doing better now, since starting to talk with Charles. She smiles more, spends more time outside of her room—yesterday being the exception, of course. Research or not, Charles has helped his family immensely. "You must be some kind of saint," Erik says.

"Not at all. I assure you, I have ulterior motives," Charles says slyly. He smirks at Erik over his tea.

Erik barks a laugh. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

"Dad, there's baby ducks!" Lorna says, beaming up at him when they join her by the pond. She tosses some corn into the water and the ducks quack cheerfully. "They're so cute and fluffy." She sounds close to tears, overwhelmed with the cuteness. Erik understands that completely, he thinks, watching his adorable daughter coo at the ducklings.

Charles must feel similarly, because he throws Erik a knowing smile. Lorna holds out the baggie to Charles, "Do you want to feed them?"

"I do," Charles says happily. When he reaches for the bag, Lorna gasps and then shoves the whole bag at him to hold, then grabs her backpack to rummage for something.

Charles looks quizzically at Erik, who just shrugs. Lorna makes a noise of triumph and pulls her hand out, clasped around something. She unfurls her fist to reveal the bracelet Erik had made yesterday. "Daddy made you a bracelet!"

"I did not," Erik says immediately, then blushes.

"Um," Charles laughs and holds out his hand so Lorna can slide it over his wrist. "Thank you, Lorna."

"Thank my Dad," Lorna says seriously.

"I didn't—That's—" Erik laughs nervously, "Lorna, why would you tell Charles that I made that for him?"

"You did," Lorna insists. "It matches his eyes!"

Charles inspects the bracelet with an interested hum. The clear blue beads are a near-perfect match for Charles' eyes, Erik realizes with a growing sense of horror.

"Isn't that why you picked them out?" Lorna says, confused.

"No," Erik says weakly. He just thought they were pretty.

"Oh, Erik, no need to be embarrassed," Charles says gleefully. "I love it."

No need for Charles to enjoy his embarrassment so much, Erik thinks. Lorna looks very pleased with herself too, the traitor.

Charles makes a noise that is very clearly a badly-stifled laugh. He clears his throat, "Now, Lorna, we must get back to business. These ducks aren't going to feed themselves. Oh, look at that little spotted one! What do you suppose his name is?"

After they run out of corn and Lorna and Charles have named all of the ducks they can tell apart, they walk around the park for a bit before heading home. Lorna manages to pet almost every dog they see, and then pleads with Erik for a puppy on the way to his apartment. "Or a duckling," Charles says.

"Thanks for that," Erik says blandly, which makes Charles laugh.

Lorna gasps, "Yes! A duckling, Daddy, please!"

Charles laughs harder.

Chapter Text

The problem with learning that Charles is twenty-two, is that he didn't actually become less attractive with this cursed knowledge. Erik just becomes more upset with himself when he can't stop thinking about Charles.

He tries, he really does.

It's just, seeing Charles at his dining room table, working patiently with Peter, cheering Lorna up, talking kindly to Wanda… it's hard to reconcile all that with the same twenty-two year old who's supposed to be off-limits. Especially after last weekend, when Charles had taken care of Lorna so lovingly, had calmed Erik down so effectively.

At every turn, Charles is perfect—good with Erik's kids, effortlessly kind, generous with his time and energy. Somehow respectful to Erik while still being clear with his attraction. Infuriatingly good-looking, with all the charm and easy confidence of someone who's always gotten what they wanted.

Erik thinks about Charles all the time. He thinks about him when he wakes up, hard and aching. He thinks about him in the shower and before he goes to sleep. He thinks about Charles whenever his mind drifts, aimless and indulgent. He hasn't jerked off this much since he was a teenager.

It's just to get it out of his system, he tells himself. It's wrong, certainly, but it's a better option than sleeping with a twenty-two year old. Even if Charles carries himself with more grace and competence than most people Erik has ever known, which is an absolutely wicked combination with his dirty mouth and ridiculous pickup lines. Erik bets Charles doesn't shut up in bed, either.

Erik groans and covers his face with his pillow. He's not jerking off again thinking about Charles. Last night was definitely the last time, he promises himself.

It's just so much harder to push thoughts of Charles out of his head, when he already knows how Charles feels pressed against him, how those clever lips taste. His dick agrees, straining against his underwear. Erik sighs and reaches down. This is the last time.

"What did Magda say about the Peter thing?" Emma asks.

"Nothing, really. She said that since Lorna was fine, we shouldn't do anything about it."

"Well, Lorna is fine. It was an accident," Emma shrugs.

"I know, but—if no one is around to impress the seriousness of things to Peter, how is he going to learn?" Erik scrubs at his face in frustration. "I feel like I'm going insane, Em. I don't know how Magda parents when I'm not there, and I know even less now that she wants space, and—"

"You need to get laid," Emma says.

"No, I need to parent my kids," Erik says.

"You can do both," Emma says, a little impatient. "You don't need to be celibate to be a good father, Erik. If anything, it'd probably do the kids some good if you were happy."

"What do you know," Erik snaps, feeling defensive. "You don't have children."

Emma purses her lips. "No, but I was raised by two very unhappy people."

"And you turned out great," Erik says, feeling immediately bad for snapping.

Emma gives him a flat look. "Look. You're basically dating this kid already. Spending weekends with him, cooking for him, taking Lorna to the park with him. Your thoughts light up like a circuit board when I bring him up. Listen: Charles. Charles. Charles."

Erik tries to keep a straight face, but his cheeks turn hot. Emma sits back and crosses her arms, smug as can be. "You're practically broadcasting all of the things you want to do to him."

"I am not," Erik says, taking a long drink of water. He thinks of a large, reflective piece of metal surrounding his thoughts. He knows it's incriminating as hell, and so does Emma based on the way she snorts, but it's still better than her actually hearing his thoughts about Charles. He tries very hard not to think about this morning.

Emma lets the silence torture him for a bit longer. She takes a couple neat bites of her lunch and drinks some wine.

"I'm only saying," she says finally, "that he seems like someone capable of making his own decisions. I don't think you'll scar him by indulging his daddy issues."

Erik scowls at her, but he thinks she might have a point, too. And he doesn't know how much longer he can hold out, anyway.

A couple days later, Erik finds himself drawn to the home goods section of the grocery store. He'd like to put more effort into decorating his place, but everything here looks about as nice as the things he already has. And he's not exactly an interior decorator; he doesn't have a clear image of what he wants his place to look like, or what even looks good together.

Before he thinks about it, he's calling Magda.

She answers quickly, "Erik? Is everything okay?"

"What? Yeah, I just wanted your advice on something." He pauses, realizing this is exactly the kind of thing Magda wouldn't want to talk to him about. "Nevermind, sorry. I'll call… someone else." He does not want to call Emma to ask her what color throw pillows to get.

Thankfully, Magda says, "No, no. It's fine. What's up?"

"It's stupid," Erik says, embarrassed.

"Just spit it out."

Erik stares at the pillows for a moment. He really is clueless. "I'm just… trying to make my place a little homier. And you did all the decorating, at our—your house."

There's a long pause, and Erik is about to apologize again and get off the phone when Magda says, "Did you really call me for decorating tips?"

"Well, I can't call Emma. She called my apartment a depressing bachelor pad and said I should hang up a basketball hoop on one of the doors," Erik says flatly.

Magda laughs, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I miss her."

"You two certainly enjoyed giving me a hard time together," Erik mutters. He picks up a pillow with tassels on it. He doesn't like it, but what does he know? "Am I supposed to have more than two pillows for the couch? I have the ones that came with it, but…"

"Oh, no. Those are always hideous. Throw them out," Magda says right away.

"Why would they sell them with the couch if they don't look good?" Erik complains.

"I mean—they're fine. But it's just generic. They're not you."

"It's a pillow. Of course it's not me," Erik says.

"You're such a man," she says. It's clearly not a compliment, but she sounds a little fond, too. "You know, if you're looking to spruce up your place, I always liked those metal sculptures you made."

Erik had forgotten about those. He used to make Magda little trinkets out of metal—a small bird, her initials, a flower, all small things that she'd kept in the top drawer of her nightstand. A few times he'd made larger sculptures—for significant birthdays or anniversaries and when Lorna was born. "Now we've both made something beautiful," he'd joked, and Magda had shoved at him but her eyes had been filled with happy tears.

"Huh," he says thoughtfully. "I haven't made anything in a long time. That's not a bad idea."

He can hear Magda's smile. "What color is your couch?"

It's incredibly bizarre, the realization that she doesn't know. Erik wonders when he'll stop feeling surprised by things like that. It's been nearly two full years. "Dark gray."

"Well, you could lean into the darker colors with greens and shades of gray. Or you could go for more of a color pop, with bright yellows and blues."

"That sounds nice," Erik says. He likes the idea of his apartment having bright pops of color. Like Lorna is there all the time, sort of.

"Glad I could help," Magda says. "Any other design questions?"

"No, I think I can handle the rest," Erik says. He doesn't quite want to get off the phone yet, though. "How have you been?"

"I've been good," Magda says. She sounds happy. "I finished up my semester last week, so I've got a little time to relax before summer classes start."

Erik wonders if Charles is taking classes this summer, too. Or maybe he's teaching them. "You're taking summer classes?"

"I am, though I might regret it." Magda says. "You'd think they'd be cheaper since the semester is shorter, but nope." She sounds flippant, but Erik knows her. She's not one to complain generally, so if she's bringing it up, it means it's been weighing on her.

Erik hates the thought of Magda stressing out about money, especially when the reason she's going back to school is because she'd left work to raise the kids, and now she finds herself more or less starting over, after their divorce. She's eager to stop depending on him financially after the divorce—Erik understands, but at the same time, she has three kids to raise. Erik's more than happy to pay for whatever his family needs, and that includes Magda still.

"Well, at least the kids will be out of your hair a bit more this summer. I've been saving up all year to feed Peter," Erik jokes. He hesitates, "They could stay at mine as much as you want, you know. All summer, even, if you want time to focus on your studies."

"Oh, I'd miss them too much," Magda says. "Peter's grades are up and Wanda's stopped locking herself up in her room so much. And Lorna made me a very pretty bracelet for Mother's Day."

"Oh my god, that was yesterday," Erik says. He feels terrible for calling today to ask her a question about pillows, after forgetting to call her yesterday. "I'm sorry—"

Magda interrupts, "It's fine! It's totally fine. I wasn't expecting anything from you. Did you call Edie?"

Erik's stomach drops.

Magda reads the silence correctly. "You'd better call her before she guilts you into flying to Germany to make it up to her."

"That's probably already going to happen," Erik groans. "I'm such an idiot." He's been so wrapped up thinking about Charles.

"The kids called her," Magda says unhelpfully.

"I have to go," he says pointedly, and hangs up while she's still laughing at him. He leaves the pillows for another time.

He's driving home from work on Wednesday when he gets the idea. He'd hoped that the alimony payments in addition to whatever else they need would make it easier for Magda to pay for her school with her part-time job, but clearly that's not the case. He knows she'd never ask him to pay for her school, but if he just did it…

He's pulling into the campus parking structure before he can talk himself out of it. The university is nice but fairly vacant; the semester is over and it's mostly staff that remains. Erik finds the bursar's office with little trouble.

It's a painless process; the woman at the counter is helpful and takes his money with little fanfare. "Your wife, then?" she asks, inspecting the check for accuracy. Erik doesn't know if it makes a difference, but just to be safe, he smiles and nods. This appears to be the right answer, because the woman beams at him and asks him if there's anything else she can help him with.

Erik's thoughts, as they often do these days, drift to Charles. He grins, "Yes, actually. Where's the biology department?"

Erik's not entirely sure what his plan is, and he doesn't figure it out on his way to the biology department. He just knows that it's a gorgeous day out, and he's just paid for Magda's summer classes, and he jerked off again this morning thinking about Charles' cherry-red lips.

The door's open when he arrives, so he knocks once on the door frame and sticks his head in. Charles' back is to the door, and he's too engrossed in his conversation to take note of Erik's presence at first.

The pretty brunette he's talking to is facing the door though, and her eyes widen when she sees Erik. She nudges Charles and nods toward the door, and he looks carelessly over his shoulder. When he sees it's Erik, he almost trips over himself turning around.

"Erik," he says, lighting up. "What are you—I mean—"

The brunette woman gasps, "Wait. Is this—"

"Moira," Charles nearly shouts, "this is—Mr. Lehnsherr. He's the father of that young man I tutor on the weekends." He shoots her a very pointed look. "This is Moira MacTaggert, my best friend and colleague."

"Call me Erik," Erik says with a grin. He strides forward and holds his hand out to her.

Moira looks him up and down without a trace of subtlety. "Hi Erik," she says, shaking his hand. She gives him a wide, cheerful smile. "What brings you to the biology department today?"

Erik shrugs, "I happened to be in the area. Thought I'd stop by to say hi."

Moira smiles even wider, somehow. "I'm so glad you did—"

"Moira, weren't you just leaving?" Charles says bluntly.

"No, I don't think—"

"I do think," Charles says. "I think you were just saying you had some lab work to check on."

"The semester is over, Charles," Moira looks at Erik and laughs, as if to say, This guy! "I don't have any lab work—"

"Yes, you do," Charles says, through gritted teeth. He stares daggers at her, and she stares back, blithely unaffected.

The silence goes on just a beat too long before she says, "Well, what do you know. I do have some lab work to check on." She picks up a bag and an armful of books from the desk behind her. "Bye, Erik! It was so nice to meet you," she says cheerfully, on her way out of the office. Charles follows her closely, and then firmly shuts the door behind her.

"Bye," Erik says, amused, just before the door closes.

Charles turns back to him, "Erik, what—brings you to my office?"

Charles is a smart guy—he knows Erik wouldn't be here unless he's changed his mind—or at the very least, considering it. Charles is practically vibrating out of his skin. His cheeks are pink and flushed, his eyes bright, nearly feverish. He's so excited to see Erik. It's adorable.

Erik bites down a smile. "Running an errand for Magda," he says. "Thought I'd stop in."

He looks around the office. It's small, with two desks—one on each side. The desk Moira had gathered things from is neat and organized. The other desk is messy, covered in mugs and papers and books. A cardigan is strewn across the chair behind the desk. "Moira seems nice," Erik says. "She's the one you do yoga with?"

Charles laughs, "Um, yes. And she is nice, when she's not giving me shit."

Erik picks up a picture frame on Charles' desk. It's a picture of Charles and a striking woman with blue skin and piercing yellow eyes. Charles is wearing a graduation gown and cap. He looks happy and carefree and very young.

"That's my sister," Charles says softly. "Her name is Raven."

"What's her mutation?"

"She can change her appearance at will," Charles says. Erik can hear the smile in his voice. "It's miraculous."

Erik smiles and gently sets the frame down. "You're all done with the semester, then? Are you taking any summer classes?"

"God, no," Charles laughs. "I'll continue with my research, but I'm happy for the break from classes. It's been a very busy semester."

Erik frowns, "I hope working with the kids isn't—"

"Oh, no," Charles says immediately. "No, I… truthfully, I really love working with your kids, Erik. It's the highlight of my week."

Erik tries to ignore the warm feeling that settles in his chest at the words. He clears his throat. "If you're sure."

"I am. In fact… now that my schedule has opened up," Charles sidles up next to Erik, perching on the edge of the desk, "I find myself with an abundance of free time. I'm available right now, actually, if you'd like to grab a bite, or… we could go back to my place."

Erik's eyebrows shoot up. "Wow. Straight to the point. No thinly veiled innuendo?"

"I can't think of one right now," Charles laughs, embarrassed but unapologetic.

It's very tempting, to take Charles up on the offer. Charles is all but bending over the desk and offering himself. And he looks good today—charmingly academic, more studious and posh than he usually looks at Erik's place. He's wearing a dark blue button-up shirt, and it's a beautiful color on him. His skin looks creamy, his eyes vividly blue, and his lips are plump and bitable. He paints a lovely, tempting picture.

Maybe it's a bad idea. It probably is. But it's just—some fun, Charles had said. Nothing serious. What's the harm in it? Erik could have Charles, right now.

But Erik is forty-two years old. He's learned patience over the years.

"I'm afraid I have plans today," Erik says. "Sorry."

Charles' face falls in disappointment. "I… We could…" He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them and blurts out, "My door locks."

Erik pauses. "What?"

Charles laughs a little hysterically and shakes his head, like he can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "The door to this office. It locks."

His words ring in the following silence. Erik stares at him. Charles, impressively, stares back, though a flush creeps steadily across his cheeks. Erik wonders if he's the type to blush all the way down to his chest.

"Even if it didn't, I could keep it closed," Erik points out.

"That works," Charles says, breathless, "or I could—clear the area." He inches closer to Erik, stares at his lips for a second too long before dragging them up to his eyes.

"There's a thought," Erik says. He's inordinately glad he jerked off this morning, or he doesn't think he'd have the restraint to decline. As it is, he's still half-hard. Unfortunately for Charles, the days of having sex in public are long behind him. And he's enjoying himself a bit, too.

"I really do have to get going, though." Erik says apologetically.

Charles blinks in disbelief. "Are you—are you serious?"

Erik coughs a laugh. "I am. I have a work meeting in an hour." He waits, to give Charles the chance to say something along the lines of I can be quick, or something equally brazen.

But Charles just deflates. "Okay. Right. Of course," he mutters under his breath, nodding to himself.

"But I'll see you this weekend?" Erik offers, walking to the door.

Charles exhales loudly, then pastes on a polite, if strained smile. "Yes. I'll see you then."

Erik gives him a long, considering look. Charles swallows, then licks his lips, and opens his mouth to say something—

Erik almost feels bad, except that Charles has been torturing him for months, and he figures this is fair play. "Bye, Charles," he says cheerfully, and leaves.

"Do you think strawberries go good in pancakes?" Lorna asks him on Saturday morning. She stirs the batter pensively. "Or gummy bears?"

Erik shrugs, "Sure, what the hell." He's in a good mood.

Lorna gasps quietly. "Daddy," she says, aghast.

Erik takes a sip of coffee and says, "I can swear if I want to."

"You always tell Petey not to swear," Lorna mutters under her breath.

"Do you want to add gummy bears or not?" Erik says.

Lorna pauses. "Yes, please." She smiles toothily at him. He smiles and gets the gummy bears from the pantry, and the strawberries from the fridge. He washes the fruit and starts cutting it into small pieces.

"Should we make some pancakes for Mr. Charles?" Lorna asks. "He'll be here soon, right?" Lorna had slept in a little later than usual today, so they didn't get started on breakfast until after Erik had gone for a run and showered.

"He should be," Erik says, trying not to sound too eager. Truthfully, the rest of the week had dragged by after visiting Charles. Erik's planning on taking him aside before he leaves today to ask him out again, and he's feeling jittery—which is ridiculous, because one, he's a full-grown man who doesn't get butterflies anymore, and two, Charles has made his interest very clear. Erik has nothing to be nervous about.

"Can we go to the park again tomorrow?" Lorna says.

"I don't see why not," Erik says. Wanda and Peter are both laying low this weekend, citing end-of-year projects and papers.

"All three of us?" Lorna says hopefully.

"What? With Charles, you mean?"

Lorna hums affirmatively and holds the batter out to Erik to check.

"Looks good," he says. He ladles some batter onto the pan and offers her the strawberries. "Charles probably has plans."

"We could still ask," Lorna says petulantly, sprinkling strawberries into the sizzling batter.

"We can't just commandeer Charles' entire weekend. He's got a life too, you know." Erik thinks of how Charles had called seeing the kids the highlight of his week. When he looks over to see Lorna pouting down at the pan, he says, "You can ask him. Politely. And if he says no for any reason, you have to accept that."

"Okay!" Lorna says cheerfully. He kisses the top of her head, then nudges her out of the way to flip the pancakes.

Erik almost doesn't recognize Charles' watch when he enters the apartment building, not too much later. It feels… different, somehow, though he can't quite pinpoint it. "Charles is heading up. Can you get the door when he knocks, Loo?" he asks, as he finishes the last batch of pancakes. He'd made chocolate chip pancakes as well, because it's the twins' favorite, however Wanda might deny it.

He goes to Wanda's room and knocks on the door. "Hey, breakfast is ready, if you want any. I made chocolate chip pancakes." He takes a step toward Peter's door, and then his hair is gusted back as the door opens and closes, and Peter is standing in front of it.

"I heard you," Peter says. "Breakfast."

"And Charles is here," Erik says. Peter nods and leaves in a flash. Erik sighs. Things are still strained with Peter since the last time he was here. Erik hopes that they'll get some time to work things out over the summer.

Erik goes back to the kitchen, where Charles stands with Lorna, holding out a plate while she piles pancakes on it. It looks like she's given him one of every flavor.

Erik's eyes are immediately drawn to Charles' watch, except—it's the same. But it still feels different. Or… maybe there's something else that's different about Charles. He can feel an unfamiliar piece of metal, warm against Charles' skin and pulsing with his heartbeat. A pendant, maybe, or—

Erik's brain stutters and stops abruptly. It's not one new piece of metal, it's two. And it's not just against Charles' skin—it's through it. Two delicate steel bars, pierced through two small circles of raised, pebbled flesh.

Charles got his nipples pierced.

"Good morning, Erik," Charles says warmly, a touch too innocently.

Erik doesn't reply. He turns and makes a beeline to the bathroom. He closes the door a little too hard behind him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. It's a bad idea, because with his eyes closed, he can feel the metal in the apartment even better. Charles' nipples are like two bright, glowing, tantalizing beacons. It would take just the slightest thought to tug on them—they must be so sensitive right now, still healing. Charles would probably make one of those obscene noises with just the slightest stimulation.

Erik's cock throbs in his pants. He's uncomfortably hard, and feels like he could actually cry—Charles has completely unraveled him within approximately thirty seconds of being here.

It's okay, Erik thinks. He can do this. He'd been blissfully unaware of Charles' nipples before now, and he can… stop thinking about them long enough for his hard-on to go down. Definitely.

It takes Erik about ten minutes to calm down completely—it would have been half that, but he'd realized he could feel the fabric of Charles' shirt rubbing against the metal in his chest, and that means that the shirt was rubbing against his nipples. They're probably hard. It probably feels good to Charles—and then he'd been back at square one.

Erik can't function like this. He has to do something. Jerking off isn't an option for obvious reasons, so when his dick behaves enough, he goes to his room and changes into his running clothes. He keeps his watch on, and after some thought, he melds some makeshift ankle weights. He concentrates on just the metal on his body, tries to let the humming of it drown out anything else, and then he leaves his room.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Lehnsherr?" Charles purrs from the dining table, where he sits with Lorna and the twins.

"Going for a run," Erik says gruffly, on his way out the door. "Be back soon."

"But you already did your run today," he hears Lorna say as the door shuts.

He runs for nearly an hour, until his legs are shaky and he feels more tired than he does keyed up. Then he stops and gets a coffee and a bagel, and he walks around for another half hour. He heads back to his apartment when the guilt of leaving Charles there with his kids catches up to him.

He unmelds his ankle weights and turns them into several small balls, hovering and spinning as he walks up the stairs and lets himself into the apartment. Anything to keep his mind off of that metal. If he'd been keeping his usual tabs on things, he probably would have noticed that the kids were gone, but as it is, he's surprised by the quiet that greets him.

"Oh good, you're back," Charles says, walking out of the kitchen. He's wearing a lightweight, cotton button-up. It looks a size too small, fitted but stretched across his chest more than usual. If Erik looks closely, he can see where his nipples peak, two small points on his chest. Two metal bars.

"Where are the kids?" Erik asks, mouth dry.

"They went for a walk," Charles says.

Erik's body moves before he makes the conscious decision. In an instant, he's across the room, pushing Charles against the wall and crushing their mouths together. Charles responds beautifully, opening up immediately and moaning into Erik's mouth.

"We can't—the kids will be back soon," Erik says, even as he pushes his tongue into Charles' mouth. He tastes incredible, just the way Erik hasn't been able to get out of his mind.

Of course—just for a minute, Charles says in his mind. He puts his hands on Erik's hips and pulls him tightly against him, pushing his hips up into Erik's. Erik can feel the hard line of his cock through his pants. Erik rocks against him and groans at the pressure, at the sweet relief it promises. He gets another pulse of pleasure, like an echo, and he realizes it's Charles.

He pulls away to gasp for air, rolling his hips into Charles' over and over. It's so good. So much better than jerking off merely thinking about Charles. His fantasies don't compare to the real thing, not even a little.

"Glad to hear," Charles pants. Erik ducks down to suck on his throat, that delicate skin he's been mapping in his head for weeks. "My piercings—they're healed. There was a healer on sight, genius business model, really—"

Erik takes the hint, and tugs on the piercings, and the noise Charles makes is sinful. High-pitched and breathy and keening, "Yes, that's it," and he arches into Erik's mouth, rutting his hips. Erik's wearing sweatpants, and his cock tents out and rubs against Charles' thigh, tantalizingly close through the thin material. Charles' secondhand pleasure bleeds into his own, heightening everything.

They should stop, truthfully—but Charles is writhing against him and moaning, and babbling, "I knew they'd be more sensitive, but Christ, that's good—Erik, you—ah, do that again, oh my god—"

"Do you ever shut up?" Erik half-groans, and he knows the answer is no, Charles doesn't ever shut up, and that's so unbelievably, annoyingly sexy. He wants to touch Charles' chest, but he doesn't have the patience to undo the buttons on his shirt. He grasps at it over his shirt instead, and beneath his thumbs he can feel Charles' nipples, and the metal in them.

Charles shudders and moans and doesn't stop talking, "I'm going to come if we don't stop—please don't stop, but—if you wanted—"

"I don't want to stop," Erik says right away, moving his thigh in between Charles', rutting against him over and over, half out of his mind with it. He can feel the fabric of his pants getting damp, sticking to the head of his cock more with each push of his hips. Charles wraps his arms around Erik's neck and leans his weight on him, riding his thigh until he stiffens and lets out a loud, cracked moan right in Erik's ear.

It's the spread of wet warmth against his leg and the peak of Charles' pleasure that pushes Erik over the edge, too. He comes holding Charles and humping his thigh like a teenager, and it's juvenile and dirty and shockingly good.

"I can't believe we just did that," Charles says, laughing as he extricates himself. He looks down at himself, amused. His cheeks are red, matching the blotchy skin on his neck, where Erik had bitten him. He'd held back enough to avoid leaving a mark, though part of him wishes he hadn't. "I haven't come in my pants since I was a teenager."

"So a few years ago, then?" Erik can't help but say.

"We're joking about the age thing now, then?" Charles says, delighted.

"That wasn't a joke," Erik says, though he laughs anyway. He takes in the state of himself with dismay. He also can't believe he came in his pants. It's ridiculous, just like everything else about Charles. He groans, "I can't believe you pierced your fucking nipples. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"You left me no choice!" Charles says, indignant. "You showed up to my office and—tormented me, and then just left me there with a hard-on! I had to do something."

"I was just fucking with you! I was planning on asking you out again today," Erik says. He gestures for Charles to follow him to his room so they can change. His pants are uncomfortably sticky and cold.

"Oh," Charles says, sounding embarrassed, "I suppose getting them pierced was a bit overkill, then. Maybe I should take them out—"

"Don't," Erik says right away, then he coughs. "I mean, do what you want to, of course. But…"

"You like them," Charles finishes, pleased enough to border on smugness.

Erik doesn't answer, just hands him a pair of sweatpants. "Here, change into these."

Charles smirks, "Do you have underwear for me, too? Mine are all wet and sticky."

"You don't have to keep seducing me," Erik says, face flushing hotly. "Underwear is in the top drawer. I have to take a shower. The kids should be back soon."

"Enjoy your shower, Mr. Lehnsherr," Charles says coyly.

Erik's dick jumps valiantly. "Stop calling me that," he grumbles. Charles' laughter follows him into the bathroom.

When he returns, the kids are back, and Charles is not only wearing his sweatpants—and underwear, his mind relentlessly reminds him—but he's wearing one of Erik's t-shirts as well. Erik's clothes look strange on Charles—too casual, with stretchy material all easily pushed aside for quick access. It makes him look young, and horribly, it makes Erik want to ravage him.

Charles looks at him and grins wickedly. I thought a button-up looked stupid with sweatpants, he explains. Erik can feel him much more acutely in his head now, as if Charles had removed a barrier he'd had up before. It's nice.

"You're back, Daddy!" Lorna says happily, when she notices Erik. "Mr. Charles spilled tea all over himself while you were in the shower!"

Half-true, at least. I spilled something, Charles thinks suggestively.

Maybe it's not nice, Erik amends to himself. "That is… very silly," Erik says to Lorna.

"I put my clothes in the wash. I hope that's okay," Charles says sweetly.

"Of course," Erik says. Lorna starts chattering about the walk they'd just gone on, and he tries to listen.

He tries not to think the way Charles looks in his clothes, or the fact that the metal bars in his nipples are somehow even more noticeable now that Erik knows what it's like to pull on them, to hear Charles gasp and moan like a slut. Erik wonders what it'd be like to put his mouth on them, to pull on them with his teeth instead of his powers.

Charles is standing up, leaning over Peter's shoulder to point something out in his textbook. Erik's sweatpants fit snugly on Charles, because even though Erik is taller, Charles has thick thighs, and a perfect, round ass. Above the waistband, his shirt has ridden up, just enough to reveal a strip of soft-looking skin and two immaculate back dimples that look like the perfect place for Erik's thumbs.

Erik, Charles says in his head, sounding a little strained. Aloud, he continues to quietly explain something to Peter.

Right. Erik's forgotten that Charles' telepathy works both ways. In fact, there's more than one telepath in the room, Erik remembers with a jolt.

Please. I've been shielding your sordid thoughts for months, Charles chides. Your shields are proficient enough, but I didn't want to take any chances.

Erik appreciates that, though he resents the implication that he's been the inappropriate one this whole time. He feels a surge of amusement that's not his own.

"Dad! You're not even listening," Lorna says, annoyed.

"I—yes, I was," Erik argues. He tunes Charles out and turns his attention to Lorna.

Lorna puts her hands on her hips and gives him a look. "What did we see on our walk?"

Erik glances at Charles for help, but he's deep in conversation with Peter, now. "A bunny?" Erik tries.

Lorna scowls, "A bird nest with baby birds! I knew you weren't listening."

Erik sighs, "Yeah. Sorry, Loo. Tell me again."

"I knew it," she says, but she smiles at him. "There were three babies, and Petey picked me up so I could see them chirp and ask for food! It was so cute. Can we feed them?"

"Feeding them is the mama bird's job, but we can go look at them again," Erik says. He stands and helps her up, and when he straightens again, he notices Charles watching them with a smile.

Charles will probably be amenable to joining them at the park tomorrow, Erik thinks.

Not only does Charles meet them at the park, but Wanda agrees to go, too. It's a pleasant surprise, to be sure, but it's certainly a surprise—Wanda has been chilly with Erik ever since he'd yelled at Peter last time. It's a bit rich, Erik thinks, that she'd gotten away with calling him a dick and she's still the one mad at him.

It's the kind of thing he'd have lectured her about before, but things are so volatile with her these days. Things had somehow seemed easier during his and Magda's first year of divorce—but the kids had been a little younger and hadn't understood the full implications. Now, Wanda's powers are developing, and she's temperamental and quick to anger. More like him all the time, Erik thinks ruefully.

Still, he's glad she joined them today, whatever the reason.

"I brought tea," Wanda says to Charles, when they see him. She holds out a thermos she'd prepared carefully with milk and sugar before they left.

Charles beams at her. "Thank you, Wanda. That's so thoughtful of you. A spot of tea by the pond sounds lovely." Lorna grabs his hand and they make their way to the pond.

"No Peter today?" Charles asks Erik, when they're sitting on a grass bank near the pond, and the girls are at the pond's edge, cooing at the ducks. When Wanda saw them, her eyes had lit up with an adorable, childish glee—for a moment, she looked like a little girl again.

"He was busy with some game," Erik shrugs.

"I see," Charles says. He takes a careful sip of tea. "He's seemed a bit… distracted, lately. He's been having a hard time concentrating, the way he was when I first began working with him," Charles says, sounding pensive. He watches the girls feed the ducks. Lorna is loudly and smugly pointing out all the ducks she and Charles had named last time they were here.

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Erik asks.

"No, that's all right," Charles says. "He's probably just getting antsy toward the end of the school year. I'll try to think of some way to get him to focus for his finals."

He turns his attention away from the girls to look at Erik. "Speaking of the end of the school year… my schedule's opened up, now. Are you free this week?"

"I am," Erik says, with no hesitation. Their impromptu and embarrassingly hot encounter yesterday had been great, but the thought of having Charles to himself without the kids there is wildly appealing. The next time they see each other, Erik wants there to be no rush. He wants to take his time.

Charles grins, "Excellent. I was worried you'd get cold feet again."

Erik snorts. He can't stop thinking about Charles, so clearly he's a lost cause—but moreover, Charles is too smart and too capable to pretend that they're not both active, willing participants in this. "I think I'm past the point of no return," he says.

Charles falls onto his back and sighs in relief, "Finally."

Chapter Text

Erik finds himself in another home goods store a couple days later. Before the kids had gone home on Sunday, he had pulled Wanda aside and asked if she liked the pillows that came with the couch, and she gave him the same knee-jerk response Magda had given him—No, ew, they're hideous.

He wonders why this is something that's apparently glaringly obvious to everyone except him. He didn't dare ask how Wanda feels about the bed set he'd gotten for her when he first moved here—she'd accepted it with little enthusiasm at the time, but he'd thought that was just because she was uncertain about the divorce and his place as a whole. Now, he suspects it might have to do more with his lack of interior design aptitude. Maybe over the summer he'll see if the kids want to redecorate their rooms.

For now, he selects a set of bright, cheerful-looking yellow pillows that he thinks Lorna will like. They look good, when he sets them up at home. He hadn't realized how flat and uncomfortable the pillows he had before were until he sees the new ones in their place. It's a marked improvement. It feels good, he thinks, to buy something for his place just because he wants it to be cozy and look nice, rather than just buying the first thing he saw to fill the space.

He takes a picture of the pillows on his couch and sends the picture to Wanda, even though he knows she doesn't really care and certainly won't reply—he just wants her to know he's thinking of her. He considers sending it to Magda, then thinks she probably doesn't want to see it.

He does, however, text her to say that he'd like to chat with her about Peter soon, and she says she'll call him later that day. She ends up calling him Wednesday afternoon, when he's at a local market picking out some ingredients for dinner with Charles later.

"Hey, sorry I didn't call yesterday," Magda says. "Lorna's friend at school recently got into painting, so now she's into painting, and she dragged me to the craft store yesterday. Then Wanda said it wasn't fair that I buy Lorna something every time she gets a new hobby, which was a decent point, so I went with her to the bookstore."

"That sounds fun," Erik says. He envies her freedom to just take the kids out whenever she wants to. "Nothing for Peter? A new game, or something?"

"No," Magda says, sounding thoughtful. "He's been out with friends a lot, lately. Maybe he's getting bored of playing games all the time."

"Unlikely," Erik says.

Magda laughs and agrees. "So, what's up? You wanted to talk about something?"

"Yeah. This last weekend, Charles told me that he thinks Peter's been distracted—having a hard time focusing. Have you noticed anything?" Erik stops at the meat counter, trying to decide what cut of beef to get. He's planning to make steak tonight.

When he'd asked Charles if he liked steak, Charles had replied I like all meat ;). Then he texted again a minute later to say, Actually, I'm not up to duck, lately. I'm a bit attached to Lorna's friends at the park.

"Not really," Magda says. "Like I said, he's just been busy with his friends. He's probably just excited for summer."

"That's what Charles said, too," Erik says. He catches the counter worker's eyes, points at the ribeyes and holds up two fingers. He'll cook them in his cast-iron skillet, something he doesn't get to bust out as often as he'd like.

"Well, I'm inclined to trust his opinion. He knows the kids pretty well, at this point," Magda says.

"You want two?" the woman at the counter says.

"Yes, please," Erik says to her, and then to Magda, "I guess you're right."

"Where are you?" Magda asks.

"Um, at the store," Erik says. "I'm just—getting food to eat. For the week." He doesn't think Magda would care if he's seeing someone, but if she knew it was Charles… well, that's another story for a handful of reasons. And it's not relevant anyway, because this is just a casual sex-dating thing.

"Right," Magda says after a long pause. "Anyway, I'll keep an eye on Peter and let you know if I notice anything, but I'm sure he's just ready to be done with school for the year. He's been working so hard."

"He has," Erik says, feeling a bit guilty. It's not that he thinks Peter is doing anything wrong, he's just… worried. He's been happy to see Peter finally buckling down with school and being responsible for once—the incident with Lorna notwithstanding. He hates to think of Peter backsliding when he'd been making such good progress. "That's all I wanted to talk about, really. Everything good on your end?"

Magda pauses again, and when she speaks, there's something… wistful about her voice. "It is. Have a good night, Erik."

"Hey—mmmph," Erik says, catching Charles when he throws himself at him and attaches himself to his lips. Erik staggers back into his apartment, kissing him back and laughing. "You're eager." Charles had arrived at seven on the dot. He's generally punctual, but not quite to this extent when he comes over for tutoring.

"Of course I'm eager," Charles says. "You've had me waiting for months. You don't know how frustrating it's been, hearing your thoughts about me. You think about me so often, Erik, it's—intensely flattering and maddening, at the same time."

Erik snorts, "I think you're forgetting who was harassing who."

"Oh, please," Charles says smirks. "You wanted me too, but you were the one preventing us from actually acting on anything. Thank god you came to your senses." He nods his head toward Erik's bedroom, "Shall we, then?"

"Right now? I thought we'd have dinner first," Erik says.

Charles' face falls. "Oh. Well, I won't lie, I'm a bit disheartened that you're not as eager to tear my clothes off as I am yours, but—"

"Fuck it," Erik surges forward to kiss him. Charles makes a pleasantly surprised noise and kisses back, pressing himself against Erik as they walk backwards.

When they bump into the dining room table, Erik takes the opportunity to hoist Charles onto the table and press him flat against it. Erik leans over Charles and moves to his neck, sucking on it the way he'd wanted to last weekend.

Charles hangs his arm over Erik's neck and presses up into his mouth, "Oh my god, you're so hot—how are you this hot? I—Erik, please can we—I'm—fuck," he thrusts his hips up against Erik.

Erik moans when he feels Charles' cock with the movement, fully hard. "Already?"

"I told you, I'm pent up," Charles says with a shudder. "And, well, you'll see—" He kisses Erik frantically, and reaches under Erik's shirt to grapple at his chest and stomach. "God, you're in incredible shape, you know—" he moans and starts palming at himself, "Please, Erik—"

"Are you always like this?" Erik says, a little incredulous, and a lot turned on. He straightens up and looks down at his handiwork. Charles looks debauched, chest heaving, neck blooming with a fresh mark, and cock straining against his pants. He looks incredible.

"No," Charles says emphatically, sitting up. "No one has ever made me wait and work for it the way you have. And I truly cannot emphasize enough how unbelievably hot it is to hear your thoughts all the time. The way you think about me, Erik, god."

"I imagine everyone thinks about you that way," Erik says. He gives Charles another appreciative once-over and heads toward his room.

"They really do not," Charles says, close on his heels. "I mean, yes, people often think sexually about me—don't laugh, it's true, it's not conceited for me to know that—"

Erik laughs and turns around to kiss Charles again. Charles pushes him onto the bed and crawls on top of him. He starts grinding his hips down into Erik's immediately, moaning into Erik's mouth.

"Okay, okay, slow down," Erik says. He puts a hand on Charles' cheek and coaxes him into a slower kiss. He sucks slowly on Charles' bottom lip, and eases him to the bed. Erik stands up, charmed by the sound of pure dismay Charles makes at the loss of contact. "I'll go get lube and a condom."

"Well, I—" Charles swallows and props himself up on his elbows. "I'm good with no condom, if you are. I'm clean. I was tested… recently." He blushes, and Erik gets the distinct impression that he'd tested specifically for this purpose, which is… incredibly flattering, really.

When Erik doesn't answer right away, Charles flushes deeper. "I know that's—awfully presumptuous of me. I mean, I'm not sleeping with anyone else, but of course you might be—"

"Do I seem like I'm sleeping with multiple people?" Erik asks, amused. He can't deny the low curl of heat in his stomach at the idea of fucking Charles without a condom, of maybe even being permitted to come inside him. He'd imagined it in his fantasies, of course, but to think it could be a reality—

Charles' mouth curves into an attractive grin, clearly catching on to the thread of Erik's thoughts. Erik swallows. "I'd like to, but um. Let me get tested first, okay? Just to be safe." Frankly, he'd assumed they'd be using condoms because surely Charles was seeing other people. But… evidently not. And while Charles is certainly an adult who can take care of himself, this seems like the responsible thing to do.

Charles nods, eyes soft. "Okay."

Erik stares at Charles for a beat longer, laying on his bed, lust simmering below the surface instead of bubbling at the top for the first time since he got here. "I'll be right back."

He goes to his bathroom to get what he'd set out earlier in preparation. He'd thought about putting them on the nightstand, but figured he might need a chance to breathe once Charles got here—and he'd been right, clearly.

Now that it's come down to it, he's nervous—he hasn't been with anyone in a long time, and it's been far longer since he's been with another man. He's not generally the type to be self-conscious, and Charles of all people isn't judging him, he knows. But… also, it's Charles. He's gorgeous, and young, and his skin is supple and firm, and he looks like he could be a model, except he's some sort of genius and is working on a PhD at the young age of twenty-two.

Erik's sure that most of his appeal is what Charles had said earlier—no one's ever made him work for it the way Erik has. This could very well be the only time they do this.

Erik better make it count.

"Erik," Charles calls from the bedroom, sounding petulant and impatient.

The bratty tone makes Erik relax—it's Charles. He's a dork, and he's spent months spouting some of the worst pickup lines Erik has ever heard, and he's incredibly kind and spends what little free time he has helping Erik's children.

Erik gives himself one more look in the mirror—he is in pretty good shape—and returns to the room.

What he finds makes his mouth go dry.

Charles has stripped completely naked, and is on his elbows and knees, back arched, displaying everything without an ounce of shame. His cock hangs heavily below him, and his ass is perfect, and more than that—there's a round silicon base nestled in between those perfect cheeks. The skin around it is shiny with lube.

Charles looks behind him with a wicked grin, "I prepped ahead of time. I wanted to be ready for you. I felt you against me last weekend—you're big. Didn't want to waste any time."

Erik can't tear his eyes away from him. "You're fucking gorgeous," he says. He walks up and palms at Charles' ass. It's firm and round and jiggles just enough when he lightly smacks it. Charles moans at the contact.

Erik swallows. Charles' earlier behavior is starting to make a little more sense, now. He'd had a plug inside him, filling him up the whole time.

"Please," Charles says, voice rough with need, "Erik, please fuck me. I've been thinking about your prick inside me for ages."

"You have such a filthy mouth," Erik murmurs. He grabs the plug and pulls it out a little, then lets go and watches the way Charles' hole sucks it back in greedily. Charles moans again.

"I've been thinking a lot about you, too," Erik says. He undoes his pants and steps out of them.

"Yeah?" Charles says. "What about me?"

Erik takes his shirt off. "About all the things I want to do to you."

"You can do them now," Charles says. "I'm ready. You don't even have to use your fingers."

"I see that," Erik says. Truthfully, he'd been interested in preparing Charles—he's always liked foreplay quite a bit. But perhaps it's for the best—it's been a long time since he's been with another man, and aside from the actual fucking part, he feels a little inexperienced. Especially compared to Charles, who seems very comfortable in the bedroom.

And this is good, too, Erik thinks, grabbing the plug and fucking it in and out of Charles' ass.

"Oh my god, that feels good," Charles moans, arching until his chest is pressed down into the bed. His toes curl adorably.

Erik pulls the plug out completely. Charles' hole puckers and clenches, wanting to be filled. Erik's cock throbs between his legs—he's been fully erect since he'd been blessed with the sight of Charles, ass up on his bed, begging for it. He slides his underwear off and grabs a condom. The foil crinkles as he opens it.

"Wait," Charles says. He flips around and looks Erik up and down. When his eyes land on Erik's cock, a quiet whine sounds in the back of his throat. He gets on his knees and grabs Erik's cock and strokes it a few times. "You are huge, I knew it," he says, eyes trained on Erik's cock, which is quite enjoying the attention.

Erik exhales, a little shaky. Charles jerks him off with an expression of barely-contained glee on his face. If his hand feels this good, Erik can't wait to get inside him.

"God, I want that inside me so bad," Charles breathes. "Please get tested soon, so you can fuck me raw. But for now—" he gives Erik's cock one last squeeze and then turns around again, wiggling his ass in the air.

Erik snorts, then rolls a condom on and coats his cock generously with lube. "You're ready?" he says. He kneels behind Charles and runs his hands over Charles' hips, the curve of his ass.

To answer, Charles lifts his arm behind him to pull at his ass cheek, spreading it so his hole opens, pink and wet and winking at Erik.

Erik feels like he's been punched in the gut, it's so hot. He's glad Charles is facing the other way at least, so he can't see the way Erik's hand shakes slightly as he holds his cock to Charles' hole and starts pressing in. He goes painstakingly slow, because he doesn't want to hurt Charles, even if Charles has stretched ahead of time.

"Holy shit," Erik breathes. He's wildly grateful for the condom, at least, because it's certainly helping him avoid coming. Charles is sinfully, intensely tight.

"It's good, isn't it?" Charles says, sounding breathless.

Erik huffs a laugh, "Yes, Charles. You're very good."

Charles groans and pushes back the final inch on Erik's cock, "Christ, Erik. You feel even better than I imagined. Your prick is—it's—oh fuck," he interrupts himself with a moan as Erik pulls out and pushes in again steadily.

"Did I finally figure out how to shut you up?"

"Ha, not bloody likely—" Charles breaks off into another moan as Erik thrusts into him again.

"This is nice," Erik says lightly.

"Oh, go fuck yourself," Charles laughs, and then on the next thrust, he arches his back and makes a outlandishly slutty noise that makes Erik's cock throb. It's absolutely pornographic, and Erik's honestly embarrassed how hot he finds it. He's a hell of a stereotype, he thinks, fucking someone nearly half his age who looks, sounds, and feels like a wet dream.

"You're thinking far too much," Charles complains. "Do I need to get on top?"

"No, no," Erik says. "You're right."

And he decides to just enjoy it, instead.

He grabs Charles' hips and fucks into him over and over, and Charles pushes back to meet him, each thrust punctuated with a dirty groan that rings in Erik's ears. The room is filled with the sounds of their moans and skin slapping against each other, and when Erik feels his orgasm building he hauls Charles to his knees and holds him up.

"Look at you," he murmurs, because finally he gets a good look at Charles' cock, and if he'd known it was so pretty, he would have done this earlier. It's uncircumcised and pink and beading with precome, and Erik has the sudden, intense urge to taste it.

"Later," Charles moans, "please, now, I want—"

"So polite," Erik says, and wraps a hand around Charles' cock and strokes it with quick, firm strokes, the way he likes it—he's not sure if this is what Charles likes best, but it seems to do the trick for now, based on the way Charles leaks into his hand. It's intensely erotic, feeling someone else's cock in his hand. Especially someone who looks and feels like Charles.

He can also see Charles' gorgeous nipples like this, and he can't believe he's wasted so much time—he could have been touching them. He could have been licking them. He uses his other hand to skim up Charles' stomach, watches how the muscles tense and shudder, until he reaches Charles' nipple and rolls the nub in between his fingers, tugging on the metal with his powers. "I still can't believe you got these pierced for me," Erik says lowly. "You're just perfect, aren't you?"

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck—" Charles throws his head back on Erik's shoulder and comes, painting the sheets in long stripes. Erik works him through it until he's shivering and his body is nearly limp in Erik's arms, and only then does Erik give in and thrust a few more times before coming with a satisfied groan, riding the aftershocks of Charles' own projected pleasure.

"Christ," Charles pants, slumping onto the bed, "that was bloody excellent."

Erik laughs, pulling off the condom and tying it. "It was. Can I get you anything?"

"I don't know, a cigarette?" Charles says with a breathless laugh, rolling onto his back. He eyes the spot where his come had landed and tosses a sheet over it with a shrug.

Erik snorts and goes to the bathroom to throw the condom away and wipe the come off his dick. He returns and summons a thin metal box from his closet. He opens it to reveal a mostly-full box of cigarettes, an ash tray, and a lighter. He offers it to Charles.

Charles sits up and grabs the box. "Mr. Lehnsherr, you are full of surprises," he purrs. He lights a cigarette and takes a drag and lays back against the pillows, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. "I would never have pegged you for a smoker."

"I'm not, really. I've had that pack for probably a year," Erik laughs. "I'm sure it's gross by now."

Charles shrugs. "Bit crumbly, but tastes fine. I'm not much of a smoker either. Only for very special occasions," he adds with a smirk. "You're sure that was your first time with a man?"

"I never said that."

"What?" Charles says, looking at Erik in surprise. "You've been with men before?"

"Before Magda and I got together, I had a couple experiences." Erik shrugs, "Nothing serious, but enough to know what I like." He takes a seat on the bed next to Charles, not bothering to cover himself. Any lingering insecurity had flown out the window with Charles' enthusiastic responses in bed.

"Huh," Charles says thoughtfully. "I thought that may have partially been why you were so… hesitant with me. Having a sexuality crisis, or something."

Erik laughs, "No, it was definitely just the age thing." He reaches for the cigarette. Charles hands it to him and he takes a drag, then passes it back. "You realize how young twenty-two is, right?"

Charles rolls his eyes. "Do you realize what it's like, hearing the inner workings of every adult around you since you were nine? Try doing that for your whole life and then tell me you just feel fifty, or however old you are."

"Forty-two," Erik says, affronted.

Charles snickers around the smoke in his mouth. He blows it out and says, "I just thought there must have been some other reason you didn't want to get involved. You thought about me all the time."

"So you've said. You thought you were my first?"

"Well, you were married to a woman for the majority of your adult life, so I just assumed…" Charles shrugs a shoulder, almost sullenly.

"You wanted to be my first," Erik realizes, amused.

"I confess, I liked the idea of it," Charles pouts. It's adorable.

"Ah. Well, you don't have many firsts left when you're fifty," Erik says dryly. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Oh, I'm sure you could make it up to me," Charles says, eyes gleaming. He offers the cigarette to Erik again, and when it's declined, he stubs it out and says, "Were you going to make me dinner?"

Erik cooks for them; steak and mushrooms in the cast-iron skillet like he'd planned, alongside a salad he'd made and a nice red wine he'd picked up. He'd simply been looking forward to cooking a nice meal for another adult, but it looks… a bit romantic, now that he's putting it all together. Maybe it's too much for this casual… whatever he has with Charles.

"It's wonderful, Erik," Charles says, smiling brightly. "I'm starving." He takes a bite and immediately moans around it. "You are an excellent cook."

Erik bites down a smile, pleased. "I enjoy cooking for other people." He hasn't really done this regularly since his divorce, but he doesn't want to be the person who always talks about ex-wife. It's not that he's still hung up on Magda, really, but she's made up most of his adult life. He doesn't know how to not bring her up, either.

"Don't hold back on my account," Charles says. "I know you were married. I'm well acquainted with your ex-wife, you might remember."

Erik looks up from his meal, taken aback.

Charles looks embarrassed. He takes a sip of wine and says, "Consequences of being around a telepath, I'm afraid. Sometimes I can't help but hear things, and it feels disingenuous not to bring them up, but I understand that might make you feel uncomfortable."

"I don't mind," Erik says honestly. "I was just a little surprised." He really doesn't mind. He likes that Charles is a telepath. He's used to it with Emma, and besides, it's sexy. He likes the way that Charles uses his telepathy, to tease and flirt with him, to hide his thoughts from Wanda, just in case. He likes the way he can feel echoes of Charles' pleasure in bed, like Charles feels so good he can't help but share it.

"Well… good," Charles says, no doubt following along with Erik's thoughts. His cheeks are pink.

"Good," Erik repeats.

-

"Are you free this weekend?" Charles asks, when they've finished eating, played a game of chess, and necked on the couch until they were both hard and aching again. Then, Charles had slid to his knees and sucked Erik off in a truly impressive blowjob. He seemed to take Erik's size as a challenge, and he'd come into his own hand as Erik had come down his throat.

"Um, no," Erik says, feeling a bit like his brain's been sucked out through his dick. That might have been the best blowjob he's ever gotten. "I mean, no, I don't have plans. Yes, I'm free."

Charles smirks. "Excellent. Let's get together, then. How does Saturday work for you? I'll stay the night."

Erik wonders if he'll get used to Charles' particularly brand of unapologetic confidence. "Did you just invite yourself over?"

Charles blinks. "Yes? Was that unclear?"

Erik snorts. "No, it wasn't. Sure, that sounds good." His eyes land on the throw pillow he'd bought last week. "Actually, I was thinking about decorating my place a bit. Maybe even get some new furniture. Would you want to do that with me this weekend? It could be fun." Maybe it's too domestic an activity. It's not intended to be. It's just something to do, and Charles certainly has enough personal style that he might be able to help Erik.

"That sounds lovely," Charles beams. "I'd love to." He picks up the throw pillow Erik had been looking at. "I see you've begun already."

"A bit. But truthfully, I don't know anything about decorating," Erik laughs. "I had to phone a friend just to ask what colors go with gray."

"It sounds like you are in dire need of my services then," Charles nods. He leans in until they're only a few inches away, "And afterwards, you can provide your services."

Erik grins, "Deal. Only this time, don't—prepare yourself, ahead of time."

"Are you sure?" Charles says. "I don't mind."

Erik thinks about how tight Charles had been around his dick earlier, and how he might feel on his fingers, unstretched and improbably tight, loosening up slowly, a finger at a time, until he's gaping and ready for Erik's cock. "I'm sure," he says.

Charles swallows, a flush creeping up on his lovely cheeks. "Okay, then."

When he calls Emma to ask her to reschedule their Saturday lunch date again, Erik's very glad that he's not telling her in person, because he thinks she might try to melt his brain if he were. He doesn't think she can do that with her telepathy, or she'd likely have done it to someone already, but he's not eager to find out, either.

"Consider it your apology for making fun of me so much when I found out how old Charles is," Erik says, because sometimes the best defense truly is offense, when it comes to Emma.

"What—I told you to fuck him, and that's what you ended up doing! If anything, I gave you great advice," Emma says, outraged.

"You laughed so hard you cried," Erik says. "I was upset."

"I'm not sure why I'm the friend you went to if you wanted sympathy," Emma snaps. "And why can't you see him on Sunday?"

"He works with the kids on Sundays on Magda's weekends. Also, you're my only friend," Erik says, trying for more sympathy, because the thing about Emma is that she does secretly care.

It seems to work, because she mutters something unintelligible under her breath and then sighs. "You owe me," she says ominously.

"Um, okay," he says, disconcerted. "What do you want?"

Emma thinks for a moment, and then she says, "I want to to take my niece out sometime. On one of your weekends. I feel too weird picking her up from your old place."

Erik knows she means Wanda, because as much as she loves Lorna, she'd never voluntarily babysit an eight year old. It's a fair trade, he thinks, because it is a big favor for Emma to move her schedule around for him last minute like this. "Okay," he agrees.

Perhaps she thinks he's agreed too easily, because she adds, "And you're picking me up and dropping me off, so I can get properly day drunk at lunch."

Erik bites down a sigh, because Emma is a handful when she's properly drunk. Last time, she'd insisted they stop for milkshakes and fries on the way home, even though they'd just had lunch. Then she'd yelled at him the following day for allowing her to bully him into stopping for milkshakes and fries.

But then he remembers Charles, and how he'd looked yesterday, waiting for him on his bed, looking like a dirty dream. The way he'd reached back and spread his cheeks for Erik. The way he'd pleaded with Erik to fuck him without a condom, and agreed to come over next time unprepped. And for all of that, he thinks he'd do a lot more than be Emma's chauffeur for a meal.

"Fine," Erik says, trying to sound begrudging. "I can do that."

Emma doesn't seem fooled. "Uh huh. Actually, let's make it brunch. I want to drink my body weight in bloody marys. See you Sunday."

Chapter Text

Erik's never been one for texting, but he finds himself messaging Charles throughout the rest of the week. Charles is funny and outrageous and thoughtful. He sends Erik recipes for meals he'd like to try—to which Erik says, What am I, your personal chef? and Charles replies, Have we not established that I put out for food? and Erik scoffs and texts back, I think we've established that you'll put out for anything, and to that, Charles says, For you, certainly.

"You look… happy," a thickly accented voice says. Erik looks up to see his coworker, Azazel, looking at him suspiciously.

Erik clears his throat and puts his phone down. "Can I help you?"

Azazel shrugs, a small smile playing across his red lips. "No."

Erik stares at him. "So you just came in my office for nothing?"

"Well, your door was open," Azazel says. "And this is the first time I've ever seen you smile." He peers at Erik's phone, "Are you texting someone? A special lady friend, perhaps?"

Erik turns the phone over, so it's face-down. "No."

"Right," Azazel says. "Well, good for you."

He stares at Erik for a beat too long, and then he shrugs and disappears with a startling bamf noise that makes Erik jump so hard he knocks his legs into his desk and makes it rattle loudly. "Jesus Christ," Erik mutters. Azazel's made a few short-lived attempts to get to know him since he started working here—likely because Erik's open about his powers. There's not that many mutants working here, as far as he can tell.

Azazel's a weird guy, but he seems… fine. Inoffensive, at least, when he's not asking Erik intrusive questions.

Erik closes his door.

"I had an idea," Charles says when Erik picks him up. He gets in the car, leans over to brush a kiss at the corner of Erik's mouth, and buckles himself in. He twists around to set an overnight bag in the backseat. He does it all so naturally, like getting picked up by Erik off campus in the early afternoon is a normal, lovely part of his routine. In truth, it feels natural to Erik, too. Charles has integrated into his life without him noticing, somehow.

"Lay it on me."

"We should go to IKEA," Charles says proudly.

Erik blinks. "That's your idea?"

"Yes. I love IKEA."

"You love IKEA?" Erik says. He grabs his phone and pulls up the map app. He'd originally planned on going back to the store he'd been at earlier this week.

"Yes," Charles says confidently. "They have stylish, affordable furniture that you can put together yourself and it doesn't break the bank."

He sounds like a commercial, Erik thinks. Charles scoffs, "Don't be so boring. It'll be fun!"

"Okay, sure," Erik shrugs. It doesn't really make a difference to him, and Charles sounds like he knows what he's talking about. He sets his phone to navigate to the store and asks Charles how his research has been going. He says it's been going well, but it's a bit all over the place, as he hasn't finalized a dissertation topic yet.

"It's a four-year program, so I've got time," Charles says.

"What's your plan after you finish?" Erik asks.

"I'm not sure. I think teaching full-time would be wonderful, but I might be hard-pressed to find a position without years and years of research under my belt. Maybe I'll get a research job somewhere. Or perhaps I'll just go back for another degree."

He sounds so casual about it, and so confident, like whatever he ends up doing will be the right choice. Erik envies that level of surety in one's decisions. Though, he supposes he thought he had it all figured out when he was that age, too. Maybe Charles will find himself starting over again when he's forty, just like Erik.

Charles reaches across the armrest and puts his hand on Erik's thigh. He rubs it gently, absentmindedly. Erik drops his hand to Charles' and squeezes it. And this, perhaps, is what Erik's missed the most about being with someone in a romantic capacity—the casual affection; kisses hello, and holding hands in the car.

The look on Charles' face when they walk into IKEA cannot be described in any way other than mesmerized. He looks around in pure awe, craning his neck in every direction, like he can't decide what to look at first. "Should we get a cart?" he says excitedly. "What are you looking to get today?"

Erik shrugs, "I don't know… a coffee table, maybe a blanket or something."

He honestly can't remember the last time he came here, or did personal shopping in any real capacity—aside from buying things for his place when he'd first moved out, and that had been a blur. He'd been processing it through a looking glass, it felt. Something that was happening to someone else. He bought everything online, with the express purpose of just getting it done.

This time, he doesn't really have an agenda—he has some things in mind he'd like to get but he's open to buying whatever, honestly.

"We should look at everything in that case," Charles says, studying the store map display with a focused intensity.

Erik peers at the map and sees areas labeled with Lighting and Sofa-beds. "I don't know if that's necessary."

"Of course it is," Charles insists. "You don't know what we could find here." There's a feverish gleam in his eyes.

"Charles," Erik says, "you've never been to IKEA before, have you?"

Charles freezes, caught. "Well… no. But I've always wanted to," he says cheerfully. He grabs a cart, "Shall we?"

And that's how Erik finds himself on a thorough, enthusiastic guided tour of IKEA.

"This place is amazing," Charles says. "It's huge. And all of these incredible showrooms! It's all so accessible. You can just pick a room and buy everything in it! We could redecorate your entire apartment. We could redecorate the entire apartment building."

Erik laughs, "Okay, slow down. I'm good with just the coffee table, I think."

Charles takes him by the hand and meanders through the showrooms, suggesting every piece of furniture that catches his eye; a garishly bright coral couch, gauzy and ineffective sheer curtains, a large, wicker elephant that seems more at place in a child's jungle-themed room than at Erik's apartment.

Peter used to have a jungle-themed room, he tells Charles, with a comically large stuffed tiger. At some point, Peter's zeal for exotic animals gave way to video games, and Lorna became the proud owner of his secondhand stuffed animals.

After touring the living room showrooms, Erik decides on a nice table with drawers, made of espresso-colored wood and metal accents. Charles talks him into a stylish patterned rug he would have overlooked on his own and two more pillows for his couch. Surely, Erik thinks, that has to be all the pillows he needs for the living room.

Erik also picks out a vibrantly green throw blanket that earns him a warm, knowing smile from Charles. He sees a dark, moody set of art prints that he thinks Wanda would like, but he thinks she'd appreciate having more say into her room decor this time. Peter, too, though Erik doubts that room decor is high on his list of priorities. Likely, he'd ask Erik for the money instead so he can add it to his personal gaming computer fund—which is actually a pretty sensible thing to do, Erik thinks.

They're about to brave the checkout lines when Charles stops in his tracks with a gasp, staring up at a directional sign hanging from the wall. "Are you hungry?" he asks Erik, too casually.

"Not really," Erik says. "I mean, a bit, but I have food at home to cook. I picked up stuff for salmon bowls."

"Oh," Charles says, deflating just the tiniest bit. He brightens, unfailingly polite as usual, "That sounds lovely."

"Why do you ask?" Erik says, unable to hide his smile at Charles' subtle but clear disappointment, like a child getting a toy they've been begging for, but in the wrong color.

"Well, the food court is over there," Charles says, pointing. "I've heard they have amazing meatballs."

"Is that a euphemism?" Erik says blandly.

"No, Erik. Not everything is about sex. Get your mind out of the gutter," Charles scoffs. "But everyone talks about the meatballs. I want to try them."

Erik starts heading toward the food court. They might as well, while they're here. "Who's everyone?"

"Classmates, the students in the classes I teach, the internet. And Moira," Charles adds darkly, "she came here without me last year."

"If you wanted to come here so badly, why haven't you before?" Erik says, amused.

Charles pouts, "It's not like I have that much free time. And… it felt a bit pathetic, coming here by myself, just to see what it's like."

"And I'm the only guy you've managed to rope into this? I'm not sure how that makes me feel," Erik teases.

"You'd be surprised how few people recommend furniture shopping as a date," Charles says dryly.

"I don't know why not. I'm enjoying myself," Erik shrugs. He gestures toward the buffet line. "Meatballs?"

Charles' eyes light up.

One shared plate of meatballs later, they're finally ready to head to checkout. The store is set up cleverly, so you have to walk through every section to get there. What Erik thinks will be a straight shot ends up being full of detours.

Charles pulls him around, looking at dish sets and blindingly bright lighting displays. He manages to corner Erik a couple of times to kiss him. He even convinces Erik to sit down on a display bed once, but he immediately tries to climb into Erik's lap. "We're testing it," he pouts, when Erik shuts that down quickly.

In the children's section, there's a display of large stuffed sharks that catches Charles' attention.

"Do you want one?" Erik asks, mostly as a joke.

"What? The shark? No," Charles says, quickly enough that it seems like he does actually want one.

"Are you sure? I think I owe you for your consulting services."

"Yes," Charles laughs, "I'm quite certain that I don't need you to buy me a stuffed animal. It's just—that's Blahaj. He's sort of an internet celebrity."

"I see," Erik says, though he doesn't. It is pretty cute though, he thinks. Lorna would probably like it.

Charles gives Blahaj one last wistful look, then turns to him with a wicked grin and says, "I think I'll collect my consulting service fees when we're back at yours."

"I have to say, I didn't expect this to be such a… comprehensive endeavor," Erik says, when they're standing in the sizable checkout line. He had thought this would be a short trip, but the time had flown by. They'd been here for hours. Charles has a gift for making the mundane enjoyable, Erik thinks appreciatively.

"Right? Isn't it wonderful?" Charles beams. "They have everything here."

Erik has to admit, he's right. "They do. And the meatballs weren't bad."

"They weren't!" Charles agrees happily. "Though, your cooking is much better, and I still expect dinner when we get back."

"Of course," Erik says. He appreciates that Charles always tells him exactly what he wants—stuffed shark, perhaps, notwithstanding.

The checkout line is long and full of families, buzzing with children. This seems to be the place to come to furnish dorm rooms, Erik realizes. It's quite early to be shopping for college, he thinks, but they're probably just excited. He thinks about taking the twins here, when they're getting ready to move out, and it strikes a complicated chord in his chest.

When it's their turn to check out, the elderly cashier smiles at Charles and says, "Getting ready to go away to college?"

"Oh, I'm already away," Charles says cheerfully. "In college, I mean."

"They're never too old to spoil, are they?" she says to Erik, when he swipes his card.

Erik blinks, not sure what she means for a second, and then wishing he didn't, when he does understand. "Um," he says, buffering.

"Oh, yes, he always takes excellent care of me," Charles says, looking absolutely delighted. "Thank you, Daddy."

Erik's mouth flattens. "Absolutely not."

"The best part about IKEA is that you can assemble everything yourself," Charles says for the third time, when they get back to Erik's place. He seems oddly enamored with the idea of self-assembly furniture. "You get started on dinner, and I'll work on putting this together."

Erik looks at him dubiously. "You'll put it together?" Charles helping him pick out the table is one thing, but he certainly hadn't expected his help assembling it.

"Yes, Erik. I'm not useless," Charles says, offended.

"I agree. But… have you ever put furniture together before?" It feels like a strange question to ask a college student, and yet if Charles' gleeful enthusiasm is any indication, he likely hasn't.

"It's from IKEA, how hard could it possibly be?" Charles scoffs.

"You've never even been to IKEA until today," Erik points out.

"Well, it comes with directions and I can read, so I'm sure I'll manage somehow. Why don't you go make yourself useful and make dinner?" Charles sits on the ground and slides the box over. He frowns at it for a moment, and then starts picking at the tape on the outside of the box. Erik wordlessly floats a pair of scissors over to Charles, who snatches them out of the air and sniffs, "Thank you."

Erik gets the impression that Charles is going to need his full attention to build the table, so he puts some music on and focuses on cooking dinner. It's comforting, hearing Charles hum along with the music and talk to himself, feeling the pleasant presence of his telepathy around them.

It's nice to share space with someone.

"Dinner's ready," Erik says, a little bit later. He sets the salmon bowls on the table and turns to Charles, "Do you want—"

He pauses. Charles is on the living room floor, looking like a coffee table exploded around him. He's completely surrounded by discarded packaging, screws and bolts, and wooden panels of varying sizes. He's holding an instruction page close to his face and studying it intently, eyebrows furrowed. His hair is rucked up like he's ran his fingers through it repeatedly.

"How's it going?" Erik says.

Charles looks up. "These directions are useless. I can't make heads or tails of this. And I'm getting a PhD, for god's sake! I'm very smart, Erik."

"I know you are," Erik says, laughing. "Okay, we'll eat dinner in here. Do you want anything to drink? I have wine, or I can get something stronger."

"Wine's fine," Charles mutters, frowning down at the instruction sheet again. "I don't even think we have this part…"

Erik retrieves the food and wine, and takes a seat next to Charles on the floor. "Let me take a look. I'm pretty good at this stuff."

Charles hands the instructions over with a pout and starts eating. "This is good," he says through a mouthful of rice and fish.

Erik flashes him a quick grin and then studies the paper while he eats for a few minutes. "Okay," he says. "I think I got it. Hand me that piece of wood." He points to a board on the other side of Charles.

"I'll give you a piece of wood," Charles says automatically, handing it to him.

Erik laughs, "So I was out of line for thinking meatballs was a euphemism, but you just said that."

"That's right. Do keep up, darling," Charles smirks.

"Uh huh." Erik rolls his eyes and grabs two other boards and fits them against each other according to the manual. He summons a handful of small metal pieces, which start working themselves into the wood easily, fitting the boards together in less than a minute. Erik takes another bite of food.

Charles is uncharacteristically silent.

"Can you hand me those two long pieces?" Erik says, gesturing again.

"Are you serious right now?" Charles demands, staring at him. "How are you doing this? Why are you so good at it?"

"It's not that hard," Erik says, mouth twitching.

"Yes it is!" Charles says indignantly. "There aren't any words on the instructions! And—and there's a million tiny pieces, and they all look the same, and let me just say once again, there are no words. Explain yourself," he says accusingly.

"Hand me those first," Erik says. Charles grumbles and does so. Erik glances at the instruction sheet again and proceeds, fitting the pieces together. "Well, mostly it's that my mutation gives me a good understanding of machines. It's a lot easier to understand how things work when you can feel each individual part. How they fit together and whatnot. Also, it's sort of my job. I'm a mechanical design engineer, which sounds much more interesting than it actually is." He takes a break to take a couple bites of food.

Charles pouts, "Well, why didn't you just say that when I said I'd put it together?"

"You were so excited," Erik says. "It was cute."

"That was before I knew I'd be embarrassing myself," Charles says with a self-deprecating laugh.

"Don't be embarrassed," Erik laughs. "I was just giving you a hard time. These instructions really are terrible."

"They are! It's absolutely impossible," Charles says, validated. He sits up straight with a renewed sense of purpose. "Fine, I'll be your assistant. Let me know what you need."

Together, they make short work of the table while they eat and chat. It's certainly the most enjoyable time Erik has ever had putting together furniture. Again, he's struck with the thought that everything is fun with Charles.

"So… you don't like your job?" Charles asks, when they're just about finishing up.

"Hmm?"

"Earlier, you said your job isn't as interesting as it sounds. But it seems like your mutation is made for something like that. I'm surprised you don't enjoy it."

"Um, it's complicated," Erik says. "I like the work in theory. I used to work at a smaller company, and the work was a lot more hands-on. I did a little bit of everything—design philosophy, job quotes, assembly repair. But most of the time I'd be studying machines to see where they could be more efficient, working backwards. Then I'd create the actual piece and then redesign the blueprint for production. Sort of like a puzzle. It was fun."

Charles watches him closely. "And now…"

"Now I work at a really big company, and they're not really in the business of efficiency. They just want to make a bunch of shitty pieces for cheap. So I spend every day working with design software on the computer, and I never actually work with the physical pieces." He puts the last screw into the table and flips it right-side up. "There," he says, looking at the table with satisfaction. It looks nice. "Should we put the rug in here?"

"I think so," Charles agrees. He retrieves the rug from where they'd set it in the foyer. Erik moves the table aside and together, they spread the rug out across the floor. "Why did you leave your old job, if you prefer it so much? Is the new one not what you expected?"

"No," Erik says. "I knew it was going to be boring. But… it pays a lot more than my old job." It'd had to, to make up for all of the extra expenses he'd incurred from the divorce. He didn't want to just pay the minimum alimony amounts—he wanted to give them everything he could, so his family never felt any financial strain. It's the only thing he can keep the same for them, when everything else has changed.

"I see," Charles says quietly. He collects the empty bowls and wine glasses in thoughtful silence.

Charles insists on doing the dishes himself, since Erik cooked dinner and assembled the table. They drink their second glasses of wine and Erik puts away the leftovers while Charles works. He's a little awkward, doing the dishes. He rinses them first with hot, soapy water and then loads them inefficiently into the dishwasher. He probably doesn't have a dishwasher at his place, Erik thinks. He does live on campus.

"I got a call from my doctor yesterday," Erik says conversationally, topping off their glasses with the last of the wine.

"Oh?" Charles says distractedly, struggling to fit a large pan in the dishwasher. He frowns at it and then apparently decides to just wash it by hand. "Everything okay?"

"It's great," Erik says. "I got my bloodwork back."

"Your blood—" Charles drops the pan into the sink with a clang, sloshing water on himself. He turns to Erik, face alight with glee. "Your bloodwork? Like, for sex purposes, right? We can have sex without a condom? That's what you're saying, right?"

Erik laughs, "Yeah, everything came back—"

Charles gasps and throws himself at Erik and kisses him. Erik stumbles back a step, using his hands to steady Charles. "Are you going to do that every time?" he asks, looking down at Charles with amusement. He flicks the faucet off from across the kitchen.

Charles laughs, "If you keep bringing me exciting news like that, yes. I can't believe you waited until now to tell me. Way to bury the lede, my god." He starts pressing insistent kisses to Erik's neck.

"Well, I needed the dishes done first," Erik says, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of Charles' clever lips. Charles snakes his hand up Erik's shirt, feeling up his stomach.

Charles kisses him again. "I'll finish them later," he mumbles against his lips. "Let's go to your room. Actually, let's just fuck here in the kitchen." He tries to drop to his knees but Erik catches him and hauls him to his feet.

"Hey," Erik says, trying to sound firm despite the clear interest his dick is showing in all of this, "this time, we do it my way."

"Your way? What do you mean?" Charles frowns. "You enjoyed yourself last time."

"Of course I did," Erik assures him. "But I want to take it slower this time."

Charles looks a little frustrated, but he shrugs, "Fine. Bedroom?" He strips his clothing off on the way, leaving a trail all the way to the bed.

"Leave your underwear on," Erik says, removing his clothes, too.

"Your loss," Charles pouts. He spots the lube on the nightstand and grabs it, holding it out to Erik.

"Not yet," Erik says. He takes the lube and sets it aside. "Get on the bed."

"Moving a little fast, aren't you?" Charles says sarcastically, as he acquiesces.

Erik laughs, "You're such a brat." He crawls on top of Charles and looks down at him, gaze hot and anticipatory. He's been thinking about this all day—not actively, not on purpose, but in the back of his mind. It's impossible to be around Charles without wanting to touch him, to keep him.

"I happen to know that you like it," Charles says, touching Erik's waist and chest, mapping it out with eager hands.

"I do," Erik says, dipping his head down and kiss Charles, slowly, carefully. Charles bites at Erik's lips, trying to increase the pace, but Erik doesn't let him. He deepens the kiss and maintains the lead, slowly lowering his body on top of Charles until they're chest to chest. Charles' hands keep moving, nearly frantic on Erik's skin. Erik lets him touch, until he tries to push Erik's underwear down.

Erik grabs Charles' wrist and pulls away. "Why," Charles says, petulant. "I want to touch you. I want you."

"I want you too," Erik says. He kisses Charles again, presses their hips together. "But I want to take my time with you. Will you behave?"

"Fine. Your way," Charles begrudges. Despite his complaining, he watches Erik, eyes dark.

Erik smirks and dips down to press wet, open-mouthed kisses to Charles' neck. He uses his teeth to bite and suck bruises into the skin, working until Charles is squirming and gasping, hips pushing up for any contact he can get. "God, Erik," Charles moans. "I'm going to have to hide these, you barbarian."

Erik snickers and shuffles down until he's level with Charles' nipples—they're hard and pebbled, moving with each shaky breath he takes. The metal bars through them glint tantalizingly in the evening sun. It feels embarrassingly predictable, the shock of desire that rushes through Erik every time he sees them. But it's this private part of Charles, this thing that no one but Erik knows about—and even if they do know, they don't know. They don't know what the metal feels like inside him.

Erik licks a broad stripe over one nipple, and Charles gasps and abruptly brings his hands down to grasp at Erik's shoulders. "Do that again," he breathes.

Erik smirks and presses his mouth around one nipple, laves his tongue over it and sucks, and Charles moans and arches his back, pressing up into Erik's mouth. "Christ—oh my god, Erik," he babbles. His cock throbs against Erik's stomach. Erik does it again, using his fingers to rub at the other one at the same time. The metal sings in his mouth, and Erik's so, so hard. "That feels so good," Charles gasps, "the other one, please."

Erik grins and obligingly moves to the other nipple, sucking hard. Charles cries out and buries his fingers in Erik's hair. He seems like he doesn't know what he wants to do, whether he wants to get closer or pull away. His fingers pet Erik's hair frantically and alternate between pulling away and tugging closer, and he's making short, hiccup-y breaths with every swipe of Erik's tongue. Erik works the nipple until it looks red and puffy and he can feel a wet spot on his stomach where Charles is leaking through his underwear.

"Do you think you could come just from this?" Erik asks, licking another stripe over the swollen skin.

"No," Charles says emphatically, "or—maybe, I don't know."

Erik considers the idea, but decides to explore that particular notion another time. He sits up and hooks his fingers into Charles' underwear and tugs them down, enjoying the way Charles' cock springs out, already hard and pink, smeared with wet at the tip. Erik swallows, staring at it. Everything about Charles is beautiful.

He wraps his hand around Charles' cock. The first time he'd done this, he'd already been inside Charles, and it'd already been so good and overwhelming that he couldn't think about much except the way Charles was taking him, squeezing him. Now, he takes the time to appreciate the velvet softness of his cock, the way it rises with the swell of Charles' breathing.

"What do you like?" Erik asks, moving his hand up and down. This, he knows—it's not all that different from touching himself, aside from the foreskin that moves with his hand, stretching appealingly with each stroke. "How do you like to be touched?"

"I like, ah—I like it all, really," Charles says, pushing his hips up into Erik's hand. "But, um, I like long, firm strokes. I want to feel your hands—I like them. They're nice. Strong, and graceful, and—" he breaks off into a moan as Erik strokes him, squeezing on the upstroke until a pearl of precome beads at the tip. He gathers it with his thumb and spreads it down Charles' shaft. He does it again and again until Charles is slick and wet. He wants to taste it.

"Please," Charles breathes, "I want that. I want your mouth."

Erik moves down the bed and drops to his stomach, and licks the head of Charles' cock. The skin is warm and spongy on his tongue.

Erik looks up to see Charles, watching him with a heated gaze. "Erik," he says, "I need you to suck me."

And Erik wants to, he does. It's just… "I haven't done this in over twenty years." He doesn't think he was particularly amazing at it the few times he did suck cock, and he can't remember what it's like at all, now.

Charles' expression softens. He caresses Erik's face with a gentle hand. "It's okay, I'll show you. Anything you do will feel good, trust me."

Erik nods. He knows what it's like to be on the receiving end, of course. He's gotten plenty of blowjobs over the course of his marriage, and most recently—a truly fantastic one from Charles, whose mouth had been wet and hot and soft. He'd been enthusiastic, like he couldn't get enough of Erik's cock. Now, looking at Charles' cock in his hand, hard and flushed all the way to the the tip, Erik understands that enthusiasm. He wants to take him in his mouth, wants to make Charles feel good.

He strokes Charles slowly, then puts his tongue at the base of his cock and licks a long, thick stripe all the way to the head. "Good. Get it nice and wet," Charles says approvingly, looking down at him.

Erik repeats the motion a couple times, and then he leans forward and sucks on the tip. It's faintly salty. Charles' fingers tighten in his hair, "Yes, good. Do that, and then, when you're ready, take more of me. Just… slide your mouth down." He sounds like he's trying not to beg, but he's failing.

Erik rounds his lips and takes more of Charles into his mouth. He goes too fast at first, and he can feel the moment his teeth make contact, because Charles hisses and pulls hard on his hair, pulling him off his cock. Before he can apologize, Charles is petting his face and saying, "It's okay—it's okay. Just… slower. Careful. I know it's a lot, at first. Don't worry, it feels good. You feel so good, Erik."

Erik presses a couple apologetic kisses to Charles' cock, which earns him an appreciative moan. It's outrageously sexy, touching Charles like this. Affecting him like this, even as inexperienced as he feels. And it's freeing, to do what he wants to Charles, to explore a man's body so thoroughly. Erik's own cock is rock hard, trapped in his underwear and pressed ineffectively against the mattress. He takes Charles into his mouth again, slower this time. He wraps his lips around his teeth and moves down the shaft. The weight of Charles on his tongue is incredibly erotic.

"Breathe through your nose, and relax your throat," Charles says. "Yes, that's it." One hand cups Erik's face gently, and the other grasps at his hair, fingers flexing like he's holding himself back from pulling it.

Erik gets the hang of it pretty quickly, he thinks, if Charles' moans and the way his hips keep jerking up in small, aborted movements is any indication. He wonders what it would be like if Charles stopped holding himself back, if he let himself fuck Erik's mouth the way he clearly wants to.

"Fuck, Erik, I'm going to come if you don't stop thinking that," Charles gasps.

It gets easier the more he does it, and Erik starts moving his hand in tandem with his mouth, bobbing his head and jerking Charles off where his mouth doesn't reach, and Charles starts tugging on his hair in earnest, using it to push Erik's mouth down. His cock floods Erik's mouth with precome, and his telepathy starts fraying at the edges, pushing into Erik's mind with thoughts of Yes, yes, like that, god—

And right when he's about to come, Erik pulls off his cock entirely.

Charles' mouth drops open, like he's about let out a long, drawn-out moan, but all he does is gape at Erik, breathing heavily. "What?" he asks senselessly. His cock kicks once, twice in the air, so hard that it stands up by itself for a moment. It's soaked with spit.

"I'm not done with you," Erik says.

"But I…" Charles looks shocked. Erik wonders if anyone's ever denied him an orgasm before.

"I want to finger you," Erik says. "And I want to fuck you."

Charles stares at him, mouth still agape, face flushed and sweaty at the temples. "Okay," he says faintly, and then drops dramatically to the mattress, head hitting the pillow. "Yeah. 'Course. Get the lube."

"I will," Erik says. He sits up and grabs a nearby pillow, then folds it and puts it under Charles' hips. "I read this makes the angle better," he says.

"Sure, fine, whatever," Charles says impatiently.

"I like sucking your cock," Erik says conversationally.

"Erik," Charles says, "please get on with it."

"Right," Erik says. He grabs the lube and uncaps it, spreading a generous amount on his fingers. It's been a long time since he's done this part, too. With the pillow propping Charles' hips up and his knees spread wide, Erik can see his hole, pink and furled so tightly it looks like one finger won't fit, let alone his cock. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," Charles says, breathing finally steadied after the break in stimulation. His voice is soft again, "Just—go slow, and one at a time. I won't need that much prep, but you are big, so…"

Erik nods, eyes trained on the pink, wrinkled skin. He rubs his finger around it, and Charles exhales shakily at the contact. Erik swallows, remembering how Charles had felt around him, the way his body had opened so readily after being stretched by the plug. It's hard to imagine, now.

He presses against the tight ring of muscle, and it resists until it doesn't—until it opens and allows the intrusion of Erik's finger. He can't look away from it as he pushes his finger in, slowly but steadily, all the way up to his first knuckle. It's so tight, Erik's sure it must hurt. Charles shakes his head, "It doesn't hurt," he says. "It is tight, but it feels good. And it will feel better later, so—keep going."

Erik takes the advice. He presses his finger all the way in, and then he pulls it out and goes in again. Charles makes a noise of approval, low in his throat, and Erik takes it for encouragement. "Can I put another in?" Erik asks, after a minute, when the grip on his finger feels a little looser.

"Please do," Charles says.

Erik pulls his finger out and adds more lube, just to be safe, and when he goes back in, he goes with two fingers. Instinctively, he curls them, and Charles moans with appreciation, "Yes, that's good. Keep—moving them. Any way, really. It's all good. There's—a spot, the prostate, it's a bit tricky to find with your fingers sometimes but—Oh, yes—right there, Erik, that's so good, fuck."

Erik smirks up at Charles, whose hands are clawing into the sheets and hips are pushing down onto Erik's fingers, trying to fuck them deeper. Erik prods at the same spot as before, and Charles groans and reaches down to touch his cock. Erik pushes it away and wraps his hand around Charles' cock, instead.

"That works, too," Charles says, nodding frantically, throbbing pleasingly in Erik's hand. His cock drips more every time Erik's fingers press into his prostate. It's not so hard, Erik thinks, if you just pay attention. He likes to watch Charles, likes to see the way his body tenses and shakes around his fingers.

"You're really good at this," Charles says, a little disbelieving. "I'm not sure I buy that you—Oh, fuck—you looked this up, didn't you? You said that—you said you looked up the, the pillow thing—"

"I'm just a fast learner," Erik says smugly. He drops to his stomach and sucks Charles' cock in his mouth again, pushing his fingers in and out quickly, stomach curling with arousal at the way Charles' body sucks him in eagerly.

"Erik, fuck, oh my god—" Charles' body pulls tight like a bowstring, and his telepathy gets loud again, pushing pleasure into Erik's mind. It builds and builds, and when Charles is about to snap, Erik pulls off his cock again and pulls his fingers out.

Charles lets out a noise shockingly close to a screech. "Erik," he cries, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at Erik with betrayal. "You—you did that on purpose!"

Erik bites his smile down and crawls up Charles' body. "Sorry," he says, with as straight a face as he can manage, "I just didn't want you to come before I fuck you."

Charles' face creases in confusion, "Erik, I'll get hard again. I understand that you might need more time to recover but—"

Erik actually does laugh, then.

Charles blinks, then his features twist in outrage. "You're having me on! Teach me, my arse. I haven't done this in twenty years," Charles mimics in an unflattering impression. "You're a wanker. I want to come."

Erik laughs so hard he has to roll onto his back to let it all out, and Charles scrambles on top of him and shakes his shoulders, mouth betrayed by a growing smile, "Is this a joke to you? Am I a joke to you, Erik Lehnsherr?!"

"No, no," Erik says, catching his breath. "I just—I like learning what makes you feel good. I like touching you, a lot." He grabs Charles' hips, rubs slow, soothing circles into the skin with his thumbs.

Charles pouts down at him, "I'm not sure why that means you have to torture me."

Erik sits up and touches Charles' face, pushes some of the sweaty hair off of his forehead. He shrugs, "It doesn't. But it's kind of sexy, isn't it? I know it's frustrating now, but think about how good you'll feel when you finally get to come. Can you go again?"

"As in, not come again?" Charles asks, looking at Erik incredulously.

Erik nods, and kisses Charles, who resists at first, lips pursed in a frown, until he huffs and gives in. Bastard, he snaps in Erik's mind, even as he moans at the touch of Erik's tongue to his lips. When Erik brings a hand to his chest and brushes against his nipple, his whole body shudders.

"I'm so sensitive," Charles says, sounding a little awed. "God, everything feels so good. I can—I can see the appeal. But you're still a bastard."

Erik grins, guiding him to lay on his back again, then pushes himself up enough to finally take off his underwear. The cool air feels amazing on his cock—all this has been affecting him, too. "You can do another, then?"

Charles bites his lip and looks up at Erik, eyes flitting around his face. Finally, he nods.

"Good boy," Erik says approvingly. Charles scoffs, but his breath is shaky. He's flushed all the way down to his chest. Erik can feel Charles' cock leaking steadily against his stomach, even as he waits patiently for Erik's next move.

"I'm going to use three fingers, now," Erik says lowly, moving down Charles' body.

"Christ, you were only using two before," Charles despairs, tossing an arm over his eyes. Erik slicks his fingers again, then pushes three of them into Charles, all at once. Charles must have been holding his breath, because he exhales in a long, shuddering moan.

"Easy," Erik murmurs, moving his fingers slowly. He uses his other hand to touch Charles—his thighs, his hips, the taut skin of his stomach, quivering with each shaky breath he takes. Erik skates carefully around Charles' cock, which is an angry red, so hard it's bouncing against his skin, leaving thin strands of precome as it does.

"Please touch me," Charles begs. "Please, Erik, my prick—"

He's asking so sweetly, Erik thinks. How could he deny him? He wraps his hand around Charles' cock again, finally, and Charles moans in relief. "Erik," he says, "please—please fuck me. I want to come. I'll get hard again. I'll stay hard—I can do that, you know. Or I could keep you hard. You could fuck me, and we could both come, right now, and then we could come again. Please, Erik." He struggles to his elbows and looks at Erik with heartbreaking, beseeching eyes.

It's a tempting offer. Of course it is. Erik's desperately hard, himself. Charles is devastatingly tight around his fingers. He'd feel amazing around Erik's cock. Erik can imagine sliding into that perfect heat all too well.

Charles nods frantically, "Yes, Erik—anything you want. I'll give you anything you want. Just—please let me come."

Except… Erik's already getting what he wants. Hearing Charles—clever, demanding, imperious Charles, with his endless confidence and his entitlement to Erik's attention, who's had the upper hand the entirety of their relationship, throwing Erik off-balance again, and again, and again—beg so enticingly is exactly what Erik wants.

Following along with Erik's thoughts, Charles' pretty, pleading eyes darken with frustration. "I didn't know you were such a sadist," he tries to snap, though the words come out breathy and desperate. He pushes his hips up into Erik's fist over and over, mindlessly, like he can't help himself.

"I'll fuck you soon," Erik promises. He tugs on the metal in Charles' nipples and curls his fingers, pressing firmly into Charles, unrelenting. He squeezes Charles' cock as his moves his hand over it in steady strokes.

"Oh, fuck," Charles babbles, "You're so—that's good, yes, fuck," and he writhes in Erik's hands. Erik knew he'd sound like this; posh and filthy and broken. Gorgeous. He's projecting a pleasure so lovely and insistent, so intense and climbing, overwhelming and urgent—

Abruptly, Erik releases him and withdraws his fingers, and Charles lets a loud, broken sob as his orgasm is ripped away from him again. Erik has to squeeze his own dick, because Charles is a decadent, obscene sight. His cock is nearly purple with need, kicking in the air and weeping copiously. His chest moves in great, heaving breaths as he gasps for air. His skin is flushed bright red, his hair dark with sweat, and his vibrant eyes are shining with actual tears.

"I hate you," Charles gasps, "I do. I… I can't—if you don't fuck me right now—I could make you, you know. You could be just a—a dildo on an exceptionally fit body. I'm not above that, at this point."

Erik laughs, "Okay. I get it."

"I mean it," Charles goes on, a thread of pained desperation in his voice. "This has been all well and good, but now—this is where I draw the line. I'm—I can't, again."

Erik spreads his own precome down his cock and strokes it a couple times, getting it wet. "I know," he says soothingly. "You've been such a good boy, Charles. So patient." He presses the head of his cock against Charles' hole and rubs it, inhaling sharply at the long-overdue stimulation. 

The defiance drains out of Charles and he melts in relief at the touch. "Please," he says quietly, "Erik, please."

Erik swallows, the borderline supplication in Charles' voice going straight to his dick. He made Charles sound like this. "Shh, I've got you," Erik soothes, feeding his cock into Charles, one inch at a time. It's far more intense this time, whether from the build-up or absence of a condom, Erik couldn't say. Charles' body sucks him in faster than he intends, but he goes with it, presses all the way in until his balls are flush against Charles' ass. It's all he can do to not thrust into that tight heat right away, but he positions himself over Charles while he waits for him to adjust. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Charles breathes. His eyes are hazy, flickering across Erik's face, and his mouth has dropped open, taking quick, shuddering breaths. Erik kisses him, slow and syrupy until Charles relaxes and his breathing slows, until he's kissing back sweetly. When Erik pulls back to look at Charles, his mouth is red and swollen, and his eyes are heavy-lidded.

"You're doing so good," Erik says. "You feel so good, Charles." He pulls out just a bit and thrusts back in, and Charles moans quietly, so soft it's like the noise has been pushed out of him. He nods, lips curling into a smile as Erik keeps moving, a little deeper with every thrust. He puts his arms around Erik's neck and kisses him, pliant and docile, now that he's finally getting fucked.

Erik wraps an arm around Charles' waist and lifts him, fucking deep into him. He drops his head to Charles' shoulder and pants against the skin, because for all that Charles had been begging for it, Erik's just as happy to finally be inside him. Charles' body is hot and slick and perfect, making room for his cock like he was born for it.

Charles' arms are folded around Erik's head now, and he's moaning over and over into his ear, seemingly unable to do anything but cling to him and take it.

"Fuck, Charles, you're perfect," Erik says, his hips moving of their own accord, at this point. He pulls himself up to kiss Charles again, bracing himself with one arm and using the other to wrap around Charles' cock again.

"I'm going to—I'm," Charles hiccups, looking up at Erik with an utterly helpless expression, and his surrender is so gorgeous. He's a vision. Erik can't believe this is for him.

"Can I?" Charles begs, breathless. And the fact that after all that, he's asking, is so absurdly hot. Erik would give him anything.

"Yes," Erik nods, jerking him off faster, fucking into him harder. He kisses Charles and murmurs against his lips, "Yes. Come for me, baby, please."

And just like that, Charles arches against him, sobs into Erik's mouth, and starts to come. And Erik—he doesn't mean to, really—he'd planned on pulling out, or certainly asking before coming inside Charles, but Charles' pleasure takes root in his mind and explodes, a tremendous, blinding force that wrenches Erik's orgasm out of him at the same time.

Charles clings to him, cock shooting come messily over Erik's fist and between them, on and on. Erik pumps his hips as he comes, fucking his come deeper into Charles, and it's wet and filthy and glorious; a peak of ecstasy that seems to be unending, extended by the way Charles keeps moaning and spurting over them. Erik goes until his cock starts to soften and he can feel come leaking out around it, and Charles' pleasure has finally started to recede into something manageable.

Charles collapses back against the mattress, limbs sprawled like his strings have been cut. "Oh my god," he says breathlessly, staring at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. He pats absentmindedly at Erik, like he's—petting him, or perhaps congratulating him on a job well done.

Erik flops to his back, waiting for the strength to return to his limbs so he can get up and get them some water, a towel to clean Charles up a bit. He can't imagine it's pleasant, having come leak out of you.

"I just got it though," Charles says nonsensically, "you can't have it back."

Erik huffs a laugh. He's glad Charles doesn't seem to mind, but god, he came inside Charles, and he hadn't meant to. It was incredible, of course, but that's not the—

"Oh my god, shut up," Charles says. "You don't get to make me come like that and then feel guilty about it."

He moves to lay half on top of Erik, nudging an image of Erik's arms around him lazily into Erik's mind. Erik takes the hint and wraps his arms around Charles, petting his hair with one hand and running the other up and down his back, slowly.

"I can't believe that just happened," Charles mumbles, breath tickling Erik's chest. "I've had a lot of sex, you know. I'm a bit of a slut. And that was hands down the best sex I've ever had."

Erik snorts.

"Erik, I'm serious," Charles insists, pulling himself up to look Erik in the eyes. "You just changed my life. I will literally never be the same."

Erik feels his cheeks heating up a bit. All that, and now he's blushing. "You're ridiculous."

Charles laughs giddily, "Erik! You're not hearing me. You're a—you're a gift to my arsehole. I can't believe I've lived this long without you."

Erik laughs, "How do you have this much energy again?"

Charles hums and starts nuzzling into Erik's neck, pressing small, happy kisses into it. He moves up to Erik's jaw and cheek, speaking between kisses, "I'm never going to prep myself again. You've changed me. I like foreplay now."

"You didn't before?" Erik asks, genuinely puzzled. He's always enjoyed the build-up to sex. Not as much as the actual sex, but not too far from it, either.

"I mean, I liked it just fine, but… most people my age aren't too invested in their partner's pleasure, I suppose. Foreplay is just a means to an end. A bit of kissing, some fingering, then the main event." He shrugs, "I don't mind. I always get off."

He kisses Erik. "After that, though… I don't know if that will do it for me, anymore. Do you want to go again?"

Erik laughs, "Um. I actually do need some time to recover, as you so kindly pointed out earlier. And I don't think I'm up for your telepathy-Viagra, quite yet."

"Oh," Charles pouts, "do you need real Viagra?"

"Shut up," Erik groans and pushes Charles off of him. He stands up, "I'm going to take a shower."

Charles hums with interest, "If I join, what are the odds that I get a blowjob out of it?"

"Uh… non-zero?"

Charles jumps out of bed and beams, "Good enough for me."

Chapter Text

"Hi, how are you doing today?"

"Fine. Two bloody marys," Emma says, not looking up from the menu. "What are you getting, Erik?"

"We're doing well, thank you. I'll have a… beermosa," Erik says with a shrug. Why not?

"Great. I'll be back with your drinks and to take your orders shortly. Oh, and you can scan the QR code on the menu for our specials," the server says, sounding uninterested.

Emma's eyes snap up to meet his. "That's interesting."

"The QR code?" Erik says, pulling his phone out to scan it. "Not really."

"No, the fact that you ordered a beermosa. Feeling adventurous, are we?"

"You ordered two drinks and I'm the one getting judged?" Erik complains. A text from Charles comes in that says, My arse is sore :( . Erik swipes it away and tries to focus on the specials.

"I think I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen you order a drink at brunch," Emma points out. "You hate brunch."

"I don't hate brunch," Erik says. "I just don't understand why anyone would possibly want to drink before noon." Charles texts him again: Maybe you could kiss it better?

"Exactly! You hate brunch. Drinking before noon is the express point."

"Well, maybe I'm giving it a chance now," Erik says. "That's allowed, right?"

Emma hums. "It certainly is. It's just not quite… typical for you."

Another text: French kiss* followed immediately by, (I'm trying to say you should eat me out). Erik stares at the message, a curl of heat in his stomach. How that could possibly be the case—seeing as Charles had successfully wrenched another two orgasms out of him since yesterday—is beyond him. He hasn't had this much sex since college.

That's fitting, he guesses.

"Erik," Emma asks primly, holding out a finely manicured hand, "Can I see the specials?"

"You cannot," Erik says firmly, and puts his phone away before Charles gets him in trouble.

He's relieved when the server comes back with their drinks.

The truth is, Erik's in a fantastic mood. Of course. How could he not be? He'd fallen asleep with Charles in his bed, and he'd woken up to Charles feverishly jerking him off and then straddling and sinking down onto him before he even fully realized he wasn't dreaming. "Your way is good too," he'd said, gasping for air after Charles had ridden the both of them to orgasm.

It was just like he imagined, just as impossibly hot as his fantasies had been. Charles had liked that train of thought—had taken the time to sift through Erik's memories of furiously masturbating in the weeks after they'd first kissed, failing spectacularly to stop thinking about Charles. "You were obsessed," he'd said delightedly. And when Erik had laughed, embarrassed, Charles wrapped himself around Erik and kissed him until he forgot what they'd been talking about.

"Oh my god," Emma says, cutting into Erik's thoughts, "you like him."

Erik doesn't pretend not to know who she's talking about. "Of course I do. I'm sleeping with him."

"You like him," Emma says again. She fishes out the celery from her drink and chews on it. She gets snacky when she drinks liquor, and their food hasn't come yet. "Erik, this is kind of huge for you."

Erik shakes his head, "I get why you think so, but really, Emma. It's just—the positive feelings I have associated with him. He's great with my kids, he's funny, he's ridiculous, and he's excellent in bed. Everyone would like Charles if they got to know him. It's nothing—nothing you wouldn't expect. You'd get it, if you ever meet him." The moment the words are out of his mouth he knows it's a mistake.

Emma hums, "Now that's an interesting proposition. He'll be at your place next weekend, right? With the kids?"

And Erik remembers what Emma had asked for, in exchange for rescheduling lunch yesterday—she wants to pick Wanda up from his place, on one of his weekends with the kids. She's planned this.

Erik takes a drink, staring her down. The beermosa's pretty good.

Her lips quirk, "Do you think he sleeps with women, too?"

Erik knows she's fucking with him. He knows that. It doesn't stop the knee-jerk reaction of hating the prospect of Charles sleeping with her. Because it's Emma, specifically, of course—Charles is welcome to sleep with whoever he wants. It would just be particularly awkward if it was Emma.

He says nothing, but he doesn't need to, based on the gleam in her eyes. "Shut up," he says.

Mercifully, she drops the subject after that, and spends the rest of the meal recounting a recent case of hers and drinking. Erik stops after his second beermosa, but Emma fulfils her promise of getting properly drunk. She's a woman of her word, Erik will give her that.

"Do you think Wanda's mad at me?" Emma asks him, while they're waiting in the McDonald's drive-through. She had, predictably, said she wanted fries the moment he paid the bill. "To soak up the alcohol," she'd said, "but not a milkshake, because I'm being healthy."

"Why would Wanda be mad at you?"

"Because I made her cry."

"When? When you tried to talk to her about her powers?" Erik asks, pulling up to the drive-through window. He hands his card over, and when he looks back at Emma, she's pouting and looking alarmingly close to crying herself. He turns back to the cashier and asks if they can add a strawberry milkshake.

"I'm no good with kids," Emma says. "I'm a terrible aunt."

"You are not a terrible aunt," Erik says. He'd forgotten what a melancholy drunk Emma could be, sometimes. "Wanda's just—it's tough, with her. She gets mad at me all the time."

"Well, yes, but you're stupid," Emma says tearfully.

The cashier hands Erik the milkshake and he hurriedly passes it to Emma. "I'm not stupid," he says, offended. "I knew you wanted a milkshake, even though you said you didn't."

She sniffs and takes a drink. "I was trying to be healthy."

"You had like, three bloody marys and two mimosas at brunch. I think you passed healthy a while ago." Erik says, handing her the fries. He starts heading back to her place.

"Sorry we can't all have eight-packs," Emma snips. She dips a fry into her ice cream and nibbles on it delicately.

Erik takes a handful of fries. "I don't have an eight-pack."

"Whatever. A six-pack and a twenty-two year old boyfriend."

"He's not my—Anyway," he says, "Wanda's just a little sensitive. She's not mad at you. Trust me, she's going to be thrilled when I tell her you want to take her out next weekend."

"You think?" Emma says doubtfully. She pokes at her milkshake with her straw, staring down into the pink ice cream.

"What's going on with you?" Erik says. "I haven't seen you like this since you got passed up for that promotion."

Emma sucks in an offended breath, "How dare you bring that up."

"Emma."

"I don't know," Emma mutters. "Sometimes I just look at you and think you got it right. You have a family, and I have… a fancy job."

"You're joking," Erik barks. "You run a law firm and live in a penthouse. I'm divorced and see my kids twice a month, and I spend most of my time with them trying not to piss off a fifteen-year old."

For several minutes, the only sound in the car is Emma slurping her milkshake. "Yeah, that's pretty pathetic," she says finally. "But you've got a six-pack and a hot young boyfriend."

"Together we make one pretty functional person," Erik laughs, "and he's not my boyfriend."

"Whatever," Emma says. "I'm just mad that he was able to swoop in and help Wanda, and all I could do was make her cry. I've known her since birth."

"You avoided her until she was like, three," Erik points out.

"That's not true! I babysat the twins once. I distinctly remember, because Peter threw up on me."

"Yeah, and then you never did it again."

"Because Peter threw up on me!" Emma says shrilly. "Besides, it's not like Charles has been changing any diapers." She sniffs, "And suddenly he's the family favorite."

It's not exactly suddenly, Erik thinks. Charles has been coming around for quite some time now. And he's certainly Lorna's favorite. Before Emma can reply to his thoughts, he says hurriedly, "Wanda idolizes you. Trust me, you don't have to worry about being replaced. Take her shopping and buy her a fancy coffee—or tea, I guess, now—and you'll be back on top."

Emma accepts this, it seems. She offers Erik her milkshake. "Why did you let me have ice cream? You know it makes me emotional."

Erik scoffs and drinks the rest.

"Dad, I got new chalk this week and it's sparkly," Lorna says, when Erik picks them up Friday evening.

"That explains the purple horse I saw on your mom's driveway."

"That was a unicorn," Lorna says, unimpressed.

"Are you sure? I don't remember seeing a horn."

"Yes, I'm sure! I brought the chalk, so I can draw one for you too."

"Hmm, alright," Erik says. He looks over at the passenger seat to try and catch Wanda's eye, but she's staring resolutely out of the window, music blaring from her earphones. Peter's similarly occupied, playing a game with headphones over his ears, oblivious to the world.

Erik can't get Peter's attention from the backseat, but he does reach across and nudge Wanda's knee.

"What?" she snaps, pulling out one earphone and looking at him like he's annoying her.

"Hey, can we not with the attitude already?" Erik says, unamused. "I'm happy to see you, you know. I missed you the last couple of weeks."

Wanda's quiet for a minute. "What?" she says, softer this time.

That's probably the best Erik's going to get, he figures. "Your Aunt Emma wants to take you out tomorrow, if you're up for it."

Wanda perks up immediately. She removes the other earphone and pauses her music. "Really? What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Erik says. "I think she just wants to hang out with you. I bet she'd be happy to take you shopping, or something. Maybe get some lunch."

"Can I go?" Lorna chirps excitedly from the backseat.

"No, you can't," Wanda says right away.

Erik shoots her a look—she's right, it is just a thing for her and Emma, but she doesn't have to sound so happy about excluding Lorna.

Lorna whines, "That's not fair. I want to go with you guys!"

"Dad," Wanda says under her breath.

"I know, Wanda," Erik says quietly. To Lorna, he says, "Loo, I thought we were going to play with chalk tomorrow."

Lorna frowns, "Yeah, but… I never get to see Aunt Emma, anymore."

That's definitely true, Erik thinks with a sinking heart. "Maybe she can… stay for dinner after," he offers. He's sure Emma hadn't planned on it, but she might be amenable if he tells her Lorna wants to see her. If it comes to it, he could always have Lorna ask her directly—she'll be hard-pressed to resist Lorna's pouting face. It's playing dirty, but he's okay with that.

"Do you think that'd be okay, Loo? Wanda and Emma can go out for a while, and then we'll all have dinner together when they get back," Erik says.

Lorna looks like she's considering it, but not completely sold on the idea yet. Erik tries again, "We'll have more fun at home. They're probably going to go shopping for clothes, and you know how long that takes."

"Eugh," Lorna says in agreement. "Okay. Can Mr. Charles stay for dinner too?"

Hearing Charles' name unexpectedly makes Erik's stomach flip, like he's a teenage girl with a crush.

Aside a few texts—Charles sent him several strongly-worded internet posts about the poor quality of IKEA directions, writing See? It's not just me! and Erik had said, Of course not, which had sent Charles into an impassioned rant that went on for fifteen minutes, every text after the first sent with increasingly long pauses, like Charles was trying his best to stop but couldn't stop going and another thing—they hadn't had much contact since last weekend.

And that's not weird, Erik thinks, because how often are you even supposed to see the person you're sleeping with casually? Sure, it feels like he sees Charles all the time because of the arrangement with his kids, but it's not like they've actually made any commitment to spend a lot of time together.

"If he wants to stay for dinner, he absolutely can," he says, trying to sound like he doesn't care one way or the other. It's the kind of thing he would have offered before they started sleeping together—he shouldn't start treating Charles differently now, he thinks, especially around his kids.

Predictably, this cheers Lorna right up. "Yay! Can we make rice crispy treats for dessert? 'Cause Miss D brought some to class for Bobby's birthday, and they were so yummy."

Erik's quite sure he does not have whatever marshmallow product is needed to make rice crispy treats, but at this rate he'll have to go to the store anyway. "Why not," he says agreeably.

Wanda flashes a quick smile at him, and he feels good, like he's managed to navigate the situation in a way that makes everyone happy. Except perhaps, Peter, who still hasn't said a word.

"Hey Pete," Erik says, when they get to his place. He reaches out to tap his arm, in case he can't hear him through the headphones.

"'Sup?" Peter says, tone neutral. He pulls his headphones down around his neck.

"I, uh, I was just wondering how school's going," Erik says.

Peter shrugs and looks away, distant. "It's fine."

"Are you… getting ready for your exams?" Erik tries. He feels so awkward. And he gets it—Peter's ready to be done with school, and he probably doesn't want to be here right now. His friends all live around Magda's. Erik wishes Peter had friends around here too, but there's not much he can do about it.

"Yep," Peter says. He casts a look around the small apartment, like he's searching for something to say, too. "You got some new stuff."

"Yeah, I did. I thought I'd try to make things a little… homier. I went to IKEA," Erik says, like Peter might somehow think that's cool or interesting.

Peter clearly picks up on the hopeful tone. "Oookay," he says. "Cool."

"Daddy, you got a rug! And more pillows!" Lorna gasps, having returned from putting her stuff in her and Peter's room. "And a new table," she says, amazed.

Relieved with the break in tension, Erik laughs a little. "Yeah, I thought it'd be nice for you to have some table space for your crafts. You don't have to hunch over the floor anymore."

Lorna looks a little confused, likely because she's eight and doesn't see a problem with hunching over the floor. Still, she gives Erik a big, toothy smile. There's a gap that hadn't been there before.

"You're missing a tooth! When did that happen?"

"Huh? Oh, last week I think," Lorna says. She comes over to Erik and opens her mouth wide.

"Look at that," Erik says. It's not the first tooth she's lost, but it's the first one in a while. It's the first one she hadn't told him about the moment she saw him. Embarrassingly, there's a lump in his throat. He's choked up over baby teeth.

"Did the tooth fairy come?" he asks, when he's sure his voice won't come out weird.

Lorna beams, "Yes! She left me two dollars." Her nose wrinkles cutely, "And some toothpaste."

Erik snorts, because that sounds like exactly the kind of thing Magda would think is hilarious.

It's a typical low-key Friday; everyone's tired from a week at work or school. The kids settle in and eat snacks and tell Erik what information he can drag out of them. Peter is still quieter than usual, but Lorna is as chatty as always. Wanda seems upbeat as well, no doubt excited at the prospect of seeing Emma tomorrow.

In the morning, Erik is planning dinner and making a list of things to get from the store when he hears a delighted scream coming from Lorna and Peter's room. "Daddy, the tooth fairy found me here!"

Lorna emerges from her room, triumphantly waving around a dollar bill. "I woke up and this was under my pillow!"

"Wow," Erik says, genuinely surprised—he certainly hadn't put anything under Lorna's pillow. "That's…"

"I woke up and Petey told me to check under my pillow just in case," Lorna says excitedly. "I'm going to add this to my piggy bank when I get home!"

Peter. Erik feels a warm rush of affection for his son, and a swell of guilt for how strained things have been with them lately. He'll talk to Peter today, he resolves.

"I'm saving up for a big marker set," Lorna goes on happily. "It's thirty dollars."

"Do you have enough teeth for that?" Erik says. He looks in the fridge for ingredients while Lorna starts feeling around her mouth. "Do you want spaghetti for dinner tonight? I'll make garlic bread, too."

Lorna makes a noise of assent around her fingers.

"Did you say your brother was awake?" Erik asks, when he finishes his list. He'll grab stuff for a salad, too. That should be a fairly easy meal to make for everyone.

"Yeah, he was playing his Switch," Lorna says. "Can I have pancakes?"

They're already having rice crispy treats later, and there's a real chance Lorna ends up asking for ice cream later—the summer heat is settling in now. "How about eggs and bacon?"

Lorna agrees and Erik makes them food. After they eat breakfast and Lorna's settled in front of the coffee table with her coloring books, Erik goes to Peter's room and knocks gently on the door. "Can I come in?"

Peter opens the door before Erik even steps back. "Hey, Dad. I was just coming out for breakfast."

"Okay, I'll make you something. But could we talk first? In here?" Erik asks, stepping into the room and taking a seat on Peter's messy bed.

"Sure," Peter shrugs. He takes a seat next to Erik and waits, bouncing his leg impatiently.

Erik doesn't really know where to start. The tension between him and Peter feels like it's been built on a whole lot of nothing—just small interactions here and there that over time, have become something big and uncomfortable between them. Peter is sometimes irresponsible and reckless, and Erik is sometimes too hard on him.

"If this is about school, I promise I'll try hard on my exams. I know I've been annoying Charles lately—"

"He said that?" Erik says, frowning. That doesn't sound like Charles.

"No," Peter says right away. "Charles is way too nice to say that. But I can tell." He sounds like he's trying to be nonchalant, but there's a crease between his eyes.

"I'm sure that's not true," Erik says. "He just wants to make sure he's doing everything he can to help you. He wants what's best for you. Like I do."

Peter nods, but doesn't reply. He looks toward the door, like he wants to leave. Erik can tell Peter's attention is running out in this conversation. "I just wanted to say… thanks, for the tooth fairy assist. It was really nice of you to do that for your sister." And for me, he thinks. "I'll pay you back."

"Well, yeah," Peter says, like it's obvious.

Erik laughs. He slips Peter a ten after breakfast.

When he gets back from his run, Charles is there, looking lovely and happy to see him. And Erik had thought he'd been prepared, but the sight of Charles sitting at the dining room table—where Erik remembers laying on top of him and sucking a mark into his throat—winds him nearly as much as his run had.

"Hello Erik," Charles says, teeth gleaming against the red of his lips, eyes bright. His neck is unblemished.

"Charles," Erik greets evenly. Looking at Charles can only lead to trouble, so Erik makes his way to the kitchen. Wanda's in there, preparing two cups of tea.

"Is that for me?" Erik jokes, getting some water.

Wanda ignores that and says, "When's Aunt Emma gonna be here?" She makes both cups the exact same way—a lot of milk, and a little sugar.

Erik checks his watch. "Should be here within the hour. Did you have breakfast? I can make you something before you leave."

Wanda shakes her head, "That's okay."

Emma will probably want to get lunch with Wanda while they're out, anyway. Wanda takes the tea to Charles, and Erik takes a shower before Emma arrives.

Erik's watching a cartoon with Lorna when he feels Emma's familiar jewelry make its way up the stairs. "Loo, get the door, will you?"

Lorna looks at him in confusion for a moment, and then a knock sounds from the door. Joy blossoms on her face and she exclaims, "Aunt Emma!"

She flies to the door and throws her arms around Emma before she even steps into the apartment. "Hi, Lorna," Emma says, sounding about as fond as her cool tone allows. "You've gotten so big! I'm sorry it's been so long."

She sees them a handful a times a year—not enough, certainly, but everyone's busy. Emma tries to make it for important things; birthdays, holidays, the school play Wanda had been in last year. Emma had gone twice to that one.

Lorna finally lets Emma in the apartment, and the twins greet her.

"Peter, you're so tall! You'll be catching up to your dad soon," Emma says, rubbing her hands up Peter's arms and looking up at him, even in her heels.

Wanda keeps her distance but smiles shyly at Emma, "I'll go get my purse."

Charles waits until they're done hugging hello before approaching her with an outstretched hand and an endearing grin. "The esteemed Aunt Emma, I presume. I'm Charles, Peter's tutor. It's lovely to meet you."

Emma smiles coolly at him, taking his measure. "Nice to meet you, Peter's tutor."

"Dad's gonna make spaghetti for dinner!" Lorna tells Emma, bouncing a little. Maybe she's missed Emma more than Erik had thought.

"Lorna thought it'd be nice to have dinner with everyone tonight," Erik explains. "Or I can make carbonara, if you prefer." He doesn't want to be held responsible if Emma stains her immaculate wardrobe.

Emma scoffs and tosses a sleek sheet of hair over her shoulder, "Please, Erik. I won't spill on myself. Spaghetti's fine. When I buy Wanda's booze, I'll pick up some wine for dinner, too."

Charles laughs at first, then looks at Erik uncertainly when Emma's mouth doesn't so much as twitch.

"She's joking," Erik says. "She's just not very funny."

"Aw," Emma pouts.

"Mr. Charles is having dinner with us, too!" Lorna chirps.

"I am?" Charles says, looking at her in surprise.

"Yes! Daddy said so," Lorna says.

"I said he's welcome to join us, Lorna," Erik says. "He might be busy."

"No, I'm free. Dinner sounds lovely," Charles says. "Though I can't promise not to spill anything on myself."

"I'll pick up a bib for you," Emma deadpans. He's cute, she says to Erik, with far more inflection.

Be nice, Erik chides back. Charles watches them.

Wanda returns with her purse and says, "Okay, I'm ready to go! Can we go to Hot Topic?"

"Um, sure," Emma says, on their way out the door.

"Daddy, can I go play with chalk? I want to draw a picture for Aunt Emma when she gets back," Lorna says.

Erik considers it. "Can you wait for me? I'll go out with you and we can draw something together. I just have some chores I want to get done first."

Lorna agrees and returns to the couch to watch television. Erik makes a pot of coffee and gets started on the dishes. Not too long after, Charles wanders in, holding an empty mug.

Discovering that the kettle is empty, Charles brings it over to the sink. Erik steps out of the way to let him fill it up. Charles says quietly, "So that's Emma. She's… lovely."

Erik laughs, "She's kind of an acquired taste. She loves the kids."

"Oh, I've no doubt of that," Charles says. "They're pretty easy to love."

"They are," Erik agrees. "Did you have a good week?"

"Not really," Charles says ruefully. "I mean, yes, I did. My sister's in town. Her art's being featured in an exhibit all week. I didn't even know about it until after she showed up on campus, asking to stay with me. She could certainly stay at a hotel, but I suppose it's nice to have her here. I just wish she'd—" he shakes his head, "nevermind. How was your week?"

"It was fine," Erik says. He can hear Peter and Lorna chatting in the living room. He lowers his voice and says, "Not as good as last weekend, of course."

"Of course," Charles agrees, stepping even closer to Erik and looking up at him.

How is it possible for someone to look so innocent and so enticing at the same time? It takes everything in Erik not to kiss him.

Charles' lips curve into a slow, seductive smile. "Do you mind?"

Erik blinks, eyes trained on those red lips. Surely Charles isn't asking for a kiss. "What? I don't think…"

"Heating the kettle, I mean."

"Right," Erik says. He clears his throat.

With a fresh cup of tea, Charles gets back to work with Peter. Erik takes his time cleaning up the kitchen. It's enjoyable to do housework to the sound of Lorna laughing at cartoons, to Charles and Peter talking quietly at the dining room table. He can feel Charles' telepathy curling around him, unobtrusive and without intent, yet unmistakably there.

I can feel you staring, Erik thinks, sipping coffee and looking resolutely out the kitchen window.

I can't help it, Charles replies. I'm still cock-drunk, I think.

Erik inhales a mouthful of coffee and chokes, coughing violently over the sink. Amusement that's not his own bubbles into his mind, lingering long after he's recovered.

It's impossible to focus after that. The domesticity Erik had been enjoying has shifted to something heady and distracting. While he'd been merely aware of Charles' presence before, now it's all he can think about.

Everything feels different, now that he knows what Charles feels like. Now that he knows that Charles lives up to his dirty mouth. When he steps out to grab the mail, it's a relief just to get a breath of air that isn't shared with Charles.

He's folding clothes in his bedroom when Lorna approaches him with her sweetest smile. "Hi, Daddy. What are you doing?"

"Laundry. Do you want to help?"

"No thank you," she says quickly.

She's probably come to ask about the chalk, he realizes. She's been very patient. "Let me just fold this basket, then we'll go outside," he says. "Sorry, I know I've been cleaning for a while."

"That's okay! I was just wondering if me and Petey could go get ice cream," Lorna asks hopefully.

"Ah," Erik says. "Sure. Just make sure to walk slow, okay? No powers."

"Okay!" she agrees, and a few minutes later he hears the door close.

He wonders how long it will be until Charles seeks him out. He doesn't have to wonder for long.

"Did you think about me?"

Erik looks up from the shirt he'd been folding to see Charles standing in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame.

"This week, I mean," Charles says, coming into the room. He closes the door and walks around the bed, next to Erik. "I thought about you."

Erik did think about Charles, as it turns out. A lot. He'd thought about the way Charles had fallen apart Saturday evening, trusting Erik to bring him to the precipice over and over, to catch him when he finally fell. He'd thought about Sunday morning, the way Charles had slid onto his cock, already wet and open—prepping myself has some benefits, he'd thought, moaning too much to speak aloud.

"You did," Charles says, pushing up to his toes and wrapping his arms around Erik's neck.

Erik doesn't bother to reply before he slips an arm around Charles' waist and kisses him. Charles tastes like sugar and tea, and Erik wishes he had the time to drink him down right now.

"We could," Charles says, pushing Erik to the bed and climbing atop his lap. "I'll suck you off. Five minutes, tops."

"You're crazy," Erik laughs, grabbing Charles' ass and squeezing. "The kids will be back soon."

"I'll feel them entering the building. I can hear them now, if I listen—they haven't even gotten ice cream yet. They saw a dog." Charles kisses Erik again and then slides down to the floor on his knees, pushing Erik's legs apart. He looks up, color high on his cheeks. "Let me. Please."

It's impossible to say no to Charles. Erik barely nods once before Charles is tugging at his pants, and Erik's lifting his hips to help. Charles licks his hand twice and then wraps it around Erik's cock, jerking him to full hardness in record time before engulfing him in wet heat.

"Shit," Erik gasps, bracing himself on the bed with one hand, burying the other in Charles' soft hair. Charles doesn't waste any time—he gets right to work, bobbing his head and taking more and more of Erik until his nose is pressed into the dark, curly hair at the base of his cock. Charles makes it look so easy, swallowing Erik down again and again, each pass making obscene sounds.

Erik pushes his hips up into that searing heat, groaning when Charles just takes it, throat humming around his cock. "You're so good, Charles, so good," Erik pants, petting Charles' hair almost tenderly, at odds with the near-violent urge he feels to fuck Charles' pretty face.

Another time, Charles promises, and his voice is breathless with need in Erik's head. He's moaning around Erik's cock now, over and over, even though he's not even touching himself, Erik realizes. This is all just from sucking him.

Charles was right. Erik is going to have no trouble coming quickly. He's close already—

"We're back, Dad!" he hears Peter yell. "I forgot my wallet."

"Where'd they go?" Lorna asks from the other side of the door.

Ice floods Erik's veins.

Charles pulls off, eyes wide with panic. "Shit," Erik hisses. "You said—"

"I know," Charles whispers. "It's fine, Erik—"

Erik fumbles with his pants with shaking hands. "It's not—"

"It is. They think we must've gone for a walk, they're already leaving again—"

Sure enough, Peter and Lorna's voices fade and the door shuts again. Thank god for small miracles.

"What the fuck, Charles?" Erik snaps, standing up. "You said you'd know when—"

"Well, it's kind of hard to concentrate when there's a dick in your mouth—"

"Is this funny to you?" Erik feels like he's going to be sick. He'd almost been caught with his pants down—literally. He's never lost an erection so fast.

"No, it's not funny to me," Charles says sourly.

"God, I should have known better," Erik mutters to himself, scrubbing his face in frustration.

"Erik, I know that was—unfortunate, but nothing bad happened—"

"Do you know what would happen if something bad happened, Charles?" Erik's chest feels tight. "If I do something stupid and upset my kids, that's it for the weekend—I'll see them again two weeks later. I only see them twice—"

"A month, I know," Charles approaches Erik, speaking soothingly. Erik feels an unnatural calm settle in his skin. "Erik, please calm down. It's okay. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

He steps back, shaking off the calm. "No, you're so young. You don't know better. I should—"

"Oh, come on—"

"—because I'm the one with stakes here. The—the flirting and the sneaking around while they're here, that has to stop."

Charles nods, "Okay, but—"

"No, Charles. There is no 'but'. I get that they're essentially research to you, but these are my kids, Charles. They're everything to me. This can't—"

"They're not just research to me," Charles says, stricken. "How could you say that?" Charles still looks depraved, mouth red and hair fluffed up like someone's been running their fingers through it. He also looks hurt.

Guilt claws up Erik's throat, but he swallows it down. He shakes his head, "Just—just go clean yourself up, please."

When the kids return, it's to a stilted quiet. Erik doesn't remember how to be entirely appropriate with Charles, if he ever was. He realizes that he hasn't felt the complete absence of Charles' telepathy since the first couple times he'd been over here. It's disconcerting, but Erik knows it's for the best. Just for now.

So he sticks close to Lorna. They go to the store, and then they draw on the sidewalk outside of the apartment building until it's time to start dinner.

Erik gets the sauce simmering and then he and Lorna get started on the rice crispy treats. Lorna's struggling to mix the melted marshmallow mix with the cereal when Charles comes into the kitchen. He clears his throat politely and says, "Peter and I are done for the day. I think I'll head home."

"What?" Lorna says, looking up from the mixing bowl, appalled. "You can't leave! We're having dinner with Aunt Emma!"

"She texted me to say they're heading back soon. It won't be that much longer," Erik says. It's not lost on him that Charles might just be eager to escape the awkward energy in the apartment. "But if something came up, of course that's—"

"No!" Lorna cries. "You have to stay for dinner. You said you would."

Charles glances at Erik, "I…"

"You should stay," Erik says, trying to sound less conflicted than he feels. He doesn't want him to leave. He just wants to stop feeling like the worst dad in the world for not being able to keep his hands off his son's tutor while his kids are here. But he doesn't want Charles to feel unwelcome, either.

"Please, Mr. Charles," Lorna pleads.

Hesitation flickers across Charles' face, but he says, "Okay. I'll stay."

"Yay!" Lorna's cheer fills the kitchen and lifts the mood enough to inspire a smile from everyone.

"Do you want to help with the rice crispy treats?" Lorna asks sunnily. She slides the mixing bowl over to him before he replies, happy to pass off the task.

"Oh," Charles laughs, "I guess I do."

Erik offers him an apologetic smile. "Sorry to rope you into cooking."

"I don't mind," Charles says, smiling back at him. The tension between them dwindles to something manageable. Lorna sneaks a marshmallow into her mouth, looking satisfied with herself.

Wanda and Emma return about a half hour later with way too many shopping bags. "Jesus, Emma," Erik says, watching Wanda struggle to get through her bedroom door with all of the bags in one trip, Lorna close on her heels. "You didn't have to buy her that much."

Emma shrugs. "I don't get to spoil the kids enough. I got some things for Peter and Lorna, too." She sets a heavy-sounding bag on the counter.

"Did you have a good time?"

"We did." Emma looks pointedly at Charles, who is carefully patting the marshmallow-cereal mixture into a pan with a wooden spoon. "Did you have a good time?"

Erik brings a pot to the sink and starts filling it with water. "Sure. Lorna and I played with chalk outside."

"I saw. Did you draw the camel or did Lorna?"

"That's a unicorn. And Lorna drew it."

"I see," Emma hums. "Get some wine glasses, will you?" She reaches into the bag she brought in and brings out an expensive bottle of white wine. "Charles, would you be a doll and open this for me?"

"Certainly," Charles says politely. He gets the wine opener from the silverware drawer and takes the bottle from Emma.

She tilts her head, watching him. "Actually, can you even legally drink?"

"Emma," Erik warns.

Charles shoots him a quick smile, then turns his charm on Emma. "I can, actually. I'll be turning twenty-three next month. I prefer whiskey, though my mother raised me to appreciate a good glass of wine from a young age. And you have excellent taste," he says, removing the cork easily. He accepts the wine glasses from Erik and fills them up. He offers it to Emma, meeting her gaze unabashedly.

Emma accepts the glass from him. "I like to think my good taste exceeds wine," she says, nodding her head toward Erik.

Charles grins, holds up his own glass and says, "Cheers to that."

Their glasses chime together and just like that, Charles seems to have passed some kind of test. By the time they're setting the table, Charles is telling Emma about his studies, and his interest in mutations presenting in adolescents.

"How lucky you've got three adorable research subjects, right here," Emma laughs.

"Mm, quite," Charles agrees, though there's something brittle to his tone.

The wine turns bitter with guilt on Erik's tongue, and he sees Charles glance at him out of the corner of his eye. "I'll go get the kids," Erik says.

Wanda's door is open, and Lorna's sitting on her bed, cross-legged and watching with awe as Wanda presents her new outfits. She's holding up a light-blue sweater that's a far cry from her typical dark palette. It looks beautiful with her red hair.

"That's a nice color," Erik says.

Wanda's smile turns to a scowl impressively fast. "It's a bit bright."

Lorna agrees readily, "It is! It makes you look like Mama."

"Great," Wanda rolls her eyes and tosses the sweater onto a sizable pile of clothes.

"Your mom is beautiful," Erik says. "You are too."

"If Mom's so beautiful, why'd you divorce her?" Wanda says meanly.

Erik's stomach drops. Lorna makes a wounded noise from the bed. "I didn't divorce your mom," he says. "We both decided together that we didn't want to be married anymore."

Really, it was more like Magda woke up one day and said, We're not in love with each other anymore, are we?

"Right," Wanda says. She sweeps out of the room before he can say anything else.

Lorna looks like she might cry. Erik sits next to her on the bed and rubs her back. Before he can figure out what to say, she says, "You and Mama don't love each other anymore?"

For a brief, heart-stopping moment Erik wonders if his youngest daughter has developed telepathy. It hurts more that this is probably just the natural conclusion she's come to.

Go ahead and start eating. We'll be there in a minute, Erik tells Emma.

Aloud, he says, "That is absolutely not true, Lorna. Your mom and I love each other very much." He hesitates. How could this ever make sense to an eight-year-old? "We just… don't love each other in the married way anymore."

Lorna's face creases in confusion. "How do you love each other then?"

"We love each other like family. Like how I love you, and you love your siblings." Erik pulls her into his lap and hugs her. "That's a lot of love."

"But… you two don't talk anymore," Lorna says tearfully.

He squeezes her without meaning to. She's right—he and Magda don't talk all that much these days. She asked for space, so he's trying to give her that, but… he can't help but feel it makes things so much harder for their kids. That all of this has been so much harder than it had to be for their kids. Wouldn't it have been better to just… stay together to begin with?

Erik kisses Lorna's hair. "You can not talk to someone and still love them very much. If you went away to camp for a week and were too busy having fun to call me, I would still love you, and you would still love me. Right?"

Lorna's quiet for a moment, and then she says, "That makes sense." She tilts her head up to look at him, "Did you make garlic bread?"

Erik breathes in relief. "I did."

"With cheese?"

"Of course."

"Can I have two pieces?"

"You can have as much as you want, as long as you eat some salad, too."

Dinner passes uneventfully after that. Lorna and Peter sit on the couch and eat, because there's not enough space at the dining table for everyone. The coffee table has quickly made its usefulness known, Erik thinks, and then he thinks about putting it together with Charles, eating dinner on the floor while they worked.

The guilt he's nursing worsens throughout the meal, as Charles continues to charm Emma and chat with his kids. He takes extra care with Lorna, and Erik doesn't have to wonder if he'd known Lorna was upset—because of course Charles knew. He always knows what the kids need.

When Lorna asks if they can watch a movie after dinner, Emma agrees to stay longer but Charles says, "I'm sorry darling, I'm absolutely knackered. I have to get going. But I'll see you next weekend, yes?"

"Okay," Lorna says, hugging his waist.

Charles bids the children goodbye and then says warmly, "Lovely to meet you, Emma." He smiles politely at Erik and leaves.

Erik lasts for about ten seconds before he blurts, "Uh, Charles forgot his—leftovers. I'll be right back."

Charles doesn't look surprised to see him when Erik catches up to him just outside the building. He stands with his hands in his coat pockets, looking at Erik expectantly. "I'm sorry," Erik says, "for freaking out earlier."

"You were an arsehole," Charles says easily. "But thank you for the apology."

"It's just—my kids are everything to me. I won't jeopardize my time with them. I can't."

"I know that," Charles says, exasperated.

"I know you know that. That's why I'm sorry—I shouldn't have said that they were just research to you. That was shitty, and obviously untrue. I was just…" Erik sighs. "I'm just trying to be the best dad I can be, given that Magda and I turned their lives upside down a couple years ago. You're the first person I've… been with since Magda, and I don't know how to do this in a way that doesn't fuck up the kids more."

He sounds pathetic, he knows. He's forty-two and can't figure out how to be a good dad, let alone navigate his sparse personal life while doing so.

Charles softens, and he steps closer to Erik. "I get it. And I've been—pushy and forward. It felt harmless before, but now that things have changed between us, we should draw some new boundaries. How does that sound?"

The weight on Erik's chest dissipates. "Good," he says. "That sounds good."

Charles smiles, and it's the kind, genuine smile Erik's come to expect from him. "So… no sex while the kids are here, safe to say."

Erik snorts, "Yeah. And no flirting. Egregiously, at least."

Charles pouts, "I can't help it."

"I know," Erik says, amused. "I can't seem to, either. That's why I said egregiously. And probably no… kissing or anything, either. At least until we get your libido under control." To say nothing of his own, he thinks. Charles certainly brings something out in him.

Charles' smile turns mischievous, "What about a kiss goodbye?" He comes even closer. "When we're outside, perhaps, and I'm about to head home, and there's no risk I'll seduce you."

"I think that's always a risk," Erik laughs, but he closes the distance anyway.

Chapter Text

Erik and Magda seldom fought throughout their marriage. When they did, it was almost never an actual conflict so much as it was bickering that got out of hand, built on the back of long days and irritability.

He'd used to think that it was a strength of theirs, the not-fighting. It wasn't until the day she'd woken up and asked for a divorce that he'd realized how far apart they'd drifted. Perhaps fighting would have been better, if it meant they were actually talking to each other about something other than the kids and their mutations and their homework and their hobbies and their friends—it's never-ending. Raising three mutant children in an evolving world that can't quite figure out how it feels about mutants, in a world where Erik grew up feeling completely alone until he moved four-thousand miles away from home—it's a lot.

Magda had been Erik's lifeline, from the time he'd met her until months after they'd signed the divorce papers, until she'd finally said You know this means we're not best friends anymore, right? And he—he hadn't known, and that made him feel pretty stupid. He'd followed her logic when she'd explained why she wanted a divorce—he'd even agreed with her on a lot of points. But he thought they'd have turned their marriage into more of a… close friend co-parenting situation instead of what its become now—acquaintances who happen to be raising three remarkable children together.

Now, two years after their divorce, she certainly has no problem expressing her frustration with him. So much, in fact, that he couldn't help but think that it was likely for the best they got divorced. And then thoughts like that make him feel incredibly guilty when he sees how the whole thing has affected their kids because of course this was the worse option for them… it's an unforgiving cycle.

Even after two years of stilted conversations and Magda's anger, he's still not used to it. Which is why, perhaps, when he answers the phone on Tuesday he's surprised to hear the barely contained fury in her voice. "Tell me you didn't pay my tuition," she says when he answers, voice dangerously calm.

Erik's mind goes blank. "I… did pay it," he says slowly, trying to buy himself some time. He closes his office door.

"Erik, what the fuck?" The illusion of her calm shatters instantly, reminding Erik to defend himself. He'd only been trying to help, after all.

"You needed it paid and I had the money. I don't see the problem—"

"You don't see the problem with marching into my school and paying for my classes without my permission? Imagine my fucking surprise when I go to make a payment and the lady tells me my sweet, handsome husband paid everything off already! Why the fuck are you telling people we're still married?" This is, perhaps, the angriest he's ever heard her.

Erik should try to deescalate the conversation but frankly, he thinks she's being a little dramatic about this. "I didn't tell her that, but she assumed it and I just—I didn't correct her. I didn't want there to be any issues with the payment."

"Oh yeah, god forbid you can't pay for my classes!"

Okay, he thinks she's being a lot dramatic about this. "You're seriously pissed off that I paid for your summer classes after you were telling me how expensive they were? I had the money—"

"Yes, I know you had the money. You always have the money and you always pay for everything. I can't fucking get away from you! Why can't I have just one thing without you?"

Erik paints over the shock of hurt he feels with anger, the best he can. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Magda lets out an undignified shriek. "I can't do this. You are so—god, Erik!" She hangs up before can he can say anything else.

Stunned, Erik puts his phone down and tries to process the conversation—though that may be putting it generously—he'd just had.

Sure, he'd known Magda might not be… thrilled with his decision to pay off her classes behind her back, but he figured she'd be more happy than angry, overall. He hadn't expected that reaction, and he certainly hadn't expected her to say Why can't I have just one thing without you? What does that even mean? They've spent most of their lives together. They have three kids together.

Erik feels ridiculous, letting Magda's words bother him so much, but they do. He's in a foul mood the rest of the day, and when Azazel asks him how his weekend was on his way out, he pretends not to hear him.

He almost forgets that he has plans with Charles until he's on the way home and his phone chimes with a text that reads, Be there soon.

The reminder both lifts his spirits and makes him feel like more of a loser—part of the reason he'd asked Charles if he wanted to come over is because he feels badly for how he'd treated him on Saturday. Even with Charles' easy forgiveness, he'd been unable to shake the lingering sense of guilt. He wants to make it up to Charles, to show him that—that he trusts Charles, that he knows he overreacted. Maybe he wants to prove to himself that he didn't fuck everything up with Charles, the way he seems to with his family.

It had seemed like a good idea yesterday, after reflecting on the weekend and coming to the conclusion that he really had been a complete asshole. And then when he'd passed the bakery on his run last night, it felt like a sign. A ridiculous, silly, wonderful sign.

Now, basking in his own failure and morosity, he thinks maybe he should cancel. He doesn't even want to be around himself, and he certainly doesn't want to subject Charles to his mood, either.

Getting a headache. Can we reschedule? he sends before he can talk himself out of it. Because he will talk himself out of it, given the chance. He wants to see Charles—he always does. Charles is the most likable person Erik's ever met, and that's exactly why he knows better than to see him when Erik's in such a shit mood. The last thing he wants is to snap and be an asshole again. Even Charles must run out of forgiveness, eventually.

When not even two minutes later, he feels Charles approaching the door, he knows he should feel annoyed that his text had been disregarded, but instead he just feels relief. He opens the door before Charles can even knock and feels a smile stretch his lips without his permission. "Hey."

The surprise on Charles' face melts into something genuine and warm. "Hello, Erik. Are we… going somewhere? You're all dressed up."

Erik looks down at his work outfit—one of the handful of dress shirts and pants he has on rotation. He puts little care into picking what to wear each day, but he'd learned how to purchase basic dress clothes that can be mixed and matched with little trouble. "No, I just got home from work, actually. Unless you—you want to go out. We could."

Charles looks at him a little strangely. "Are you all right?"

Erik steps aside to let Charles inside. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? If it's a bad time, I can—"

"Charles," Erik interrupts, too distressed for someone who had actually tried to cancel their date mere minutes ago, "I want to see you tonight. I do. I just… I had a thing happen earlier and I'm still a little…"

"What happened?" Charles says immediately, concerned. "Are the kids okay?"

"They are," Erik says quickly. "It's nothing all that bad, honestly. I just… might be shit company."

Charles' face clears in understanding. "Oh, I'm sure that's not true. You're more fun than you give yourself credit for, I think." He steps forward and leans up to kiss Erik, a light brush of the lips that's comforting and teasing all at once. "So what's the plan, then? It sounded like you had something in mind when you called yesterday."

Erik wants to kiss him again. Instead, he leads them into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he goes. He's entirely too aware now that this is the first time Charles has seen him in his work clothes, and he feels a little self-conscious.

"I like them," Charles replies easily, like Erik had spoken the thought aloud. "You should dress up more."

"The gym teacher thing doesn't do it for you?" Erik teases.

Charles laughs, "Oh, you certainly don't look like any gym teacher I had. I may have actually enjoyed the class, if that were the case. Instead, I skipped as often as I could without failing. I'd go up to the rooftop to smoke with the bad kids."

It's a ludicrous picture; polite, posh Charles skipping class to smoke cigarettes on the rooftop with the school punks. Of course, Charles probably befriended everyone. Erik imagines it like something out of The Breakfast Club.

"It was certainly like The Breakfast Club," Charles agrees. "A movie that I have absolutely seen."

"You've never seen The Breakfast Club?" Erik says, appalled.

"I'm not quite sure how my youth is something that both surprises you and takes up every spare thought you have at the same time."

"I—yeah, that's a fair point," Erik concedes. "Anyway—for dinner, we really can do whatever you like. We could go out, or we could stay in and cook."

"By that you mean you cook while I get a little drunk, right?"

"Anything you like. I just want to… apologize again, for being a dick last weekend," Erik says sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"Oh," Charles says, amusement leaving his voice. "Erik, you already apologized. I'm not—I don't expect you to make it up to me, or anything. I actually am an adult, you know. I wouldn't tell you it was okay if I was still holding a grudge."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I feel so bad. You're… great," Erik says. "You always handle my family drama like it's nothing. It's not nothing. I really appreciate it, actually."

Charles' cheeks turn a charming pink. "Well, I won't accept another apology, but I'll certainly accept a thank-you, then. And I've been quite busy the last couple of days with school—a night in sounds nice." He looks around the apartment, smiling fondly. "I like your place. It's comfortable. Relaxing."

Erik looks around dubiously at the bare walls and the cheap, too-small dining room table. The way everything looks too-clean—not because Erik cleans often, but because there's not enough personal items to clutter the area the way his home used to look when he lived with the kids and Magda.

"The proprietor is redecorating, I'm told," Charles says, a playful smile gracing his lips. "The couch is very comfortable, with all of the new pillows. And I'm fond of the bed, as well."

"Two decent selling points," Erik says. "And the food's pretty good. Tonight I was thinking… beef stroganoff? Don't say anything about stroking one off."

Charles laughs loudly. "What kind of strumpet do you take me for? I would never."

"What kind of strumpet says strumpet?" Erik laughs. "Are you hungry now? I can get started."

"Sounds good. Do you have anything to drink?"

Erik directs Charles to the liquor cabinet and tells him to help himself while he starts pulling out ingredients and browning the meat.

"Can I open this?" Charles says, holding up a brand new bottle of whiskey.

"Of course," Erik says. He'd bought it after Charles had told Emma he prefers whiskey to wine last weekend.

"That's sweet. Thank you," Charles says, appearing at his side and standing on his tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Erik turns his head and catches Charles' mouth. He kisses him until Charles is pink and the meat is sizzling loudly in the pan.

With no small amount of regret, he pulls away and promises, "After dinner."

The heat of the promise lingers in the air between them as Erik cooks and Charles sits on the counter, sipping whiskey and regaling him with a story about his colleague, Hank. When Erik puts a pot of water on to boil the noodles and starts slicing mushrooms, Charles pauses and says, "We're not having Hamburger Helper then?"

Erik frowns. "What? No."

"Oh."

"Are you… disappointed? Hamburger Helper is gross, Charles."

"No, it's not," Charles says adamantly. "Moira makes it all the time, and it's delicious. I've tried to make it several times myself, but it always comes out a bit… crunchy."

"I don't even know where to start with that one. No, this is a homemade recipe. It's much better."

"If you say so," Charles says, eyeing the mushrooms dubiously.

"I do. And if you hate it, well. There's always dessert."

Charles perks up immediately. "What's for dessert?"

Erik drops the noodles in the pot and goes to the fridge. He pulls out a box and brings it to the counter carefully. "I got your favorite." He opens the box to reveal a pie, covered in whipped cream and banana slices.

Charles' eyebrows knit together, "My favorite? What is that, a banana cream—OH." He throws his head back and laughs, clapping his hands in delight. "Oh, Erik, you shouldn't have." He jumps off the counter and looks at the pie with glee. "I do love a good cream pie. You remembered."

"I will honestly never forget that," Erik laughs. Charles swipes his finger through the pie topping, covering it with whipped cream. He brings it to his mouth and sucks loudly, locking eyes with Erik.

"Or that," Erik says, fighting to keep his voice light with amusement. Charles is just being silly, but something about the playful way he flirts never fails to be outrageously sexy.

Charles smirks and says, "You know, I can think of a way for you to really apologize to me." He steps close to Erik, looking up at him with mischievous eyes.

"I thought you said you weren't accepting more apologies," Erik says lightly. His heart skips a beat, standing so close to Charles like this.

"That was before I thought of what I want."

"And you don't think I'll give you what you want without the guilt trip?"

"Well… not really," Charles admits. "So will you? Give me what I want? You were awfully rude to me last weekend, you know."

Erik snorts, even as the words ring true. Charles is right—put like that, he really will give Charles anything. "Fine. What do you want?" As if it's a chore to indulge him, when that's the furthest thing from the truth.

"I want to suck you off right here in the kitchen," Charles says promptly. "Finish what we started last time."

"My apology to you is… letting you give me a blowjob?" Erik says.

"Yes. Right now, if that was unclear."

"I… okay, yeah," Erik says. He turns the stove burners off with a flick of his hand, unable to look away from the scorching look in Charles' eyes. "Do you want to—to go to the bedroom?"

"Absolutely not," Charles says. "Do you want some pie?"

"Uh… yes?" Erik guesses, taken aback by the sudden topic change.

Charles lips curl into a smile. "Good answer." Maintaining eye contact, he grabs Erik's hand and guides it to the pie. He folds back two fingers and uses the other two to dip into the pie, coating them with creamy pie filling. It's strange, to have his fingers dipped into the pie, but something about the look in Charles' eyes has him arrested.

He expects Charles to tell Erik to suck his fingers, but instead he pulls them to his own mouth and wraps his lips around Erik's fingers. Erik inhales sharply at the familiar softness of Charles' mouth, at the way he sucks around the fingers, cheeks hollowed and mouth wet and unbearably hot. He works his tongue between Erik's fingers, licking and sucking until there's certainly no pie left, and Erik is painfully hard.

"I… I thought I was going to try it," Erik says hoarsely, eyes fixated on his fingers in Charles' mouth.

Charles pulls off his fingers and says, "Oh, that's right. Let's try again." He reaches into the pie with his own hand this time and scoops more filling. He licks it off his fingers and then fists a hand into Erik's shirt and pulls him down into a wet, sweet kiss, tongue-fucking whipped cream and banana pudding into Erik's mouth.

Erik makes a noise that barely falls short of a whimper and kisses Charles back, crowding him against the counter. He kisses Charles until there's no trace of the pie left in their mouths, and they're rocking against each other, hard and groaning at every too-quick moment of contact.

"How'd you like it?" Charles pulls away to gasp, still rolling his hips into Erik's thigh.

Erik stares at Charles' lips, the way they're red and shiny with spit. "What?"

"The pie."

"I don't know," Erik laughs. He leans in to kiss Charles again, grabbing the hair at the back of his head and tugging it so Charles' face tilts upwards and his mouth opens beautifully, ripe for the taking. You taste so fucking good, he thinks, and Charles shudders underneath him.

Pants, Charles insists, and he grabs the pie and drops to his knees so quickly it sounds like it hurts. He fumbles with Erik's belt and zipper until Erik does it for him, and then he's tugging Erik's pants down to his thighs, moaning at the way Erik's cock springs out immediately.

Erik's so occupied staring at Charles on his knees that he doesn't notice the handful of pie until it's already slathered on his dick. "What—what are you doing?"

Charles doesn't reply, he just locks eyes with Erik and kitten-licks the head of Erik's cock, which bobs appreciatively. Charles does it again, and again, and again, licking the pie off of Erik's cock, even as it drips onto the floor.

"Fuck," Erik breathes, because it's unspeakably hot to watch Charles lap at his dick, eyes wide and blue, staring up at Erik. His own cock is straining in his pants, a sizable outline driving Erik crazy with suggestion. He wants to see Charles' pretty cock jutting out, wants to wrap his hand around it, his mouth. Charles moans and frantically undoes his button and zipper, smearing pie everywhere.

"You're making a mess," Erik breathes, arousal bleeding into every word.

"Who cares?" Charles says, taking himself in hand and jerking himself off, pudding and all, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. Erik is inordinately jealous of Charles for getting to—well, touch Charles. He's about a second away from getting on the floor himself when Charles' eyes open and he shakes his head. "Sorry, got distracted. Back to this," and he swallows Erik down in one smooth, blisteringly hot motion.

A loud groan rips out of Erik's throat, and his hands immediately find purchase on Charles' head. Charles moans around Erik's cock, and works it into his mouth, bobbing his head and smearing spit and whipped cream down his chin. Each pass sends a bolt of pleasure up Erik's spine.

"You're so—so," Erik can think of a million words that fit and not one that encapsulates it all. Sexy, gorgeous, outrageous. Incredible.

Charles groans around his cock and pulls off to lick at the base of Erik's dick, where there's still some whipped cream and pudding left. He jerks Erik off with a talented hand as he laps at it, and then looks up and says, "Do you want to fuck my face?"

Erik almost comes right there—and he's extremely glad when he manages not to, because moments later he's sliding into Charles' hot, perfect throat. He thrusts slowly, gently, feeling that warm, wet pressure everywhere around him. "Good," he murmurs, voice shaky because he can't believe he's permitted to do this. He can't believe that Charles is here with him, filthy and gorgeous and perfect around Erik's cock.

Go harder. You want to. It'll feel good, Charles says, breathless in his head. He has one hand on his own cock, stroking it slowly, just enough to stave off the urgency.

"Okay," Erik says, and he pushes his fingers through Charles' hair and grabs his head, and then pulls him onto his cock at the same time he thrusts—faster and harder, but still steady, so as to not take Charles by surprise.

Erik, Charles says irritably, fuck my face. You won't hurt me.

Erik's hips jerk forward just a bit, until he forces himself to stop and ask, "You're sure?" His voice sounds nearly unrecognizable, rough and low. Charles actually rolls his eyes.

If Erik were of sounder mind, he'd laugh at the absurdity of Charles scolding him like this, lips stretched obscenely around his cock, traces of banana cream pie still on his face. Instead, Erik pulls out and then thrusts back in, harder than before. Charles keeps his throat open and his tongue outstretched, a perfect, perfect mouth. Erik truly couldn't ask for anything better. He thrusts again and again, and when he finally decides to trust Charles and starts fucking into his mouth in earnest, it takes no time at all for his orgasm to build. It starts in his gut and travels outward, up his spine and down his legs, until he's holding Charles' face flush to his hips and spilling down his throat, thighs shaking.

"Oh my god," Erik gasps, and he slides down against the counter, pulling Charles into his lap. Charles straddles his thighs and kisses him, making soft grunts into his mouth as he thrusts his hips, fucking into Erik's fist. Charles' cock is sticky with precome and pie filling, just a bit too tacky to slide easily.

Erik stretches a hand out and blindly pats around for the pie, accidentally coating his entire hand when he finds it. He touches Charles again with that hand, who laughs into his mouth and says, "You're getting it now."

He kisses Erik again, and his mouth tastes like come and bananas, and maybe it should be gross, but it's not. It's Charles, writhing on his lap and pushing his hips into Erik's hand and emitting bright, loud pleasure that builds until it crests and spills over Erik's fingers. He sits back on Erik's legs when he's done, breathing heavily as he watches Erik with a warm, sated look. Erik brings a hand to his face and licks up his hand, all the way to the fingers, tasting pie and Charles' come all at once.

"That's disgusting," Charles says appreciatively.

"You have banana in your hair," Erik laughs, and kisses Charles.

They wind up having pie and whiskey for dinner, stripped down to their underwear on the kitchen floor because they're far too sticky to sit anywhere else. "Would you believe this isn't what I had in mind when I bought the pie?" Erik says, picking out the banana slices in an attempt to have some sort of nutritional value to his dinner.

Charles snickers and says, "Is this the strangest date you've ever been on?" He peers into his drink like he's considering dipping pie into it.

"It might be," Erik concedes. Strangest, and one of the most enjoyable, he thinks. He pours a bit of whiskey into the pie and takes a bite. It's not bad.

"Mm, not for me," Charles says. "I once went out with an artist who asked me to model nude for him on our first date." He tries the whiskey concoction and makes a pleased noise.

"Did you do it?"

"Of course. I saw him a couple more times after that, too."

"Do you have the paintings still?"

"I think he sold them, actually," Charles says, looking thoughtful.

"I bet they were very nice," Erik says. He takes another bite of pie. He feels light and happy and a little drunk.

Charles finishes his whiskey and sets the glass aside with a happy sigh. "Apology officially accepted. And I prefer coconut cream, actually. For future reference."

"I'll try not to be enough of a dick to warrant that," Erik says.

"Oh, I think it was a fair trade," Charles says, crawling to Erik and climbing onto his lap again.

"I think I got the better end of the deal," Erik admits. "That was the best, stickiest blowjob I've ever gotten."

Charles laughs, "Oh, I can get much stickier."

"I doubt that, somehow," Erik says, looking balefully at the pile of their clothes that needs to be in the washing machine. They seem to have an affinity for getting messy. "Can we go shower now? You didn't get all the pie out of your hair earlier. How did you get the crust in there?" Erik muses, carefully picking a bit of graham cracker out of Charles' hair.

"Never underestimate me," Charles says wisely. He clambers to his feet and holds a hand out to help Erik up, who winces as he stands. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just don't have young knees like yours."

"I'll be sure to appreciate my young knees while I have them," Charles says solemnly.

Erik slaps Charles' ass. "I'll appreciate them, too."

It takes a long, thorough shower before Erik feels sufficiently pie-free. He's cleaning up the kitchen when Charles emerges, toweling his hair dry and wearing one of Erik's flannels and boxer-briefs that cling to his body.

He's also frowning at his phone. "You tried to cancel on me tonight?"

It feels like so long ago that Erik had honestly forgotten he'd texted Charles to try and reschedule their night. "Yes," Erik says guiltily, "but I had a good reason."

Charles puts his phone down and turns the full force of his frown to Erik. "Go on."

"I… felt like shit?"

The disapproval turns to concern. "Oh, right. You said something happened before I got here. You don't have to tell me, if you don't—"

"Magda found out that I paid off her summer tuition."

Charles pauses, looking confused. "She didn't know? As in, you paid her summer tuition… behind her back?" He rubs the towel on his head slowly, like it's helping him process this.

"Yeah, I just—I knew she wouldn't accept it if I offered up front," Erik explains. He knows it doesn't sound great. "She doesn't like taking money from me."

"So you did it, knowing it would likely upset her? This feels strange to say, trust me, but… I think that makes you kind of an asshole, then."

Erik groans, "Yeah, I know. I just—I thought she'd cool off and just be relieved she didn't have to worry about it anymore. It's not like I wanted her to—to thank me, or anything. I just didn't want her to stress out about the cost of classes."

"She was mad, then."

"Livid. Maybe the angriest she's ever been at me. She said she wants to get away from me, and asked why she couldn't have one thing without me." Erik sighs, remembering the anger in her voice.

"And… what do you want?" Charles asks, giving Erik a strange look.

Erik shrugs. "I don't—I don't want to get away from her, I know that much. If it weren't for our family, she could've been working this whole time. Now she's nearly forty and has to go back to school so she can work again. She may not see it that way, but I owe her. I want to be able to take care of her financial needs if I can—especially while she's in school. She's still my family, even though we're not married anymore. I still love her."

Charles stares at him. "Have you told her any of that?"

"I… not really," Erik admits. "She basically wants nothing to do with me, these days."

"Well… that is sort of what divorce means," Charles says carefully. "I think you should—you should talk to her. Tell her how you feel."

At this point, it certainly couldn't hurt, Erik thinks ruefully. "Yeah. Maybe you're right." Magda is a reasonable person. He's sure that they can come to an understanding on the issue, as long as he apologizes for going behind her back. Maybe she can pay him back, if she must, but either way they do need to have a conversation about their place in each other's lives. Even Lorna has noticed that they don't talk anymore—and that just won't do.

"Anyway," Erik says, looking at their abandoned dinner, "I actually do want something other than pie for dinner. Do you want to order in? We could watch a movie. It doesn't even have to be a movie made before the two-thousands."

"A real step out of your comfort zone," Charles laughs, though it sounds a little forced. "I actually, um—I'm going to get going. Moira's having a bit of an emergency, so I should—go."

"Oh. Okay," Erik says, taken aback. "Do you want to do something this weekend?"

"Um," Charles says, disappearing into the bedroom and reappearing a moment later with his watch, "sure. Just—talk to Magda, yeah? And I'll um, I'll be in touch." He looks around for a moment before spotting his keys by the door.

"Do you want pants?" Erik says, gesturing to Charles' legs, still enticingly bare underneath the flannel shirt hanging off of him. "Yours are still in the wash, but you can borrow—"

"No, that's quite all right. I'm just headed straight home. And then to Moira's, I mean," Charles adds quickly. "So, bye, then!"

The door closes behind him before Erik can say anything else.

"What just happened?" he asks his empty apartment.

The walls don't answer.

Chapter Text

"You said what?"

"Just—that Magda's still my family and I love her."

"You told the person you're dating that you still love your ex-wife?" If Erik could see Emma's face, he's sure she would be giving him one of her highly unimpressed stares.

"Not like that," Erik protests. "Obviously. Charles knows that."

"How does he know that? Did you tell him?"

"No, but…"

"Let me get this straight. You called me to tell me that Charles practically ran away from you last night without wearing pants after some—freaky pie sex—"

"Don't make it weird—"

"—that I certainly didn't need to hear about. You're all sad and confused and want my opinion on why he could have possibly left like that and you think it has nothing to do with the fact that you told him you still love your ex-wife just moments before."

Okay. She might have a point, but Erik wishes she didn't. "Maybe he was just… done with the sex?" he says weakly. "And I told you about the pie because it was relevant information."

"Whatever you say. But I highly doubt he was just done for the evening. He's like some kind of—sex puppy."

"…Yeah, he kind of is," Erik admits. "Okay, so maybe he got the wrong idea. I'll just tell him the truth."

"The truth being… that you don't want to get back together with Magda, right?"

"Of course I don't!" Erik says, shocked. "Emma, you know it's not like that."

Emma sighs. "I don't know. You're protective of your family—you keep things pretty close to the chest. I didn't even know you and Magda were having problems until you told me you were getting a divorce."

"Well, we weren't really having problems."

There's a long pause before Emma speaks again. "So you can see my confusion, then. My point is, Erik, that I don't know what's going on with you and Magda. I don't see how Charles would either, unless you tell him. Just because he's a telepath doesn't mean he's going to interpret every situation perfectly. You have to talk to him."

That's not a big ask, Erik thinks. He certainly doesn't want Charles to think he wants to get back together with Magda, or that he's still in love with her. He'd been disappointed when Charles left. He didn't want their night to end, especially like that.

"Okay. I can do that." Erik stares blankly at the mind-numbingly boring project on his computer screen. Honestly, why he even has to come into the office is beyond him. He could do all of this work at home, easily.

"Did you have a nice time with Wanda? She seemed to really like her new clothes." She'd even begrudgingly showed Erik some clunky black leather boots—Erik thought the heel was a little high, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"I did. Thanks for letting me steal her for the day," Emma says.

"Of course. She loved it. And I couldn't have you thinking Charles was replacing you."

"Oh, he's definitely not. Once I realized she just has a crush on him, everything made a lot more sense. Why didn't you just tell me that?"

"Tell—tell you what?" Erik says, sure he's misheard her.

"That Wanda has a crush on Charles," Emma says slowly.

"Because she doesn't," he says, even as his thoughts start racing, reconsidering the last several months in a new light. "She doesn't, right?"

Emma doesn't speak for several excruciatingly long moments, and when she does speak, she sounds pitying. "Oh, Erik."

"That doesn't—that doesn't make any sense. She told you that?"

"Of course she didn't. She's fifteen, she's not going to tell me about the crush she has on her completely unobtainable tutor."

"You read her mind, then?"

Emma sounds pitying again. "Erik, it doesn't take a telepath. You just have to listen. She talks about him a lot. She asked if we could get a spot of tea while we were out. She laughs at everything he says."

"Well… Charles is funny," Erik tries. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Does it make me the worst dad ever to sleep with my daughter's crush?"

"Your daughter's unattainable, teenage-girl crush? No. I had a crush on my Biology teacher when I was in high school, too. Mr. Loban—thirty-something and married." Emma sighs dreamily, "I wonder if he's still married, actually. Maybe I should look him up."

"You're not helping."

"My point is that it's normal to get crushes on teachers. They're safe, kind, nurturing. And Charles is completely adorable. He's a total catch. It'd be stranger if Wanda didn't have a crush on him."

Erik agrees with that, certainly. How could anyone get to know Charles without liking him? He even made a favorable impression on Emma, of all people. "He is pretty great," Erik says, remembering how aptly Charles had cheered him up yesterday, just by being himself. Before he promptly ran out, that is. "I should call him, clear things up."

"Yeah, and maybe tell him you want to have his adorable British babies while you're at it."

"I don't—fine. Sure." Erik says, because arguing with Emma will get him nowhere. "Bye."

He wants to call Charles right away. But it feels so presumptuous to just call him up and say Hey, just so you know, I'm not in love with my ex-wife, so you can come back. Maybe Charles had rushed out for a different reason, or he'd simply been… bored.

The thought stings, but Erik makes himself sit with it until he can consider it objectively. He tries to remember their conversation with an unclouded clarity, free from the bewilderment he'd felt during and the disappointment he'd felt after.

The conclusion he comes to is: he's an idiot, and he should call Charles right away.

Unfortunately, he's at work, and he doesn't want to rush the conversation, or risk getting interrupted. The rest of the work day passes unbearably slowly—moreso than usual. The more Erik thinks about it, the more he wants to call Charles and clear things up. Replaying the way they'd left things last time—he didn't like that look of uncertainty on Charles' face, his clear discomfort. Erik doesn't like that he's the reason Charles looked like that.

By the time his work day ends, he's full of anxious energy and eager to get home, but when Azazel steps into the elevator with him, he guiltily remembers blowing him off yesterday.

"Hey," Erik says, "heading out?"

Azazel's surprise is fleeting but obvious enough that it worsens Erik's guilt. "I am." He pushes the ground floor button.

There's an awkward beat of silence. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I was having a shit day," Erik says, when it's clear that Azazel isn't going to say anything else. "My ex-wife, she…" he trails off, unsure how personal is too personal in this case.

"Ah," Azazel says wisely. "Say no more. I also have an ex-wife. Seven years."

"Does it get easier?" Erik asks, glancing over at him. "We've been divorced for a little over two years. It sucks."

"It does. Suck and get easier." Azazel eyes him sympathetically, "You have kids together?"

"Three." Erik imagines that without kids tying them together, Magda would probably never speak to him again. That's sort of what divorce means, Charles had said.

The elevator dings cheerfully and opens to the ground floor. "Do you have kids?" he asks Azazel.

"I have a son. Kurt. He's sixteen," Azazel says proudly, following Erik out of the building.

"Really? Two of mine are turning sixteen this year. Your son—is he a mutant?" He wonders if other mutant parents worry about their mutant children the same way Erik does, with the firsthand experience of growing up entirely too aware of the target on your back. He realizes too late that this is probably past the point of too-personal.

But Azazel just nods. "He is. He's a teleporter, like me. He's blue," he smiles, like it's his favorite color. Erik thinks of Lorna's startling green hair, how he'd never cared much for the color until he saw her.

"My daughter has green hair," Erik says. "She has my powers, too." Just thinking about Lorna makes him miss her fiercely. Erik comes to a stop by his car. "Where did you—wait, do you even drive?"

Azazel's red lips stretch over his teeth in a wide grin, "No. Normally I just—" BAMF. He disappears in a puff of red smoke.

Stunned, Erik stands there for a moment before he starts laughing.

He likes Azazel.

-

Erik makes himself wait until he's home and dinner is simmering on the stove before he calls Charles. He doesn't want to come off too desperate—or maybe he's buying himself some time. He'd been itching to talk to Charles all day, but now that the time has finally arrived, he feels nervous. Maybe he's making something out of nothing, and this is going to be brutally awkward.

Charles waits just long enough for Erik to start worrying he won't pick up before he answers. "Hello?" he sounds polite.

"Charles, hi. It's me, Erik."

There's a pause, and then an amused, "Yes, I'm aware." He clears his throat, polite again, "What can I do for you?"

Erik's reminded of the way Charles had sounded when Erik first shut things down after finding out his age. His cordial distance. Erik hates it.

"You kind of rushed out of here yesterday, and I… I get the feeling that I gave you the wrong impression." Erik gets a beer from the fridge and removes the cap, rolling it into a little ball that bobs in the air.

"Okay," Charles says slowly.

"I just don't want you to think—I'm not—I'm not in love with Magda, or anything. You know that, right?"

There's a long pause, during which Erik takes a nervous sip of beer. Charles sighs, "Did you talk to her?"

"Not yet. I wanted to talk to you, first." Clarifying things with Charles felt like it should be his top priority. "Look, I know I said I still love her. But I just meant like—like family. I care about her the way I care about Emma."

Charles takes a deep breath. "Be that as it may, I still think you should talk to her—"

"I will," Erik assures him. "I plan to, soon. I just… I didn't want you to think the wrong thing. You seemed so upset last night—"

"I wasn't upset—"

"Charles. You left without wearing pants." It would have been funny if Erik hadn't been too busy wondering what he'd done wrong.

"I… okay, yes," Charles concedes, "I was a little—thrown, I admit. I suppose I just… underestimated how complicated things are between you and Magda."

"They're not really that complicated," Erik says weakly. His relationship with Magda is somehow both the focal point of his family and entirely detached from it at the same time. Magda is the mother of his children and someone he talks to less than once a week. Of course it's complicated.

He just doesn't want Charles to think so, because so far, it seems like that might be a deal-breaker.

"Erik, I'm not mad at you," Charles says softly. "But… we're sleeping together. You clearly still have some things to resolve with your ex-wife. I'm just asking you to resolve those things before we continue sleeping together."

That's fair, Erik thinks. "But you want to," he says, "continue sleeping together?"

Charles huffs a laugh, quiet but warm. "Yes."

"Good," Erik says, relieved. "Me too."

"We're in agreement, then. Call me after you've talked to Magda." Charles sounds firm, but much less distant than he had at the beginning of the call.

"I will," Erik promises, "as soon as I can. Are you free Saturday?"

"Erik," Charles says, and Erik can hear the smile in his voice.

"Or Friday. You could stay the night."

"Erik," Charles laughs. "Goodbye."

"I'll talk to you soon." Erik hangs up, feeling very triumphant for a man who's about to discover he's burnt his stir fry.

Unfortunately, Magda's not nearly as keen on talking to Erik. Busy with class, she replies when Erik asks her if she's free sometime this week. He can picture the accompanying eye roll as clearly as if she were standing right in front of him.

I'm free all week. I can come to you, Erik writes back. It's true he wants to see Charles this weekend, but that's only part of his hurry. It's a long overdue talk, and he wants to clear the air with Magda finally, too.

She doesn't reply.

Azazel commiserates with him again the next day, stopping by his office to ask if he'd worked things out with his ex yet. "It will get better," he says again. "My Marisol, when we first got divorced, she didn't talk to me for eight months. Now we're friends. We chit-chat. We sit next to each other at Kurt's baseball games. It's good. You'll see." He speaks with such confidence that Erik believes him.

Erik knows that he messed up with the tuition, and he wants to give Magda the time she needs away from him. Despite how angry she may be with him, her priority is their family and he knows she won’t keep them in limbo for too long. Still, he realizes he may have been overly optimistic when he told Charles he’d talk to her by the weekend, as if it’s his choice.

When, by Friday afternoon, he still hasn’t heard from Magda, he’s resigned that they likely won’t speak until the following week. The kids will be home all weekend, and if Magda doesn't want to talk to him, that's a good a reason as any.

He texts Charles that evening to tell him that Magda hasn’t cooled down enough to talk to him, but he’s trying. He stares at the text for an embarrassingly long time before sending it, as if there's a convincing enough way to rearrange the words so that Charles changes his mind about seeing Erik again before resolving things with Magda.

It’s not that he needs to see Charles or anything. It’s just that his free time feels a lot emptier without Charles to occupy it, texting and teasing and coercing him into fun, messy sex.

Charles sends him a thumbs up.

You're still welcome to come over, Erik replies, just in case Charles doesn't know.

There's no reply for fifteen long minutes, during which Erik can't decide if he feels more like a dumbass or an asshole. Certainly some variation of the word.

I have plans with Moira all weekend, Charles finally writes back.

That settles that, at least. Erik swallows his disappointment and resigns himself to a boring weekend. He's seeing Emma on Sunday, at least—Let's plan for Sundays from now on, she'd said to him last weekend, watching Charles say goodbye to the kids.

Friday evening, he does all of his grocery shopping, cleans until his place is spotless, and reads a few uninspired chapters of a middling mutant-mystery-thriller book Magda had recommended years ago.

He sleeps in as much as he can on Saturday, and then regrets it the moment he steps outside for his run. It's sweltering out, a taste of the summer heat imminent in the coming months. He much prefers his runs early in the morning, before the concrete warms up too much.

He runs until he's dripping with sweat and then he grabs a smoothie and considers what he can do for the rest of the day—maybe he'll go to the store to pick out a new dining table, although it sounds much less appealing without Charles there. Maybe he'll see if Azazel wants to go get a beer or something—though it occurs to him now he doesn't have Azazel's number. Erik makes a mental note to ask him for it sometime next week at work. He wanders around aimlessly a little longer and then heads home.

He doesn't expect to see Magda in her car, parked in front of his place when he gets there. She's scrolling through her phone, listening to music loudly. Erik bends down and knocks on the glass window. Magda jumps and shrieks, inaudible over the music. She turns the car off and steps out a moment later. "You snuck up on me," she says accusingly.

"You show up randomly at my place, and I'm the one sneaking up on you?" Erik muses, leading them into the building and up to his apartment. "Sorry if I kept you waiting. I wasn't expecting you." Truthfully, he's glad to see her. He's just giving her a hard time.

"Now you know what it's like when you barge into my house," Magda mutters.

Erik snorts, "That's fair, I guess. Who's with the kids?"

"Peter's out with his friends. Wanda's with Lorna at home. I told her I wouldn't be gone too long. I just… figured we should talk."

Erik gives her a sidelong glance. "Yeah. We should."

Magda looks away. "Wanda, she um, she showed me how to get here with her powers. She just… thought back to watching the roads when you drive here and like, gave me the information. I would have figured it out on my own eventually, but… did you know she could do that? She's never done anything like that with me before. Our daughter's kind of amazing."

Erik lets them into his apartment. "She is," he agrees. "And no, I didn't know she could do that."

She doesn't ever use her telepathy to communicate. Certainly not the way Erik's used to with Charles, at least. On the occasions Wanda uses her powers, it's almost always her telekinesis. Very rarely, her other gifts. Erik's sure it's not a coincidence that she's using them more now.

Magda stops behind Erik, looking around the apartment. "Do you—want me to take my shoes off?"

"Um, whatever you want." It's unbelievably strange, seeing Magda here in his space after all this time.

"It's weird to be here," Magda says, echoing his thoughts. Her eyes linger on the couch. "It's nice."

"Don't sound so surprised," Erik laughs, as if he hadn't only just put any effort into decorating. "Can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee? I might have some orange juice."

"Coffee's fine," Magda says. She follows him into the kitchen.

Erik starts preparing the pot. "If you want, I even have some wine that Emma left here. She had dinner with us and the kids last weekend."

"Who?" Magda says sharply.

"Who what? Emma?"

"You said us and the kids. Who's us?"

Erik freezes. Had he said that? "Um. I guess I just meant Charles? He stayed for dinner." It's not like it's all that strange, Charles staying for dinner. It's not the first time, and Erik would be willing to bet Lorna's roped Charles into dinner at Magda's before, too.

"Oh," Magda says, shoulders relaxing. "Sorry, Erik, I just thought—nothing. I'm just… stressed." She looks it, too. She looks like she's been upset for a few days.

"I'm sorry," Erik says, guilt hitting him full force, now that he's face to face with Magda's distress, "for paying for your tuition. It was shitty. I knew you'd be mad."

"I know you knew. That's what pisses me off so much. Why do you—why do you just think you know what's best for everyone? You're not calling the shots, Erik. You're not my husband anymore." She sounds like this has been simmering for days, ready to bubble over.

"I don't think I ever called the shots with us, Magda," Erik says, not appreciating the implication that he was some sort of controlling partner. "We were always a team. And I still have say in our family. With our kids."

"Sure, with our kids. Not with my school, my life. We're not that anymore to each other. We're not married—"

"But we're still something!" Erik says, louder than he intends to. He shakes his head, "You can't—you can't get away from me, even if you want to." He sounds so petulant, like a kid with hurt feelings. "We have kids together."

Magda sighs, and she sounds so sad. "I know, Erik. I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean it."

He thinks she might have meant it, but he'll meet her olive branch. "It's fine. And I really am sorry about your tuition, too." He pours them two cups of coffee, then goes to the fridge and gets the cream to offer to her.

She waves it away, "No, thanks."

"Oh," Erik says, "okay." He puts the cream back. "I just… I wanted to help you out, Mags. You shouldn't have to pay for your school by yourself. My money is still yours, if you need it. Even if you just want it."

"I don't want it," she says adamantly. "And I don't need it, either."

"You do, though. You don't need to be stressing out about money. If we were still married, we wouldn't think twice about it."

"But we're not married, Erik," Magda cries, exasperated. "What don't you understand about that?"

"I don't know! Apparently, I don't understand anything about it. I didn't—I didn't realize getting divorced would mean that you would—hate me." The words feel ripped out of his throat. He takes a big drink of coffee. It burns his mouth.

"I don't hate you," Magda says quietly. She sets her mug down with a sigh.

"Yeah. I know," Erik says, because he knows he's being dramatic. Of course Magda doesn't hate him. She just… doesn't like him very much. "I just… didn't think it would be like this. Divorce."

"What did you think it was going to be like?"

Erik doesn't know. He feels stupid for not having known it'd be like this. It's not like people get divorced for fun. "I thought we'd—we'd live apart and raise our kids together. I thought we'd still be a team." He looks out the kitchen window. Lorna's misshapen unicorn is faded, but still there. "Still be friends."

"Erik…" Magda sounds like she doesn't know what to do with him.

"I have this—this friend, from work. He said he and his ex-wife get along now. They sit together at his son's baseball games. But they've been divorced for seven years. Is that… how long it's going to take us?" In five years, the twins will be in college. Lorna will be thirteen.

"Maybe," Magda says.

Erik's heart sinks. "Oh."

She rubs at her face. "I just—God, Erik, I've been so mad at you."

"I know. I fucked up. I shouldn't have paid your—"

"Not for that," Magda interrupts. She chews her lip, clearly turning something over in her head. Erik gets himself a glass of water, gives her time to put together whatever she wants to say. He wishes he could've showered. He feels sticky and gross from his run.

"Can we go sit on the couch?" Magda says finally.

"Yeah. Of course." They go to the couch, setting their beverages on the new coffee table. Magda pulls a pillow into her lap and plucks at the tassels forlornly. She looks like Wanda. When she speaks, her voice is resigned. "Erik… I'm mad at you for the tuition, yeah. But also…" she says. "For—for moving thirty minutes away. For leaving the job you loved to make more money. For being the better cook. Lorna's always asking for things the way you make them."

"What? She does?" Erik says, choosing to latch onto the thing that makes the most sense, because none of it does.

"Yes! She's always going—Daddy's pancakes taste better, or Daddy puts cheese on the garlic bread, or I don't like salad, only the one Daddy makes. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy." Magda groans, collapsing back onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling balefully.

"I see," Erik says carefully. He's not happy that it's causing Magda strife, but he'd be lying if he said some part of him wasn't pleased that Lorna doesn't forget about him the moment she goes home. "I add vanilla extract to the pancake batter," he says.

"Of course you do," Magda mutters.

"I'm sorry about the cooking thing," Erik offers. "But… everything else—I don't know, Mags, I'm just trying to make things easier. I didn't want to move, but my job…"

"I know," she says, sitting up to look at him. "I know you did it for our family. But still, you moved away, and you got your own place, and a new car. I'm still living in our house, raising our kids. You have a whole new life, and I… have our old life, still. Only it's worse, because…" her voice wavers, just enough that Erik knows she's trying not to cry.

Erik's chest aches. He wants to hold her, but he's sure she wouldn't want him to. He forces himself to stay where he's at. "I thought you wanted the house," he says helplessly. "I thought we agreed it was better for the kids to—to stay in their home. To keep their lives the same as much as we could. I thought you wanted it this way."

"Why would I want this?" Magda cries, looking at him in disbelief.

"Because you—you—it was your idea to get divorced!" Erik says, unable to stop the anger seeping into his tone. "You're the one that said we weren't happy!"

"Because we weren't," Magda says. "You agreed. We were just going through the motions. It wasn't working."

"Yeah, I know. I was there for that conversation. I just don't understand how you're mad at me for doing what you wanted. You said you wanted a divorce. You said you weren't happy."

"Were you happy?" Magda says pointedly.

Erik thinks he was. He liked his house, his job. He loved living with his family. He liked cooking for five. It's true that their marriage had taken a real backseat to the kids, particularly since Lorna had been born, but Erik certainly hadn't been unhappy. "I… yes," Erik says. "I think so."

Magda shoots him a look. "Bullshit. Or if you were—it had nothing to do with me."

"How can you say that? We lived together, parented together, slept side-by-side, every night." Erik stands up, hands in his hair. Nothing about this conversation makes sense. "How did all of that have nothing to do with you?"

"Because, Erik," Magda stands up too, arms outstretched in a plea for understanding, "none of that was because of me, specifically. You loved that I was safe and nice and reasonable and we got along."

"Of course I loved those things about you. Why is that a bad thing?"

"Because you didn't love me," Magda gestures to herself, looking at Erik with pleading, desperate eyes.

Erik stares back helplessly. "I don't… I don't understand what you're saying. Of course I loved you."

"Erik, you would have loved anyone who was nice and reasonable and wanted to have a family with you," she says, like this is some sort of trump card. "The rest of it didn't matter to you. You just—you wanted a family with the first person you didn't hate who would give it to you. You could have been married to anyone, and it would have been enough for you. I could have been anyone."

Her words sit heavily in the air as Erik considers them. It's true he had wanted a family, first and foremost. He was looking for someone to have that with, but he doesn't like most people, so when his friend Magda asked him out, he thought—why not? She's a good person who wanted the same things as him. She'd make a good wife and mother to their children. He could love her. He did love her. He does. He hadn't known he was doing it wrong.

Erik sinks down onto the couch again, drained of energy. "I just don't understand why that's so bad," he says finally. "Of course I wanted a family. You did, too. Sure, we could have done that with other people in theory, but we did it with each other. Why isn't that enough?"

Magda sits next to him and looks him in the eyes. "Because I wouldn't have done it with just anyone else."

"Well, sure, not just anyone—"

"No. I loved you, Erik. I loved you so much I would have done anything with you. I would have started a family, or moved back to Germany with you, or started a—a hippie commune in the woods, if that's what you wanted." Magda's dark eyes glisten with tears.

"A… hippie commune?" Erik says, feeling dazed.

"Yes," Magda laughs tearily. "I was so in love with you I would have lived in the woods and stopped shaving my armpits. As long as it was with you."

That's… a lot. Erik's always had a pretty fleshed out idea of what he wanted his life to look like. A wife, kids, a warm place to go home to. Even knowing that he was attracted to men too, he'd always envisioned settling down with a woman, if only for the ease of having children.

He'd been committed to Magda, certainly. And he loved her, and liked her a lot as a person. He could have spent the rest of his life with her. But what would he have done, if Magda had told him she didn't want children? The thought barely comes to mind before it's answered—he'd have ended things with her, of course. But he hadn't, because…

"Did you want kids?" Erik asks, suddenly afraid of the answer. "Did I… coerce you into—"

"No," Magda stresses, grabbing his arm. "No, Erik, you didn't coerce me into anything. I love our kids. I love being their mother. I loved our life." There's not an ounce of uncertainty in her eyes, but there is some pain. "I thought it was enough, just to be with you. To raise our beautiful children together. But it still hurt. I still wanted you to love me back, the way I loved you. You didn't. When our lives became about the kids, you didn't even seem to miss me. You just… looked right through me. I couldn't do it anymore."

Erik grabs her hand tightly, a tether keeping him on the ground as her words land. "That morning… you said neither of us were in love still. Did you mean that?"

She'd said their marriage was essentially already over—they were just going through the motions. And he'd thought—what's wrong with the motions? What's the difference between acting a happy couple and actually being one? But she'd said she wasn't happy, and that she wanted to show the kids how to be happy, even when it's scary. Even when it's hard.

"I… I did resent you at that point, but I still loved you," Magda says quietly. "I guess, just… some part of me hoped that when I asked you for a divorce, you'd realize that you couldn't live without me, or something. It sounds stupid," Magda tugs her hand free and wraps her arms around herself, looking small.

Something painful lodges itself in Erik's chest. To think of Magda, painfully in love with him and knowing it wasn't mutual—not in the way she wanted. To think of her giving him the easy out, hoping he wouldn't take it. But he did. He failed her. Worse, he hadn't even known he was failing her. He hadn't seen her pain. You just looked right through me, she said.

"If you wanted more, you should have told me," Erik says hoarsely. "I would have—I would have tried, Mags."

"I know. I didn't want you to have to try, Erik. Maybe that's—maybe that was selfish of me. I don't know."

She blew up their family, he thinks, without even giving him the chance to fix it. Maybe he could have loved her in that way, if she gave him the chance. Or maybe he's not capable of loving anyone in that way, and that was the best he could do.

But then he thinks about his children—the way he'd burn the earth down for them, if they needed it. The way he feels less alive, less himself when they're gone. He loves them unconditionally. There's nothing that would make him love them less, nothing that could convince him to leave their side.

And if Magda hadn't wanted children, he would have found someone who did.

"I'm sorry," Magda says, and she's crying. She doesn't cry often—or maybe she does now, and this is just another thing he doesn't know about her anymore.

Erik doesn't stop himself from comforting her, this time. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her against him. "I'm sorry, Magda. I didn't—I didn't know. Any of that." Maybe all of this could have been avoided if he'd just… been better. Less closed off. Less guarded from a lifetime of protecting himself from a bigoted world.

Magda tucks herself into Erik's side. It's strange to have her so close again. "Over the last couple of years I've thought… maybe it was a mistake, giving up. I've been so mad at you for giving up, for not… loving me the way I wanted. But that wasn't fair of me. I should have told you how I felt, maybe… we could have fixed things. Kept our family together. I'm sorry," she finishes in a whisper.

Erik sighs. "It's not all on you. I could have fought you on the divorce, but I didn't."

Maybe he was looking for a way out and just hadn't realized it, at the time. Maybe it was easier to just tell himself that he was being a good partner by giving Magda what she wanted, a good father by not dragging their family through an ugly, fraught divorce. If he's honest with himself, he's just as much to blame as Magda is. In the end, she hadn't been wrong; he did give up. He doesn't blame her for being mad at him.

They're too far down this road now, to turn back. Erik doesn't want to, as hard as that is to admit.

"I'm so sorry, Magda," he says, choked with guilt. "I'm so sorry I didn't—give you everything you deserve."

Magda sits up and looks at him, eyes still teary but clear. "I don't accept that apology," she says firmly, "because you have nothing to apologize for, Erik. I don't regret any of this. Not our marriage, not the kids, not our life together. I don't even regret the divorce."

Erik doesn't understand how that can be true. Surely, she'd have been better off finding someone who loves her the way she wants—the way she deserves. Someone who would understand when she's hurting. But he remembers what she said—she loved him. She would have done anything with him. Even if that meant they get divorced, in the end.

Magda grabs his hand, "I want you to know… I think separating was the right choice for us. For our family. My parents stayed together until they hated each other, and growing up around that… it was miserable. I want our kids to see us happy."

Erik can barely speak around the lump in his throat. "And are you happy?"

She nods. "I'm getting there. I really like going to school. Doing something for myself, being independent."

Erik winces. He really is such an asshole. "God, the tuition. I'm sorry—"

"It's okay," Magda says. "I know you were trying to help. I'll accept the loan, but I'm going to pay you back."

"Okay," Erik nods. "Whatever you want."

Magda smiles. "And you're happy." She says it like it's a fact.

Is it a fact? Erik's gotten used to thinking of himself as unhappy, the last couple of years. Just working so he can provide for his family, living for every other weekend, breaking up the monotony with a standing lunch date with Emma. But the last few months he's felt like he's actually living again.

He's looking forward to things that aren't just seeing his kids. He's looking forward to getting a new dining table, to using the groceries he'd picked up yesterday—even the fact that he had picked groceries up yesterday, despite knowing he wouldn't see the kids this weekend. For a while, he'd gotten into the habit of eating protein-bar-dinners, because it was just too depressing to cook for one person. He's even looking forward to work next week, so he can ask Azazel if he wants to grab a beer sometime.

He is happy.

It all makes him feel a bit guilty, to be honest. "I… I miss the kids all the time."

"You can miss the kids and be happy at the same time. It doesn't make you a bad father," Magda says kindly.

"I know that," Erik says, as if she hadn't just plucked the thought out of his head, not unlike—

Charles.

He's not oblivious—obviously Charles is a big part of why he's been enjoying his life lately. He can't even look at his coffee table without fighting the urge to grin like an idiot. But thinking about Charles while Magda is here feels… incredibly complicated and confusing. Especially in light of what she'd just told him.

"Erik," she says, and her voice is soft and hesitant, "it's okay if you're—seeing someone, you know."

"What?" Erik says, heart leaping into his throat. "Why would you—I'm—what?"

Magda stares at him, expression complicated and unreadable. Then she throws her head back and laughs. "Oh my god, I forgot what a terrible liar you are."

"I'm not," he says weakly.

"Seeing someone, or a terrible liar? Because you definitely are both of those things." Magda picks up one of the several pillows on the couch. "This? A decorative pillow? And the rug? Come on, Erik. I've known for a while."

Erik blanches. Has he really been so obvious?

She squeezes his arm. "Stop looking like that. I'm not going to give you detention. We've been divorced for years. And I meant it when I said I want the kids to see us happy, Erik. Clearly whoever she is… she makes you happy."

"And you're… okay with that?" Erik asks uncertainly. It's one thing to no longer be together, and it's another to know that your ex is dating someone new. He doesn't want to be blind to Magda's feelings again.

"I am," Magda insists. Then she pauses, and her face spasms comically. "It's not—Emma, is it?"

"What? No, of course not," Erik says, appalled at the idea. He loves Emma, but they would drive each other insane.

Magda laughs in relief, "Thank god. Aunt Emma is fine, but if Wanda started calling her Mom I think I'd lose it."

That is the kind of thing Wanda would do, Erik thinks, if only to get under Magda's skin. "You definitely don't have to worry about that," Erik assures her. Wanda certainly won't be calling anyone else Mom anytime soon, unless Magda has some sort of gay awakening.

"Then yeah, we're good," Magda says. "Just… make sure it's serious before you introduce her to the kids, okay?"

Charles certainly doesn't need an introduction, Erik thinks. He says, "Of course. I don't know that it's… headed in that direction, anyway." He doesn't know what this thing is with Charles at all, at this point. It's fun and sexy and exciting, and anything more than that… he doesn't know how that would work.

Magda gives him a knowing look, but all she says is, "Okay. I trust you."

Erik's stomach chooses right then to make a loud gurgle of protest. He grimaces, "I'm sorry, I just—I ran like, seven miles before you got here."

"Ah. That explains the stink," she says, making a face. "It's boiling out, Erik. Aren't you tired?"

"And sticky and hungry, yeah," Erik says. "I need to take a quick shower, but if you want… I could make us lunch after?"

She doesn't even consider it before she shakes her head. "I appreciate the offer, but I should get back to the kids."

"Yeah, of course," Erik says, swallowing his disappointment. He knows he'd been pushing his luck, anyway. It's just been nice to talk to Magda so openly again.

Magda goes to the door and steps into her shoes. "I know I've been… short with you, for a while now. I'm going to work on that, okay? I don't hate you, Erik. It's just taking me some time, but I'll get there. Just—don't do anything boneheaded like that behind my back again, okay?" Magda says, pointing at him sternly.

"No more tuition payments from me," Erik promises, holding his hands up.

"Good. Now go take a shower, please." Magda opens the door and mutters to herself, "Who even runs in weather like this?"

Erik holds onto the feeling of her watch as she gets in her car and drives away, and then he lets go.

Chapter Text

The rest of the weekend threatens to pass without incident. Erik, for all of his earlier eagerness to see Charles, doesn't know how to reach out again after his conversation with Magda.

He wants to see Charles. He knows that he'll feel like himself again with Charles there, prodding and teasing and telling him about his week. They've hardly spoken since the last time they saw each other, when Charles had unceremoniously ran out.

Erik wants to hear about Charles' week, if he's made any progress on his thesis, what he and Moira did over the weekend. Erik wants to cook a meal for him and watch a movie and make him feel good, whatever that entails. But he feels guilty about how much he wants to see Charles and talk to him, like maybe he should have put this energy into his marriage and things would have been different.

With all of his conflicting emotions, it feels too complicated and heavy to put on Charles. So he doesn't text him on Saturday, though he wants to. He sits around and feels bad about himself, and then he feels pathetic—as if feeling bad now is going to make anything up to Magda or his kids.

He goes to the bookstore and looks around—he flips through some books about navigating parenthood with a split family, but none the books mention being a mutant, or raising mutant children. The sparse books that do mention mutant parenting don't touch co-parenting, or parenting with someone who's not a mutant.

He leaves empty-handed. Maybe he's supposed to approach parenting the same way anyone else would, but it's different. It's not just raising children in a tough world; it's raising children in a tough world designed against them. It's raising his children to grow up and be healthy, functioning adults despite all of the discrimination they'll no doubt face.

Evidently, it's harder than he thought to grow up unscathed. For all of the love and care his parents showered him with growing up, he still felt alone and misunderstood. Maybe if one of his parents had been a mutant, or maybe if he'd known another mutant growing up, he wouldn't be forty-two and learning that his ex-wife found him wanting for the duration of their marriage.

When he tells Emma about it at brunch the next day, she doesn't seemed surprised. "Anyone could see how much she loved you," Emma says. "She settled down with you when she was nineteen, for god's sake."

Erik had also been young—twenty-two, and his thoughts get stuck on the number, like a missing tooth he can't stop worrying with his tongue—when they began dating, but now, it seems clear that they'd been looking for different things. He hopes he gave Magda what she wanted for a while. He thinks he did.

"What did Charles say about it?" Emma asks, nibbling on a piece of pineapple she'd speared on a little umbrella. She'd opted for a "breakfast pina colada" today.

"Say about what?"

"The Magda stuff."

"Nothing. I haven't talked to him," Erik says, pushing his oatmeal around unenthusiastically.

Emma squints at him from across the table. He feels icy little tendrils prodding at his mind. She could hide her presence, he knows, but she doesn't. He waves a hand around his face like he's swatting a gnat, "Stop it."

She frowns, "Tell me you're not moping around, drowning in Catholic levels of guilt and punishing yourself by not talking to your favorite boy-toy. Really, it's a punishment for everyone. You're much more pleasant when you're getting laid," she adds primly, taking a neat bite of her quiche for effect.

Erik lets out a half-hearted snort. "Thanks."

Emma's shoulders slump and her eyebrows knit together in a genuine show of concern. "Erik. You can't—you shouldn't feel bad. Magda is a grown woman. You two may have gotten together when she was very young, but she was, what—in her twenties when you had the twins? Thirty for Lorna? And you said yourself, she never told you how she felt until yesterday. That's not—all of this is on her, okay? You didn't do anything wrong."

When Erik doesn't say anything right away, Emma goes on with a huff, "I don't know what she's complaining about, myself. She could have done a lot worse than someone who loved her and took care of her and treated her kindly."

She could also probably do a lot better than someone who essentially saw her as a vessel to get children, Erik thinks harshly, even though he knows it wasn't quite like that.

"Erik. I mean it," Emma insists, pouting. As much shit as she gives him, she seems genuinely distressed.

Erik does smile, then. "Thanks for being on my side." Of course this isn't all on Magda, but Erik appreciates Emma's unwavering support, as always. She's a good friend.

"Of course I am," Emma says. "Do you want to swap food? I can't keep watching you eat that self-flagellation oatmeal."

"I like oatmeal," he says, taking a big bite for effect. It's a little cement-y, but it's fine.

"Please eat this quiche before you crumble into dust," Emma begs, "and then call your delicious twink."

Charles answers on the first ring this time. "Hello?"

"Charles. Hey," Erik says, everything he'd planned on saying flying out the window the moment he hears Charles' voice. He'd been pacing in the kitchen, feeling jittery at the prospect of talking to Charles. Now, he stills, leaning against the counter.

"Hello, Erik," Charles replies, and he's smiling, Erik knows. "I hope you haven't called to lure me over without having done what I've asked."

"And if I have?" Erik says, "Would you come?"

"Would I come? What an interesting turn of phrase…" Charles muses. "I suppose that's up to you."

Erik laughs, the lilting words settling pleasantly in his gut. "Well, I did speak to Magda."

"Oh?" Charles' tone turns serious, "How did that go?"

"Um, a mixed bag, really," Erik says, sobering at the thought. "It went about as well as it could go, I guess." And about as badly as it could have gone too, somehow. "We worked out the tuition thing. She's going to pay me back."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you've come to an agreement about the tuition. Was there anything else, or…?"

Erik hesitates. He's not sure where to start with the bulk of their conversation, or even if he wants to share that right now. "Yeah, we talked about divorce stuff, in general. I think—I think things will get better between us."

Charles lets out a quiet, "Ah."

"Not like that," Erik says. "I told you, we're not getting back together. That hasn't changed. If anything, it's more definite than it was before."

"Ah," Charles says again, sounding much more upbeat.

"She even gave me her blessing to date," Erik says. That had certainly been a reassuring part of his talk with Magda, at least. "She's apparently known for a while I've been seeing someone, and wanted to make sure I know that she's okay with it."

"Oh. That's… quite nice of her."

"It is," Erik says. There's a beat of silence. He clears his throat, "So, are you busy with Moira tonight?"

"Hm? No, I have other plans, actually," Charles says lightly.

"And those are?"

"Hopefully getting plowed into the mattress and then hand-fed chocolate-covered strawberries?"

Erik laughs. "That's quite specific."

"Mm, I'm flexible," Charles purrs.

"In general? Or on the strawberries?"

Charles laughs.

And Erik hadn't actually planned on seeing Charles tonight—honestly, his only plan had been to tell Charles that he spoke to Magda. He wasn't sure how the conversation would go, if Charles would even want to see him tonight, or even if he did, if Erik was up for company. Naturally, any amount of uncertainty on that front had evaporated the moment Charles answered.

"So I'll see you later?" Erik asks, smiling at the thought.

"You will," Charles agrees.

"Be honest, do you have a food fetish?" Erik asks, laying in bed with Charles later that evening, naked and holding a chocolate-covered strawberry. Charles had brought them over himself. Now for your end of the bargain, he'd said, with a wicked grin.

Charles shrugs a pale shoulder, "Perhaps. I'm still discovering all the things I'm into, as it turns out."

Erik thinks about licking pie and come off of his hand last week, naked in the kitchen. "I am, too."

Charles smiles at him, looking sweet and boyish for a moment. He's a vision, pale and pink and lovely in Erik's bed, mouth red from kisses and stubble-burn.

Charles' mouth curls into a slow, seductive smile. Erik holds the strawberry to Charles' lips, and they open easily, accepting the fruit. He bites into it. The chocolate shell cracks and juice runs past his lips, down Erik's fingers.

As he chews, Erik watches the juice make its way down his chin. He thinks about it dripping into the hollow of Charles' neck, tasting it there, sweet and sticky. He licks his lips.

Charles swallows. "Are you sure you're not the one with the food fetish?"

"I'm starting to think I'm into anything, with you," Erik says honestly.

Charles huffs and looks away, cheeks going pinker. "I, um, I'm glad you worked things out with Magda."

Erik puts the stem back on the plate and rolls to his back. "Yeah. Me too."

Charles moves the plate to the nightstand and lays down, propping his chin up on Erik's chest. He prods Erik's forehead gently. "Your thoughts go all muddy when I bring her up."

Erik's first instinct is to guard his thoughts. He doesn't mean to—it's just what he does with Emma, when she gets too nosy.

Charles looks a bit hurt. "Sorry, I didn't mean to overstep." He pulls his hand back but Erik catches it in his own, dropping his mental guard quickly.

"You didn't," Erik says. "Just a habit. Sorry." He brings Charles' fingers to his lips, thinking. He doesn't mind telling Charles about his conversation about Magda—it might be nice, actually. But he had recently told Charles that things with Magda weren't complicated, which is categorically untrue. He doesn't want to scare Charles off, send him running again. He'd sooner not talk about it at all, if those are his options.

Charles watches him pensively. He pulls his hand free to touch Erik's face, brushing his cheek. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I won't run off again, either way."

Erik takes the out. "Good. It'd be much more embarrassing to leave completely naked," he says, craning his neck to admire Charles' bare ass.

Charles laughs, "Moira thought I was insane when I showed up at her place like that."

"You really did go to Moira's?" Erik had assumed that was simply a lie he'd told to get away as quickly as possible.

Charles looks a little embarrassed. "I was a bit—panicked." He looks away, "I just—it would be horrifically awkward to get involved with a man who's about to get back together with his ex-wife. I'm not trying to get in the way of any cozy family reunions."

"You're not," Erik says firmly. "But I won't lie and say things aren't complicated. They are. I've got a whole family. If that's too much—if this is too much baggage for you, I understand." It's only a bit of fun, after all, which has to be for the best, given Erik's disastrous relationship history. Maybe Charles should turn and run the other way.

A complicated look crosses Charles' face. "Erik," he starts softly.

And suddenly, Erik doesn't want to hear the rest of that sentence. He doesn't want to hear that Yes, there's too much baggage and they should stop seeing each other, or No, it's not too complicated and Charles is still content to play house, to get his kicks while it's still exciting. Because it doesn't matter what the answer is now—eventually the answer will be that Charles is done with this escapade. Eventually he'll have gotten what he wanted out of this.

Erik's going to enjoy it while he can.

He pushes himself up and kisses Charles, who freezes and makes a noise of pleasant surprise, before kissing back eagerly. Erik rolls them over so he's on top of Charles, and he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue against Charles', tasting strawberries and chocolate and tea. Charles moans into the kiss, pushing his hips up, his cock into Erik's thigh. Erik reaches down and grabs Charles' cock, admirably hard again.

They'd just fucked, and already Charles is greedy for more.

"Do you want to come?" Erik murmurs into Charles' mouth, moving his hand in steady strokes.

"Yes," Charles breathes, and he pushes on Erik's shoulders impatiently when Erik starts moving down his body. Erik laughs to himself, and can see the moment his breath hits Charles' skin, because goosebumps paint the taut canvas of his belly. He covers them with his mouth, pressing kisses into the sensitive skin, and Charles pushes up into it, so much that his cock bumps the underside of Erik's chin, smearing wet.

Erik ducks down and takes Charles' cock into his mouth, suckling gently on the head until he can situate himself better between Charles' splayed legs. Charles takes his fingers easily, still stretched and wet with lube and come.

"Oh, that's good, darling," Charles sighs, letting Erik have his way with him. He's so eager for Erik's touch, responds so beautifully, without fail. More than that, Erik's unfailingly eager to touch him. Erik's certainly never felt this kind of hunger for another person. He keeps expecting it to fade, but so far, every time his desires are satiated they return again, stronger than before, the imprint of Charles' body seared into his memory.

Even now, he won't be able to come again for a while, but it's more than enough just to make Charles feel good, to feel his secondhand pleasure and the satisfaction of knowing he's the one eliciting those gasps of pleasure. He's the one who gets to feel him, to taste him, to bask in the soft, shivery way Charles comes in his mouth, one hand fisted into the sheets and the other flexing on Erik's scalp.

"You're getting really good at that," Charles pants afterward, lax on the bed and radiating satisfaction.

"I had a good teacher," Erik says. He moves up to lay next to Charles again, thinking about the way he'd used Charles' throat before. He wonders what it'd be like, for Charles to fuck his mouth in the same way. He likes the idea of submitting to Charles in that way, of being a body for Charles to use for pleasure. He liked it when Charles woke him up with sex before, riding him with a single-minded, nearly masturbatory pleasure.

Charles follows the train of thought, eyes lighting up with interest. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

Erik shrugs, a little self-conscious. "I'm just learning new things about myself, like you said." Something about Charles makes him feel bold and new, like he can reinvent himself into someone better, someone happier. Maybe he already has.

"I like the old things about you, too," Charles says, leaning in for a kiss. "Pun intended."

Erik snorts and lets himself be kissed and pushed onto his back. Charles swings a leg over him, and he expects to feel the rest of his weight follow, but instead Charles climbs over him and out of the bed.

"Where are you going?" Erik says, enjoying the sight of Charles standing up, naked and unabashed.

"I'm starving. Do you have any Hamburger Helper?" he smirks at Erik over his shoulder, then walks out of the room with the barest sway in his hips.

Erik follows.

-

"Are you staying the night?" Erik asks later, when they've settled on the couch after dinner, taking turns eating spoonfuls of vaguely freezer-burnt raspberry sorbet out of the carton ("This is just sad, Erik," Charles had said, frowning as he scraped off a layer of ice).

Charles hums, "Well, I did leave a change of clothes here, last time."

"You didn't bring a bag?" Erik asks, honestly surprised that Charles hadn't presumed. He's already given Charles fresh, comfortable clothes to wear but that was more because he likes seeing Charles in his clothing, and less because he thought Charles didn't actually bring anything himself.

Charles passes him the carton. "No. I came right from Magda's, actually."

"Oh. Right." Somehow Erik had forgotten that Charles saw the kids today. He wonders if it's different, seeing the kids at Magda's instead of here. He tamps down his irrational jealousy at the thought. "How are the kids?"

"They're good. Lorna was out playing with one of the neighbor girls. The twins have final exams coming up soon—not this upcoming week, but the next one—so we worked on a study guide all day. Wanda joined us and made one as well."

Erik remembers with a jolt what Emma had told him last week about Wanda. Somehow, with the slightly earth-shattering realization that he had been a terrible husband, he'd forgotten that he's also a terrible father. Charles must feel the burst of anxious energy, because he looks at Erik curiously.

"Emma told me—" Erik stops, unsure how to word it. Emma might be wrong, anyway. There's a first time for everything. Wanda hadn't actually told her anything, willingly or otherwise.

Charles raises his eyebrows, "Emma told you…"

Erik passes the carton to Charles, trying to weigh his words still. What had been Emma's reasoning? Wanda drinks tea now, she talks about Charles often, and she laughs at everything he says? That doesn't necessarily mean she has a crush on him. He talks about Charles and laughs at him, too. Charles is interesting and funny. A voice not unlike Emma's reminds Erik that's because he likes Charles, and apparently he just expresses it like a teenage girl.

Charles takes a bite. "Oh, that. Yes, I do think she has a bit of a crush." He shrugs, as if it's not a big deal. As if he's not talking about the daughter of the man with whom he's just had some very good, enthusiastic sex. He frowns, "Erik, it's really not that big of a deal. Students develop crushes all the time. It will pass. It always does."

"You knew? Why didn't you tell me?" Erik asks, trying to wrap his head around a reality where he actually is sleeping with his fifteen-year-old daughter's crush. Maybe the Magda thing had been a blessing-in-disguise, distracting him from doing his head in with this until now.

Charles shrugs and scoops another spoonful of sorbet. "I imagine it's not the kind of thing she'd want me to know. The nature of telepathy ensures I'll overhear sensitive things sometimes, but that doesn't mean I have to bring them up. I try to respect everyone's privacy."

That's very considerate, Erik thinks. Exactly the kind of response he'd expect from Charles. "So you think she'd be okay with…" he gestures between them feebly.

Charles' eyebrows go up to his hairline. "You want to tell them?"

"No," Erik says quickly. "There's no need to update them on who I'm sleeping with, right? It's not—This isn't…"

Charles sucks on the spoon thoughtfully, waiting Erik's stumbling out.

Erik swallows. "I just don't want to be the worst dad ever by sleeping with someone my daughter likes." He can feel Charles' warm mouth wrapped around the metal, and it's horribly distracting. He tugs at the spoon gently, "Stop that."

Charles smirks around the spoon before he sets it and the sorbet aside and swings a leg over Erik in one fluid motion. "You're far from the worst dad ever," he says softly, eyes warm. "My completely honest, mostly unbiased opinion is that it's a harmless crush that will quickly pass the moment she finds someone her own age. It's completely normal for students to get a crush on their teacher. I should know. I'm fending off undergraduate students by the dozen, you know." He leans in. Erik can smell raspberries on his breath. "I'm quite the catch," he murmurs, before bringing their lips together.

That's certainly true, Erik thinks, kissing him back. He remembers thinking that the first day they'd met—that his students must fall in love with him all the time.

Charles grins into the kiss. "And for what it's worth, I think you're a great daddy." There's a loaded pause before Charles starts cackling and Erik pushes him off his lap with a groan.

"That's still a no, then?" Charles snickers from where he lays on the couch on his back. He starts massaging blindly at Erik's crotch with his foot.

"Are you ticklish?" Erik asks conversationally, grabbing his foot.

"No-o," Charles says quickly, trying to yank his foot back, laughing even before Erik starts running his fingers up the arch. "I was just trying to give you a footjob," he wails with laughter. "Most men would appreciate that!" Erik's hardly even touching him—Charles is giddy just from the concept of tickling. His telepathy is bleeding into Erik's mind, sharing the urge to squirm and giggle.

Erik pushes Charles' legs apart and lays between them, on top of Charles, who stops laughing to gaze up at Erik, flushed and happy. Erik's struck with the urge to commit this to memory, Charles wearing his clothes, on his couch, eyes dancing with laughter, warm and solid beneath him. Charles stares up at him, laughter fading into something softer and sweeter. Erik leans down to kiss him. Right before their lips touch, Charles whispers, "We'll work up to the daddy thing, then."

He laughs so loud Erik's surprised the neighbors don't complain.

And in the end, he does stay the night.

"You made up with your ex, then?" Azazel guesses on Monday. "You look happy."

"More or less," Erik says. He's still processing everything Magda had told him on Saturday, but it's hard to be in a bad mood when he'd woken up with Charles in his bed this morning.

This time, there wasn't any morning sex, but Charles had been delightfully disgruntled. I'm never sleeping over when you have work again, he'd mumbled, scowling at Erik over a cup of tea. He'd assured Erik the night before he'd be fine to leave him in the morning, that he had plenty of work to do at school and the early start would be nice. If he hadn't been so convincing, Erik would have told him he could sleep in and let himself out whenever he woke up. He might have even told Charles to go back to sleep today, but he's very cute when he's grumpy.

"I see," Azazel says, watching him curiously.

"Did you have a good weekend?" Erik asks, to distract from whatever conclusion Azazel is currently coming to.

"I did. My son and I went to see a movie. One of those flashy spy movies, with all of the explosions and man in fancy suits. I think, wow, what a terrible spy, to stand out so much." He shakes his head, disappointed. "Anyway, not my favorite. But Kurt likes action movies, so we went. It was fun."

Erik doesn't know the last time he went to a movie with Peter. Or Wanda, for that matter. He doubts they'd want to go, even if he asked. Last Sunday, he'd asked Wanda if she wanted to go to that cafe again, and she'd just scoffed instead of answering. How she'd been so sullen even after Emma had bought her a new wardrobe was beyond him.

"You're close with your son?" Erik says, swallowing his jealousy.

Azazel nods, proud. "He answers my texts."

It sounds small, but Erik is well aware of how difficult it is to get a reply from a teenager. "How do you—" he cuts himself off before he can ask something embarrassing like How do you get your teenager to like you? or How do you stay close with your kid while only seeing him a couple times a month? But then again, maybe Azazel's custody arrangement is different than Erik's. It's a wildly personal thing to ask.

Azazel takes pity on him. "Do you want to get lunch today?"

He does, actually, and not just because he wants to pick Azazel's brain on parenting. He likes Azazel. They seem to have a lot in common, and he feels bad that he's spent so long dodging the man's attempts at conversation until recently. Perhaps some part of him had looked at Azazel with his red skin and tail and thick accent, doing this uninspired work and assumed they had nothing in common, judging him like any other human would.

Or maybe he's just been too fucking depressed to pull his head out of his ass.

Either way, he's changing that now. Or, later this week when Erik's caught up on his work. Between Magda and Charles, he'd been too distracted to work much last week, and he needs to catch up and then some, so he's done by the time the kids come over on Friday. "I'm probably going to work through lunch today. Rain check?"

Azazel agrees with the ambivalence of someone who doesn't quite believe him, and leaves him to it.

Erik takes a small amount of enjoyment in the surprise on Azazel's face when he stops by his office Wednesday and asks if he wants to get lunch.

Azazel hesitates, "I do, but I'm feeling a little under the weather today. It's probably just allergies, but I don't want to get you sick." He looks fine, Erik thinks, but it's a bit hard to tell when his skin color is so atypical. It's possible he's just giving Erik an out.

Erik shakes his head, "I'm sure it's fine. I don't get sick often." He can't remember the last time he's gotten a cold. A byproduct of his eating and exercise habits, his good health is one of the things he's got going for him, at least.

At lunch, Erik tells him about his work project this week. "Technically my deadline's next week but I'm trying to finish it by Friday so I can just focus on the kids this weekend."

He's looking forward to seeing them. There's an art festival downtown that he thinks both Lorna and Wanda will really enjoy, and hopefully Peter will tag along too. He'd like to buy the kids something they want as a celebration for finishing the school year. Particularly Peter, who's on track to get his best grades yet, if his finals go well. It sounds like he's been studying hard for them with Charles, which Erik appreciates.

"My son will be with me this weekend too," Azazel says happily.

"I thought you saw a movie with him last weekend?"

"We did," Azazel says, nonplussed. When Erik just looks confused, he goes on, "I have Kurt every other weekend at my house, but we do things all the time. Go to movies, get dinner. Sometimes I go to his baseball practices. He gets a little embarrassed, but he still appreciates it."

"Isn't that… what about your custody arrangement?" Erik asks.

Azazel shrugs. "Ah, that's really just about where he sleeps, isn't it?" His face flickers with realization and pity. "You don't—you only see your kids on your weekends?"

Honestly, it'd never occurred to Erik to try and see them other times. It had felt… disrespectful, somehow. He can see how strict custody adherence would benefit people with antagonistic relationships with their exes, but he and Magda have never been that. They technically have a legal arrangement, but mostly because their lawyers had strongly recommended it, however amicable things were between them at the time.

It made sense to stick to their arrangement during the school year, but there's no reason that Erik couldn't pick Lorna up for ice cream once in a while, or… find something to do with the twins. It's so hard to connect with them. He'd thought it was because of their age and the divorce, but talking to Azazel makes it clear he could be doing more. It's an uncomfortable thought.

"Of course, our powers make it much easier to see each other," Azazel says hurriedly, clearly picking up that this is a sore spot for Erik. "Everyone is different. I'm lucky to have a good relationship with Marisol."

"Things with Magda are… complicated," Erik admits. "I think they're getting better, though. Or they will." Things with her had ended on a hopeful note, last weekend. And the kids will be out of school for the summer soon—he'll get to spend much more time with them. He'll see how Magda feels about him seeing the kids more during "her time" when they return to school.

Azazel spends the rest of the meal telling him about Kurt's baseball league. It's a fairly new summer league, only a few years old. It's specifically for mutant teenagers, and the games sound wild and unpredictable. "It's a bit of a mess," he says with a chuckle, "but the kids have fun."

It sounds nice, Erik thinks, for kids to have somewhere to use their powers freely. They spend all school year trying to fit in at baseline schools, it's probably a relief to let loose and have fun with each other. He wonders if the twins would be interested in something like that—Wanda probably wouldn't, but Peter might enjoy the opportunity to stretch his legs.

Erik also finds out that Azazel's son goes to the same school as the twins. "He's a grade lower, but he knows who your kids are." Erik's sure that's true; mutant kids stand out. "He tells me your son is fast."

"That's a bit of an understatement," Erik laughs, "but yes."

When they return to work, Erik's in a great mood. Things really feel like they're coming together. He's made a new friend, things are working themselves out with Magda, and seeing Charles has been more fun than it has any right to be. They haven't seen each other since Sunday (technically Monday morning, Erik supposes), but they've texted some. Erik's not even really the type to text, but it feels natural and easygoing with Charles, like everything else does.

Charles had even sent him this dumb word game that refreshes with a new puzzle every day—everyone plays it, he'd said. Erik thought it looked kind of stupid, but then Charles had said, I got it in three guesses, and the unsaid challenge was enough to make him play. He got it in four guesses, but he's still learning—he'll keep playing until he can beat Charles regularly.

At the end of the day, Erik's on his way out of the office when he sees Azazel hunched over at his desk, looking pale and waxy.

"You okay?" he stops to ask, concerned.

Azazel nods, "I'm fine. I think—I think I have a bug, after all."

"Are you… okay to get home?"

"Oh yes," he assures. "I'll just pop on home like normal." He grabs his briefcase and stands up, swaying immediately. He sits down again. "I'm going to… gather my thoughts for a moment, before heading home."

"Uh," Erik says. He's not sure how Azazel's teleportation works, but it doesn't seem safe to teleport miles away when you can't stand up straight. "Do you need a ride?"

"No," Azazel says right away. "I couldn't—I'll be good to leave soon. I'll get a cab. Or walk."

"Right. I'm going to drive you home," Erik says decisively. He walks around the desk and helps Azazel stand up. Up close, he looks even worse. His eyes look glassy, and there's sweat beading on his forehead.

Azazel tries to protest a bit more, but he doesn't seem to have the energy for it. Erik gets him to his car with little trouble.

It turns out, Azazel lives in between Magda's and Erik's place. It's a little out of the way, but when Azazel does little more than doze on the drive, looking sicker and sicker by the minute, Erik's glad he insisted on taking him home.

When they get to Azazel's home—a small, cozy looking house with a surprisingly robust flower bed along the front—he staggers to the front door with Erik's help. He thanks Erik profusely for the ride, and apologizes again for the trouble, and the likelihood of getting Erik sick.

"It's fine, really," Erik insists. "I told you, I never get sick."

Chapter Text

He gets sick.

He feels fine on Thursday. A little tickle in his throat, maybe. He tells himself it's allergies and goes to sleep early. On Friday, he wakes up with a sore throat and a minor headache. He pretends he can taste his breakfast just fine and makes it halfway through his work day before he stops denying the reality: his headache's gotten worse, it's getting harder and harder to breathe through his nose, and his throat is starting to feel like sandpaper. He's officially sick.

With a sinking feeling, he realizes his chances of seeing his kids this weekend have gone from slim to none. Even if he wanted to push through feeling crappy himself, he'd never forgive himself for getting them sick.

He leaves work early and calls Magda the moment he gets home.

"Erik, you sound terrible," she says. "Are you okay?"

"Uh," Erik says, because his head feels fuzzy. "Yeah. I just have a… cold, or something. I don't know. I gave Azazel a ride home this week, and he hasn't been in since." Which doesn't bode well for Erik.

"Who?"

"Azaz—a guy I work with. He can teleport."

"Why'd you give him a ride home if he can teleport?"

"Because he was sick," Erik explains. He's not sure what's hard to understand about that.

"Ah," Magda says, "I see."

Erik gets some water from the kitchen. "I don't think I'll be able to get the kids today," he says.

"Yeah, no shit," Magda says, not unkindly.

"I'm sorry," Erik says miserably, feeling like that doesn't quite cover it. His chest feels heavy with the knowledge of not seeing his kids this weekend.

"You don't have to be sorry," Magda says. "I'm sorry you're sick. Don't worry about the kids, Erik. They'll be fine. We'll make something happen next weekend for Father's Day."

That makes him feel a little better, at least. He goes to the couch because standing up is pretty taxing.

"Are you going to be okay? I can drop off some medicine or something," Magda offers.

"No, that's okay. I think I have some around here." Truthfully, Erik's not sure, but he doesn't want to bother Magda. He's already messing up her weekend by getting sick at the last minute.

She hesitates, "I could… Do you have someone to—I just don't like the thought of you being alone. You're always the biggest baby when you're sick." She sounds fond.

Erik laughs, though it devolves quickly into a nasty sounding cough.

"Oh, Erik," Magda frets. Erik hates the thought of worrying her—and it feels uncomfortably familiar to the way she'd fuss over him on the rare occasions he got sick during their marriage.

"I'm fine, Mags," Erik says, when he's sure he can talk without coughing. "I sound worse than I feel." He's not sure how true that is, but he doesn't want Magda worrying about him right now.

"Okay," she says, sounding reluctant. "Just… let me know if you need anything."

"Give the kids my love," Erik says before getting off the phone. He puts the kettle on and rummages around his vitamin cabinet for cold medicine.

The thing is, he wasn't lying when he'd told Azazel that he never gets sick. It's a very rare occurrence for him—meaning he doesn't ever keep cold medicine at his place, because by the time he'd actually use it, it would be expired. And there's no reason to keep it around for the kids, either; in the event that the kids get sick, they'd just stay at home with Magda.

The good news is that he finds some ibuprofen in the first aid kit he'd bought when he first moved in. The bad news is that he's tired and his head hurts, and he really, really doesn't want to go to the store. With any luck, the ibuprofen, tea, and a few vitamin-c booster drink mixes will be enough to weather this cold.

Magda really is a good mom, Erik thinks, returning to the couch with his beverages. She always makes the kids feel better when they're sick, and Erik too, even when she's teasing him at the same time. There's something very comforting about being taken care of when you're feeling bad, even if it's just someone there to drop off a fresh tissue box once in a while.

The tea feels good on his throat, and the taste reminds him of Charles. He curls up on the couch and puts the first mindless, entertaining thing he can watch—in this case, a baking competition show. Everyone's British and he can't help but imagine Charles, scurrying around and trying to perfect various pastries.

Several episodes later, his phone rings. The display says it's Magda, but when he answers, it's Lorna's sweet voice on the other line instead.

"Hi, Daddy!"

The sound of her voice makes him smile. "Hey, Loo. What are you up to?" His voice comes out much hoarser than he expects it to, after hours of not speaking.

"I just took a bath. Mama said you don't feel good," Lorna says fretfully.

He clears his throat, "I'm okay. I'm sorry I couldn't come get you today. I miss you."

"I miss you too," Lorna says. "Can I come over tomorrow?"

Erik's hit with a rush of affection so strong it makes him feel dizzy—though, that could just be the fever. "I don't think so, Loo. I have a cold, and I don't want to get you sick."

"Oh," Lorna says sadly, "okay. That's what Mama said too, but I wanted to ask anyway."

Erik wishes he could hug her. "I'll see you next week for Father's Day though, right?"

Lorna cheers up quickly, "That's right! Miss D said we're making cards—oops, it's supposed to be a surprise!"

"I didn't hear a thing."

"Good," Lorna says approvingly.

"I hope the Father's Day fairy brings me a new bracelet," Erik says, trying to keep some energy in his voice.

Lorna giggles, "There's no such thing as a Father's Day fairy, Dad."

"Do I need to lose a tooth to get a fairy?" Erik complains. "Maybe my loving daughter will bring me one instead."

Lorna laughs again, and then launches into a story about her friend Olivia, who's lost one of her front teeth and now whistles when she talks. "It's really funny, but I pretended not to notice because Mama says it's not nice to point out things that someone might be embarrassed about."

"She's right about that," Erik agrees, stifling a yawn. He's exhausted. "Loo, I'm going to go to sleep now. I have to rest up so I can get better."

"Okay Daddy," Lorna says easily. "Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Absolutely," Erik says, wondering how he got so lucky. "Tell Wanda and Peter hi for me, okay?"

Talking to Lorna inspires him to text the twins. Sorry about this weekend. Love you, he writes. He doesn't expect a reply, but it makes him feel better just to tell them he loves them. He feels bad he hadn't thought to do it before.

He then rallies long enough to eat some leftover chicken he'd had in the fridge. It tastes like cardboard and his throat is killing him, but it's better than nothing. He drinks more water and returns to the couch. Something about sleeping on the couch while he's sick is comforting, so he turns the volume down and watches television until he falls asleep.

He has a confusing, stressful dream about Charles trying and failing to make the perfect quiche, and getting quite upset about it. Charles is very distressed and British about the whole thing, and doesn't seem to hear Erik when he tries to reassure him that it's okay and he'll eat it anyway. And he's not sure why Charles is upset anyway, because surely he's aware that he's not the best cook, given the whole… crunchy Hamburger Helper business. Still, Erik feels quite desperate to comfort him.

Erik wakes up freezing and sweaty and panicked, because Charles is still yelling, but it turns out it's not actually Charles, it's a shrill British woman on the television. And she's yelling about souffle, not quiche.

He turns the TV off, relieved with the silence. It's light out. He feels like shit, but at least he's managed to sleep through the night, strange baking dreams about Charles notwithstanding.

The thought jolts Erik fully awake—Charles. He has to call him and tell him that the kids are with Magda this weekend. He can't find his phone, so he holds a hand up and summons it. His equilibrium is a bit off though, and it misses his hand and thunks into his chest. "Ow," he says pathetically to no one. He fumbles around with his phone until he manages to text Charles, updating him on the situation and telling him to reach out to Magda to discuss tutoring this weekend.

Then he lays there for another few minutes, trying to sort out how he's feeling. His head is pounding something awful, his body aches, and his head is so stuffy that it makes everything feel far away. He goes to the kitchen and forces a cup of water down that feels like swallowing thumbtacks.

He drags himself into the shower, hoping that the steam will help clear his head and the heat will ease the ache in his muscles. If nothing else, he's been sweating all night and it's great to feel clean, even though he's back to shivering the moment he steps out. The steam has helped with his congestion some, but has also convinced his sinuses to start endlessly draining.

Erik dresses and makes himself a cup of tea, trying to hype himself up for going to the store—he also needs actual cold medicine and something that won't hurt too much to eat. He doesn't drink much of the tea, but he likes the smell (as much as he can smell it, at least), and the way the mug warms his hands. Truthfully, he's exhausted from just the shower. But he can manage a trip to the store, even if he feels like garbage, and then afterwards he'll be free to lay around for the rest of the weekend.

Erik still can't seem to warm up, so he pulls on some thick socks, another sweater, and he even digs out a scarf from the back of his closet where he keeps his winter clothing. It works double as a pseudo face mask, which is excellent because he doesn't want to get anyone else sick. The act of layering clothes over his outfit is quite tiring, so he sits down on the couch to catch his breath before he leaves.

Bang, bang, bang.

Erik jerks awake at the loud, steady knocking at the door. He's sweltering, and he's been sleeping for he doesn't know how long. And someone is banging on his door.

"Coming!" he calls out hoarsely, detangling the scarf from around his neck and using it to mop up the sweat on his forehead. His mouth is dry as hell from sleeping with his mouth open because he can no longer breathe through his nose, and it had felt like there was a knife scraping at his throat when he had called out.

Erik, it's me, Charles' voice pops into his head, there but at a distance, like he's outside of Erik's thoughts, waiting to be let in.

It's an incredible relief, to not have to talk. Erik slumps back onto the couch. I'm not up for company, Charles. I'm sick. Sorry you came all this way. He thinks longingly about opening the door to let Charles in, just to have him near. He'd underestimated how lonely it is, being sick and alone—especially on a weekend when he should be with his kids. His chest aches again at the reminder.

Charles sounds very soft when he says, I know. I got your text and I spoke with Magda. Will you let me in please?

No, Erik says stubbornly, I'm sick. He doesn't want to get Charles sick, and furthermore—he's gross. His mouth tastes stale, and his eyes are crusty, and he feels sweaty and clammy.

You won't get me sick, Charles admonishes gently. I've got the immune system of a twenty-two year old horse, or something. I've brought medicine and some food for you.

The promise of medicine and the temptation of seeing Charles wins out, and Erik unlocks the door with a twitch of his fingers. Fine, but you should go afterwards.

Charles doesn't reply, just lets himself into the apartment, eyes seeking out Erik on the couch right away. "Good god, you look awful," he says, alarmed. He sets a bulging plastic bag on the table.

Erik groans and flops over, dragging the blanket over his head.

"Oh, I'm sorry, that was—you look fine, I just meant that you look sick. You're as handsome as ever," Charles says, sounding amused. Erik hears him bustling around for a minute, before returning to perch on the couch. He rubs Erik's shoulder over the blanket, "Will you come out now? I have medicine for you."

Erik reluctantly sits up, letting the blanket fall to his chest. Charles is waiting for him, holding out a small cup of radioactive-looking orange medicine. Erik stares at it dumbly. His head feels cloudy, and he's not sure why Charles is here.

"Drink this," Charles urges.

Erik acquiesces with a grimace. Why are you here? I'm sick.

"Are you really?" Charles says wryly. He passes Erik a cup of water. "How are you feeling?"

Like shit, Erik says, sipping the water.

"I know, but what are your symptoms? You look… sweaty. Do you have a thermometer?"

Hallway closet, Erik says. He slouches back against the couch and closes his eyes. He feels better already, though surely the medicine hasn't kicked in yet. It's just nice to have Charles here, even though he'll be leaving soon.

"Your text sounded like you'd been taken hostage," Charles says from the hallway, "and then you never replied. I was getting a bit worried, and then Magda called to let me know that the kids were staying with her this weekend because you have a cold. She also said that you're completely useless when you're sick, so you were probably just laying around feeling miserable. I figured that was my cue." He returns with the thermometer and hands it to Erik.

Erik frowns around the thermometer, I'm not useless. I can take care of myself. He gestures to the empty water glass, the tea that's gone cold, and the pile of used tissues on the table.

Charles eyes it all warily. "Mhm. Did you take cold medicine before I got here?"

I was on my way to the store to get some.

Charles raises his eyebrows, looking at Erik, and then at the door where his shoes lay, then back to Erik. "Were you, now?"

The thermometer beeps, and Charles grabs it before Erik can. "One-hundred-and-one degrees," he reads with a frown.

Erik forces himself to talk out loud. "That's not that bad."

"Hmm," Charles says, unimpressed. "Do you even know what you texted me? You wrote, 'Not well. Go to Magda'. What kind of message is that? It sounded like you'd been held at gunpoint and were trying to send me a hidden cry for help. Frankly, I'm relieved it's only a cold. Though, you do look miserable." He brushes some of Erik's hair off of his forehead, clucking sympathetically, "Still handsome, but miserable."

Erik's sure his text was much more eloquent than that. "Thank you for the medicine," he says, voice sounding thick. He stifles a cough. "You can go now, though. I don't want to get you sick."

Charles doesn't reply, he just stands to retrieve the bag he'd set down earlier. "I brought some cough drops as well. I wasn't sure what kind you like, so I got you a few different flavors. I have cherry, menthol, and my personal favorite, lemon-honey. Which would you like?"

"Menthol," Erik rasps. It sounds like it will feel the best on his throat.

Charles hands him one with a smile. "You can talk to me telepathically, if it's easier for you. You're not going to convince me you're feeling well, either way."

I'm not feeling well, but I'm not so sick you need to be here taking care of me, Erik protests. What about the kids? Aren't you seeing them tomorrow?

"Humor me," Charles says. "If it makes you feel better, I'll try to keep my distance. If you've convinced me you're fine by the end of the night, I'll allow you to kick me out. Otherwise, I'm here all weekend. I told Magda I had plans." He gestures to his overnight bag he'd left by the door. "I can read your mind, you know. I know you're happy to see me."

Of course I am, Erik says. That doesn't mean… he sighs, suddenly overcome with a wave of fatigue. Fine, he ends lamely. He doesn't have it in him to fight with Charles right now. And he is happy to see him.

"Excellent," Charles says, looking pleased. "When's the last time you've eaten?"

Erik hasn't eaten all day, but he certainly doesn't have an appetite. He shakes his head. Haven't been hungry.

Charles purses his lips. "Well, that won't do. I brought some canned soup—I'm going to go warm that up. I also brought ingredients to make soup, but I think it's best we get some food in you right away, for lunch. Is that tea you're drinking? Good man. Would you like a fresh cup?"

Erik nods. Thank you. He supposes he should just be glad that Charles is leaving the used tissues alone.

Charles smiles at him and pats his cheek. "This is where I'd kiss you, if you were feeling better."

On his way to the kitchen, Charles says, "Are you too sick to do your handy kettle-heating trick?" and then, when Erik starts to stand, "Oh, sit down—I'm only kidding." Charles makes them tea and warms up the soup, and they sit and watch television while they eat. He keeps his word and sits on the opposite end of the couch, and Erik hardly resents this at all.

His head feels cloudy still, but with the medicine getting to work and almost half a can of soup in his stomach, he feels well enough to say yes when Charles asks if he wants to play chess.

After a couple games (one of which Erik has won), he's surprised to find that his fever has risen two degrees. "I feel better though," he says, perplexed. His voice sounds worse than before too, though the pain in his throat has subsided considerably.

"Well," Charles says, abashed, "I may be helping with your pain receptors a bit."

"You can do that?" The more Erik learns about Charles' powers, the more impressed he is. Charles is a walking miracle.

He shrugs, looking embarrassed. "It's nothing. And your body is still working hard to fight the illness. Perhaps we should be done after this game."

"Oh," Erik says, disappointed. Even though he's feeling awful, he's been having a great time with Charles. It's selfish, but he doesn't want Charles to go.

"I'm not going anywhere," Charles rolls his eyes. "I just don't want you to overdo it, especially when I'm easing some of your symptoms. Remember, pain is your body's warning signal."

"You just don't want to be beaten by someone who's so stuffed up they can't think," Erik says smugly. It's both the right and wrong thing to say, because Charles makes him take another dose of medicine and proceeds to put his game face back on.

"Enough already. I'm sick," Erik whines after he gets checkmated for the third time in as many games.

"You are indeed," Charles says. "I'm going to get you set up in here, and then I'll get started on the soup. Looks like you could use more water and a new cup of tea… Anything else I can get you?"

Erik hesitates; he doesn't want to be a bother, but Charles is offering... "Could you get the pillows from my bed? And the book on my nightstand. And my phone charger," he adds, thinking about Lorna's phone call last night.

Charles fights a smile but doesn't say anything. He retrieves the requested items and sets Erik up nicely, including putting extra pillows on the coffee table so Erik can put his feet up comfortably.

"Anything else?" Charles asks, handing him a fresh cup of tea.

"No. Thank you," Erik says, feeling appropriately coddled.

"It's nothing," Charles smiles. "I'm going to get started on the soup, okay?"

"You really don't have to do that," Erik says. "Canned soup is fine." Unbidden, he thinks about his dream from last night, and Charles' quiche distress.

Charles' mouth twitches. "Your concern is noted and slightly offensive. It's just soup, Erik, how hard could it be?"

Erik seems to remember him saying the same thing about IKEA's self-assemble furniture, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Charles goes to the kitchen to start cooking. Where's your soup pot? Charles asks him, clattering around the kitchen.

Erik thinks of its location, which Charles finds easily. He finds the chopping board and knives in the same way, and starts cutting vegetables. Erik considers offering to help, but then he remembers the way he'd missed his hand with his phone today, and decides it's best to leave Charles to it.

Charles lingers in Erik's mind, like he's sitting right next to him. It's comforting, and Erik curls up and reads his book, listening to Charles prattle on while he cooks; Can I use unsalted butter instead of salted? What does unsalted even mean? Is the salt there already, and they take it out? You know what—nevermind, and What on earth is chicken seasoning? Is that how seasoning works? Do they also sell beef seasoning or pork seasoning? My god, and worryingly enough, Um… baking soda and baking powder are interchangeable, right? Should I add the powder as well? Nevermind. I'm sure it's fine.

It makes the time pass quickly, listening to Charles chatter. Erik drinks his tea and feels surprisingly content for someone whose head feels like it's floating a foot above his body. Not much later, he gets a text from Magda that says, How are you feeling? Lorna wants to know if she can call you.

I'm doing fine. I'd love to talk to her, Erik replies.

His phone rings a minute later. "Hi, Loo," he answers right away.

"Hi, Daddy! Are you feeling better today?"

"I am," Erik says, thinking of Charles in the kitchen, "and even better now that I get to talk to you."

Lorna's satisfied with this answer, and she wastes no time telling him about her plans with her friend later, which essentially amounts to drawing on the driveway with chalk until the ice cream truck comes along, and then going inside to play with their dolls.

"What are Wanda and Peter doing today?" Erik asks, wondering if he should try and talk to them, too. They're most likely busy and don't mind not seeing him this weekend. Which is fine—it's not personal, it's just how kids are, he tells himself. He doesn't remember being particularly eager to spend time with his parents when he was fifteen, either.

"Petey's out with his friends like he always is, and Wanda's home, but she said she's too busy studying to hang out with me. Mama's doing homework, too. Everyone is always doing homework," Lorna complains.

"You'll understand one day," Erik says. Lorna seems so young now, but before he knows it she'll be in middle school, and then high school. It feels like not long ago at all that the twins were eight years old and dragging him along to the ice cream truck. "You should ask Wanda if she wants ice cream when you hear the truck, even if she's in her room. It's always nice to invite her."

"Yeah, I know," Lorna says. "I will."

They say goodbye a few minutes later when her friend shows up at the door. Erik's happy he got to speak to Lorna, but almost equally relieved to hang up so he can stop talking. Even with Charles muting the pain, Erik's throat feels raw and irritated. He has another cough drop and rests his eyes.

Erik's nudged gently awake some time later by an apologetic Charles. "Sorry to wake you," he says quietly, "but it's been some time since you've eaten, and I think the food would do you good." He's holding a bowl of what looks like some type of creamy chicken soup.

Erik pulls himself upright—he still doesn't have an appetite, but the more he can stomach, the better he'll heal. He tries to talk, but his voice struggles to come out. It smells good, he thinks instead, accepting the bowl of soup from Charles. It's an educated guess—it looks like it smells good, at least.

Charles smiles nervously, peering into his own bowl apprehensively. "Should we sit at the table, or eat here?"

Here's fine. Unless you want to sit over there for more distance, Erik replies, though he'd like Charles to be closer. He's still hoping he can avoid getting Charles sick, at least. He wouldn't wish this cold on anyone, let alone Charles.

"Budge over," Charles says with a scoff, taking a seat next to Erik close enough that their thighs touch.

Erik grins at him and then looks down into his bowl. Is this… chicken and dumpling soup? Honestly, he'd been expecting a simple chicken noodle. This is impressive. Suddenly Charles' question about baking soda makes more sense. Did you make homemade dumplings?

"I did," Charles says carefully. "But I'll be honest—I'm not sure how it's turned out. I'm not much of a cook, as your subconscious has apparently picked up on."

My conscious too, Erik teases, before eating a big spoonful of soup. Charles watches him nervously. Honestly, Erik's sense of smell and taste are nonexistent right now, and the texture of the soup is creamy and pleasant. It's good, he says, taking another bite.

"Really?" Charles says, notably surprised. He watches Erik eat for a minute, preening more by the second.

Erik nods. The dumplings are a bit dense and flat, but he doesn't mind—it's worth it to see the pleased look on Charles' face.

Charles has a spoonful from his own bowl and immediately recoils, "Oh my god. Erik, it's disgusting! Don't eat that," he says, reaching for Erik's bowl to take it away.

"No," Erik cries out hoarsely, mustering up the energy to twist out of range. It's good, he insists, I'm eating it.

"I am not an eight-year old girl," Charles says crossly. "You don't need to lie to make me feel better. This soup is awful. It's—it's burnt and bland, and—" he nibbles at a dumpling, then spits it out, "the dumplings are bitter! I knew baking soda was a mistake." He frowns when Erik takes another bite. "Please stop eating it."

Charles, it's fine. It's got plenty of vegetables and protein and it was made with love. It's perfect. Thank you, Erik says, delighting in the pink that's spreading on Charles' cheeks.

"Fine," Charles sighs. "Only because I won't fight with an invalid. But please don't eat the dumplings. I'm not even sure they're safe to eat."

Erik rolls his eyes but leaves the dumplings alone—the texture is admittedly off-putting, and they're hard to swallow. But the rest is perfectly fine, and he really does appreciate Charles cooking for him. It's incredibly sweet.

Thank you, he says again, when his bowl is empty except for a handful of wet, hard dumplings.

Charles, whose cheeks had been growing increasingly pink as he watched him eat, says, "It was truly nothing. It turned out horribly."

I don't know the last time someone cooked for me, Erik says. It was good. I'll have more later.

Charles collects their bowls and stands, shaking his head. "You are absolutely—agh. You're welcome, I suppose. And you're due for more medicine."

He hands Erik the bottle and then goes to the kitchen, presumably putting the dishes and the rest of the soup away.

Erik dutifully takes the medicine, which tastes impressively awful considering how congested he is. He's inspecting the bottle for recommended doses when Charles marches back into the room, bends down to grab Erik's face, and presses a big kiss into his cheek.

"Wh—Charles," Erik sputters, "I don't—" his words dissolve into an unpleasant cough. I don't want to get you sick, he finishes, drinking the water Charles hastily gives him.

"You won't," Charles says, rubbing Erik's back. "I'll be fine. I'm just tired of not touching you. And you ate an entire bowl of that disgusting soup, which was really quite sweet of you."

It wasn't disgusting, Erik says, frowning. Charles is so hard on himself, when he's done nothing but take care of Erik and keep him company.

I'm going to do more than kiss your cheek, if you keep thinking such kind, lovely things about me, Charles tells him, not quite able to look Erik in the eyes.

It's easy, when Charles is so kind and lovely, Erik thinks.

Charles huffs, "Can I get you anything else before I cuddle you?"

Erik should probably protest again, but he actually does really want to cuddle. Charles smiles and wraps an arm around Erik's shoulders and leans back against the couch, pulling Erik with him. Erik hugs him, relaxing into Charles' chest and feeling the full brunt of his exhaustion settling into his bones again.

My body hurts, he complains, pressing his face into the soft material of Charles' sweater.

Charles pets his hair soothingly. It feels very nice. I know, he says, let me try something…

That's okay, Erik says, because Charles is already doing so much, he doesn't need to—oh. Just like that, the achey pain in his body melts away. He sighs in relief and melts further into Charles. Thank you. He tries to impress his all of his gratitude for Charles—for the medicine and soup, the comfort and care. He's made Erik feel a million times better.

Mere gratitude doesn't encompass how he feels, honestly.

He feels cared for. Loved.

On the rare occasions he'd gotten sick during his marriage, it was always more important to ensure that the kids didn't also get sick—or that if they did, either he or Magda would be able to take care of them. This particular parenting reality resulted in the sick one being sequestered in the bedroom with a supply of tissues and medicine. He hasn't truly been nursed to health since he was a boy, and his mom would stay home from work and cancel all of her plans and watch movies with him all day, and she'd make him warm milk with honey and homemade matzah ball soup.

"That's a lovely memory," Charles says gently. "Your mother seems wonderful."

She is, Erik thinks, suddenly very grateful he doesn't have to speak out loud, for his voice would come out thick with more than illness, he knows. Is this how your mom took care of you, when you were sick?

Charles huffs an imitation of a laugh, "No." The word is bitter and loaded. Erik waits. Charles lets out a long, slow breath, and when he speaks next, it's in the privacy of Erik's mind. My mother is… not the motherly type, to put it lightly. She'd sooner give me a shot of whiskey and send me to school than make me soup. That might sound like an exaggeration, but I assure you, it is not. Among her many charming qualities is a strong penchant for child neglect and booze.

Though his tone is casual, like he's talking about the weather, there's a measured carefulness to it that stops Erik from sitting up to look at him. He tries to imagine that sort of disregard for his own children. It's inconceivable. He wonders idly how she feels about mutants.

Charles strokes up and down Erik's arm in regular, even movements. She doesn't know about my telepathy. Raven told her about her powers a couple years ago. My mother's been… cordial enough about it, but of course I'm the one that's privy to her true feelings about it. And Raven didn't have much to lose, anyway.

Erik tries to imagine his parents not accepting him because of his mutation. Just the concept of it hurts. They already get enough resistance from the rest of the world—anything more is too cruel for words.

What about your father? Erik asks, not sure that he's prepared for the answer.

Charles' hand falters for a moment, before resuming the steady movements. He died when I was seven.

A pain shoots through Erik, so sudden and raw that he's not sure who it belongs to. This time, he does push himself up to look at Charles, who looks dispassionate and completely unlike himself. I'm sorry, Erik says, knowing it's woefully inadequate.

Charles swallows, and then he smiles, and it's like all of the color and warmth in the room returns at once. "It's okay," he says aloud. "It was a long time ago. And I have my sister, and she's wonderful."

It's a clear tangential switch, but Erik would oblige far more than an abrupt change in subject to make Charles feel better. Raven, right? Tell me about her, he says, laying his head on Charles' chest again.

He can hear the smile in Charles' voice when he speaks. "Raven came to live with us when I was twelve. She's adopted, though my mother would likely prefer she weren't," he says, like it's an inside joke. He moves on quickly, "She's very funny, and she's fearless. You'd like her. And she's an artist—you may have heard of her as Mystique. It's the name she's taken on as sort of her… mutant moniker. It suits her."

Something about his voice prompts Erik to say, You prefer Raven?

He feels Charles shrug, then say, "It's complicated." I prefer it when it's 'Charles and Raven', not 'Mystique' and… whoever it is she wants me to be.

Erik can't imagine wanting Charles to be anyone other than who he is.

A warm surge of happiness blossoms in Erik's mind, followed by Charles pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Evidently done with the sharing, Charles clears his throat, "Do you know where the remote is? I think The Breakfast Club is on Netflix."

Erik laughs, a raspy, painful sounding thing. That movie has not aged well. I'm sure we can find something else. He tries to summon the remote neatly, but it zooms quickly past his outstretched hand and hits the arm of the couch before falling to the cushion below.

"Um," Charles says, sounding like he's trying not to laugh.

I'm sick, Erik whines, before Charles says anything.

"Oh, don't I know it," Charles coos, kissing Erik's head again before picking up the remote.

Erik snorts and lays down, so his head is in Charles' lap, feeling tired and foggy. He thinks of Charles' hand in his hair, until it actually is. Charles' telepathy is like magic, he thinks dreamily.

Feeling content to simply lay there getting pet, Erik has little opinion on the movie they watch, so Charles picks something. Erik tries to follow along, but he's tired, and Charles' lap is a remarkably comfortable pillow.

One moment he's watching an overwhelmed woman blunder through a painful encounter with her daughter, and the next time he opens his eyes, she has hot dogs for fingers. Erik squints at the television, wondering if he's dreaming or the movie is just exceedingly strange.

Charles laughs, "You're not dreaming."

Erik sits up to blow his nose, and after some consideration, he swallows another mouthful of cough syrup. He's likely over the recommended dosage at this point, but he feels like death. He blinks dumbly at the movie. "Hot dogs?" he croaks.

"It's an alternate universe where they have hot dogs for fingers," Charles says reasonably. "Don't worry about it. Lay down, I'll pet your hair again."

That sounds promising, Erik thinks, so he does.

The next time he wakes up, it's to a completely silent scene with two rocks talking to each other. Erik forces himself to stay awake this time, even though nothing makes sense. The floaty feeling in his head certainly isn't helping. Charles offers amusement at his confusion but no explanation, instead just reaching down to interlock their fingers together.

The movie continues to be absurd and incomprehensible, but it ends up being a surprisingly poignant story about the mother choosing to be with her daughter, however complicated and messy life gets. The daughter reminds Erik of Wanda, angry and combative and sensitive. And wonderful.

He would cross dimensions and kill god or whatever for his kids, too.

Charles' hand tightens around his. "I know," he says gently.

"I—" Erik's voice cracks and fails. I miss them, he says, feeling embarrassingly close to tears. He's not typically a crier, but he's sick and vulnerable and Charles has been treating him with such tenderness that all of his feelings feel perilously close to the surface. And the movie was very touching, hot dogs and all. They're supposed to be here this weekend.

"I know," Charles says again sympathetically.

I don't think they miss me, Erik says before he can stop himself. The twins are probably happy to be home this weekend.

"I don't think that's true," Charles rebukes kindly.

I think I'm a bad dad.

Charles inhales sharply. "I know that's not true," he says firmly.

Erik shakes his head, though it feels heavy. Wanda and Peter, they—they don't talk to me. At all.

Charles clicks the TV off. He sighs, "I can't imagine what it's like to be a parent. It seems incredibly difficult."

Erik opens his mouth to protest.

"I'm not saying that you would choose anything different," Charles says quickly, "or that it's not rewarding. I know you love your children more than anything. That's undeniable. But it also seems… hard."

Erik shrugs miserably, trying to put his thoughts in order. Teenagers are hard. Wanda… I understand her, at least. He is Wanda, in a way. She's more like him than any of his children. As easy as things are with Lorna, that's certainly not because she takes after Erik. But Peter… I don't get him at all. I'm failing him.

He thinks about Peter trying to escape the conversation, leave the room, always trying to get away from Erik.

When Peter was little, on the exceedingly rare times he fought with Wanda, he'd come to Erik for comfort. For everything else he'd turn to his sister, but sometimes, once in a while… he'd fight with her and come to Erik, tiny and teary and shivering, and Erik would hold him until he felt better.

Erik remembers vividly holding his boy and the swell of love in his chest, so full that he felt like he might burst. He still feels that way when he looks at Peter now, but it's followed by a pang of concern and a sense of urgency to get him to grow up, to start acting like the adult he'll be in nearly two short years.

Charles is quiet for some time. "Erik," he starts finally, sounding hesitant, "you're not a bad father. At all. You try very hard, and you care very much. That is so much more than many children get. Trust me. Your children are lucky to have you. But… I get the feeling that Peter… might not always know just how much you love him."

Erik's heart drops.

"It's not—" Charles sighs, frustrated. "I'm sorry, this isn't the time for this conversation. I just…"

"I do love him," Erik croaks, chest hurting—a pain that Charles can't magic away.

I know, Charles says, undeniable sincerity wrapping around his words and Erik like a blanket. He folds around Erik as much as he can, pulling him into an awkward hug. I know you do, Erik. And given enough time, I have no doubt at all that you two would work things out yourselves. I just… I know your relationship bothers the both of you quite a bit.

Erik rolls to his back, looking up at Charles. What do I do? he asks helplessly. I want to talk to him, but I'm… He's no good at talking to his son. He can never get it quite right.

Charles cups his cheek, rubbing circles with his thumb. Just be honest and vulnerable and wonderful, like I know you are. He loves you a lot, too.

Maybe it's the cold or the questionable amount of cough syrup in his system, or maybe it's the way that Charles looks at him, like he's a good person and a good father, but put like that—it seems remarkably simple. Be honest. Erik can do that. He will do that. They love each other.

He would cross universes for his children. Talking to them, reassuring them he loves them—that's the simple part.

Charles smiles down at him, like Erik's said something right. Or more likely, thought something right. Erik wants to laugh at the notion, at the absurdity of needing an actual telepath to feel known, to help make sense of his life—an actual, honest-to-god angel of a telepath.

It's a good thing he has one.

Charles' smile widens, and Erik's never seen someone so beautiful.

Chapter Text

Come Monday morning, Erik is feeling well enough to go to work. He's not one hundred percent, but compared to how he'd been feeling over the weekend, he can absolutely handle going into the office. "You shouldn't," Charles had frowned, feeling Erik's forehead with the back of his hand. And Erik had taken that hand and pressed a kiss to it, and told Charles that he felt much, much better—truly, entirely because of the excellent care Charles had taken of him.

In fact, Charles had taken such good care of Erik that being sick somehow hadn't been nearly as miserable as it should've been. If anything, he would have accepted being a little sicker today, just so he had a reason to stay holed up with Charles for another day.

Which is why, when Azazel sees him on Monday and asks him nervously how his weekend was, he smiles and says, "It was good."

"Oh," Azazel says, relieved. "Good, I was worried I had gotten you ill. I had an awful cold when you took me home last week. And—thank you for that. I owe you."

"You do," Erik agrees, "because you definitely gave me your cold."

Azazel blanches. "I did?"

"You did."

Azazel gives him a strange look. "But you had a good weekend anyway?"

"I did," Erik affirms cheerfully. "Do you want to grab a beer sometime this week?"

"Uh—yes," Azazel says, bewildered. "Let's do that."

"Great."

And that's that.

Erik spends the day catching up on work—he really is behind from last week. He'll be seeing his kids for Father's Day on Sunday—maybe they'll even stay the night Saturday. He hopes so. And if not, maybe he'll do something with Charles on Saturday. The thought makes him feel fluttery and excited.

All day, his thoughts keep drifting to Charles. They'd spent all weekend together, and Erik had felt ridiculously out of it for most of it, and he's sure he made a fool of himself, but he's equally sure that it's okay, because Charles is understanding and wonderful. For the first time since they started seeing each other, they didn't have sex, and yet it was incredibly intimate. He thinks about Charles making him soup, holding him, playing with his hair. Telling him about his childhood, and the distant look in his eyes when he spoke about his mother.

Erik wishes he could personally ensure that Charles never looks like that again. It hurts him to think of someone getting the privilege to care for Charles and choosing not to. And for Charles to grow up feeling that neglect—knowing it intimately, because of his telepathy, and to end up so kind and generous with his love anyway… he's the kindest person Erik's ever met. It could be a sign of his youth, but somehow, Erik knows that it's just an innate kindness that age and wisdom won't wear away.

Erik wants to be around to bear witness to that kindness for a long time. 

The thought is so strong and unbidden that it startles Erik, a jolt to his system. It's not something he's prepared to address currently, so he puts his feelings for Charles away for the time being. They'd just spent two days together, after all. Charles has a life to get back to, and Erik has work to do so that he can be free for the kids this weekend.

Spending time with all of the kids will be great, but specifically, he wants to talk to Peter the next time he sees him. He's not sure what he'll say, exactly, but he won't let the conversation end until Peter knows he loves him unconditionally. He won't let Peter leave without knowing that Erik is proud of him.

Erik is proud of him—for trying hard in school, yes, but moreover, for being a good, kind person. Peter never forgets about Wanda, always checking in on her feelings and worrying about her. He adores Lorna, and does what he can to even help Erik out—slipping money under Lorna's pillow had been unbelievably thoughtful.

He might not know how much you love him, Charles had said. Erik had wanted to ask what Charles what he overheard in Peter's head to make him say that, but he didn't think he could take the answer. He'd barely been keeping himself together, as it was. And Charles had been so warm and kind about it. So safe.

Stop, Erik tells himself. He takes a moment to put his head in his hands and laugh at himself—he's really not getting anywhere with work right now, thinking about Charles every thirty seconds. It's ridiculous, really, because regardless of Erik's potentially burgeoning feelings, this is still a casual relationship—just because Charles had taken pity on him enough to take care of him last weekend doesn't change that. Anything more than that is a discussion to be had at some point in the future.

He manages to make it until the next day before he texts Charles to see if he wants to do something later that day. He's fully recovered from his cold and while it had been quite pleasant to spend time with Charles with their clothes on, he thinks it'd be fun to do the other thing now, too.

Are you doing anything tonight? he writes, and then puts his phone down. It rings almost immediately.

When he answers though, the voice on the other end of the line isn't the cheerful, lilting one he's expecting to hear.

"Hello, may I speak to Mr. Lehnsherr?" a stern-sounding woman says.

"This is he," Erik says slowly, with a sinking feeling in his gut. Call it intuition.

"Good afternoon. This is Principal Laskey from West Elm High, I'm calling about your son, Peter. He was involved in a serious incident today."

There it is. Erik's heart starts pounding. "What? Is he okay?"

"He's fine," she says shortly. "He was caught stealing from our school store during his lunch period."

"What?"

"Yes. It appears this is far from the first time he's done this. Furthermore, he's been using his powers to steal, which is a clear violation of school policy and the mutant ethic—"

“Hold on. Where is Peter now?” Erik asks, jumping up and starting to gather his things. “Is he okay?”

The woman sighs testily. “Yes, Mr. Lehnsherr, I told you, Peter is fine. He’s sitting in our decompression room—“

“What is that?”

She pauses, and when she speaks again, her voice is carefully polite. “It’s just a room for students to sit in to calm down. It’s for everyone’s safety, Mr. Lehnsherr—"

Erik understands that language all too well. “I’ll be there in forty minutes,” he snaps, blood thundering in his ears as he practically runs out of his office. He hears Azazel calling after him, confused, but he doesn’t even slow down. He’ll deal with work, with Azazel, with everything later.

Right now, Peter needs him.

He drives as fast as he can the whole way, urging his car along with his powers as much as with gas. His mind races with the worst case scenarios—Peter not understanding the potential severity of the consequences, talking back and pushing buttons and not taking it seriously until he finds himself arrested.

Cops use suppressants on mutants who resist arrest, and with Peter’s powers, who knows what they’ll determine to be a necessity.

It’s for everyone’s safety, the principal had said. As if Peter could possibly pose a threat to anyone.

Erik doesn’t trust those fuckers with his son for a second.

He arrives at the school in record time, and he practically runs inside. The only thing he can think of is getting to Peter as quickly as possible.

The office is right at the front of the building. Erik storms through the door and looks around, locking eyes with a timid looking man sitting at the front desk. Eyes wide, he says, “Sir? Can I help you with something?”

“My son, Peter Lehnsherr. He’s in trouble for something. His principal called me—said he’s in a calming room or something—“

“Oh!” the man says, looking nervous. “Yes, Peter—he’s um, in our decompression room. Principal Laskey will probably want to speak to you, first—"

“Fine. Where is she?” Erik demands. He’s relieved Peter is still here, and he understands the importance of playing along with their rules right now.

“Um, let me see if she’s available,” the man says, grabbing his desk phone and holding it to his ear. “Mr. Lehnsherr is here to see you. Yes. I don’t…" he eyes Erik warily, "I don't know… Okay, I’ll send him in right away.” He hangs up and clears his throat, offering a nearly apologetic smile to Erik. “Principal Laskey is ready for you. You can follow me.”

He leads Erik down a short hallway and opens the door at the end of it, where a frowning woman with coifed white hair sits at a large desk that takes up most of the room.

She stands and holds a hand out to him, smiling thinly. “Mr. Lehnsherr. Thank you for coming in. Please, have a seat.”

Erik shakes her hand but doesn’t sit. “No thanks. Where’s my son?”

She adopts a puzzled expression, “I told you, he’s in our decompression room. Mr. Lehnsherr, Peter was caught stealing from our school store. It appears he's been doing this for weeks, and distributing the stolen items to a group of students.” Her eyes are hard, despite the pleasant tone of her voice. “Normally a crime of this severity—“

“Crime?” Erik says incredulously, “What, did he steal some candy bars? Do I owe you five bucks? He’s a kid, for fu—god’s sake. He’s hardly committed grand larceny.”

Her lips thin. “The value of the stolen property isn’t the point, here. The issue is that he’s been using his—his mutation in a way that clearly violates the mutant code of ethics he’s agreed to upon his enrollment at this school. Those rules are in place for my students’ safety, and if he refuses to—“

“Safety? You’ve got to be kidding me. My son wouldn’t hurt a fly—“

“That’s not the point, Mr. Lehnsherr,” she snaps. “My job is to ensure the safety of all the children here. I cannot make exceptions, however harmless you might think your son to be."

“Fine,” Erik says, realizing that he’s not getting anywhere with this, and the sooner they move past this, the sooner he can get Peter. “So what happens now?”

Laskey watches him carefully for a moment, like he might continue arguing. When he doesn’t, she clears her throat and says, “As I was saying before, normally behavior like this would result in a week-long suspension. However, since this is the last week of the school year, there's not much we can do. He'll be sent home immediately, and then we'll have to… discuss our options."

Erik doesn't know what she means by that, but it's not his top priority right now. "Fine. I'll take him home. Now where the fuck is the decompression room?"

Outrage paints the woman's face, but she does little more than sputter at him, so he starts casting about with his powers, looking for Peter. He’s not sure if Peter will have any metal on him that he’ll be able to recognize, but maybe he’ll be able to—

He feels a dozen metal pieces, vibrating incredibly quickly, like someone is jiggling their foot faster than humanly possible. That's his son. Erik turns and leaves the room, ignoring Laskey’s attempts to get his attention. He follows the vibrating metal—shoelace eyelets, he can tell now—down the hallway and into a room he’d passed on the way to the principal’s office, and in that room, there’s a door with a standard doorknob lock and above it, a far less standard deadbolt.

With a growing sense of dread, Erik melts the locks and swings the door open.

It's a small, windowless room, empty except for a desk, where Peter sits. He looks up in surprise. He's clearly fine, and stark relief washes over Erik, so potent it makes his legs weak.

“Dad?” Peter says, astonished.

“Mr. Lehnsherr!” Principal Laskey says, hot on his trail, “This is school property. I’ve called security—" She stops short when she sees the destroyed locks. "You're a—a—"

Erik turns to her, livid. “Is this the decompression room? That’s a fucking closet."

She tears her eyes away from the locks and steels herself. "It's just a room, Mr. Lehnsherr."

"There's not even windows! You had him locked in there like some kind of fucking animal!"

“Your son used his powers, which is explicitly against school policy. He could have hurt someone. What else are we supposed to do with mutant students when they break the rules? They are dangerous and unpredictable." Despite her unapologetic tone, she takes a nervous step back.

“They’re fucking kids!” Erik roars, closing the distance between them and towering over her. “Isn’t it your job to take care of them? You’d rather lock them up than do your fucking job! What if there’d been a fire and he couldn’t get out? Isn't this—false imprisonment, or—"

“I’m going to have to ask you to calm down, sir,” a deep voice says from the doorway. Erik looks to see a large security officer, tightly gripping what looks like a taser in his hand.

Erik wants to laugh—it’s comical that he thinks he’d even be able to touch Erik with that thing. The metal in the room is humming, calling out to him, ready to leap to his defense. "Fine," he says, holding his hands up. "I'm calm." It's a bold-faced lie, but he can't risk making things worse. The last thing his family needs is for him to get arrested.

Principal Laskey clearly feels a lot braver with a security guard behind her, too. She draws herself up and says, "Your son signed an agreement not to use his powers upon enrollment, or face suspension and possible expulsion. It is completely within my jurisdiction to take any action I see fit to protect my students."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Erik says, barking a loud, harsh laugh. "Expelled? If Peter wasn't a mutant, you know damn well he'd be getting away with a slap on the wrist. I have a hard time believing he was stealing alone. Are the other kids involved getting threatened like this too?”

”The other students weren’t doing the actual stealing, Mr. Lehnsherr. Your son violated several of our policies and endangered our students. My priority is to keep the children safe—"

"Just human children, right?" Erik says, disgusted. “Listen to me—I have the best mutant rights lawyer in the fucking state on retainer. Try and expel my son, and I’ll sue you and the school so fast it’ll make your head spin. I doubt your public school has a litigation fund. This is not a fight you want to start. You won’t win.”

Her face contorts into a mask of shocked outrage. “Are you—is that a threat, Mr. Lehnsherr?”

Erik looks at her like she's stupid. "Yes. Obviously. You're lucky I don't sue your ass already for mutant discrimination and reckless child endangerment. There's no fucking way it's legal for you to lock a kid in a closet."

"Dad, I'm fine," Peter says in a small voice behind him.

Principal Laskey stares him down for a long moment, nostrils flared. Then her eyes flick behind him, where Peter stands. She says stiffly, "Your concern is duly noted, Mr. Lehnsherr. Peter will be excused from the rest of the school year, but he will be permitted to take his final exams."

“Great,” Erik bites out. “Are we done here?”

“I should think so,” she says coldly. “I’ll handle the details with your wife.”

“Ex-wife,” Erik snaps automatically.

“I’m sure,” she sneers.

"Peter. Let's go," Erik barks, and pushes past Laskey and the hovering security guard.

They run into Magda outside, on her way into the building. “Erik, what’s going on? I got a call from the school, they said he's been stealing? Why are you—Are you okay?"

“They fucking locked him up,” Erik spits.

“What?” Magda turns to Peter, alarmed, "Are you okay?"

“It’s not a big deal,” Peter says, exasperated.

“The fuck it isn’t," Erik snaps. "And what the fuck were you thinking—stealing from the school?”

Peter shifts uncomfortably, “It was just—some candy or whatever. Kids steal from the store all the time.”

“I don’t give a fuck what other kids do. You’re not just another kid. You’re a mutant, Peter, and that means—"

“Erik, please,” Magda cuts in. “He’s clearly upset, can you stop yelling at him for two seconds?”

“No, I can’t! This is exactly why he doesn’t take this shit seriously. You want to treat him like any other dumb kid but he’s not—“

“Peter!” a familiar voice yells out, and Wanda bursts through the doors and comes running toward them. She throws herself into Peter's arms and hugs him tightly, “Are you okay? I heard you got ratted out.” She pulls back and looks at him, eyes sparkling with tears. “Robin said you were put in the mutie room.”

Magda flinches at the slur and turns to Erik, distressed. “What is she talking about?”

Erik rubs at his forehead, frustrated. “They locked Peter in what they call a decompression room. It's a glorified closet with a fucking deadbolt on the outside.”

“What? Why would they…” Magda looks lost.

“Because,” Erik says, chest filling with anger again, “they said Peter is a danger to the other students. He used his powers to steal, like an idiot—"

“Don’t call him that!” Wanda snarls, glaring mutinously at him over Peter’s shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Peter says quietly to her.

“None of this is fine, Peter," Erik snaps.

"Sure it is!" Peter says loudly, throwing his arms up. "So I'm starting summer a week early—so what?"

"You think this is some kind of fucking game? They wanted to expel you—"

“Excuse me—what?” Magda interrupts, stepping in front of Erik. “Enough with this. You two stay right there,” she says sternly to the twins before turning back to Erik expectantly. “Tell me what’s going on. Now. From the beginning.”

It comes bursting out of Erik. He feels untethered, out of control. “She—Peter’s principal called and told me he'd been caught stealing from the school store. She said he’d been doing it for a while, and then she started going on about violating school policies and mutant ethics code or whatever, and then she said he was being held in a decompression room as a safety precaution, which I could tell was code for some bigoted bullshit, and I was right, it was—"

“Erik,” Magda cuts in softly, squeezing his arm, “take a breath. You’re freaking out.”

Erik forces himself to take a deep breath, though it doesn’t lessen the tightness in his chest. “He’s getting suspended. She wanted to expel him. All because he stole some fucking candy. It’s fucking bullshit.”

“That’s—god, I don’t even know where to start. He was stealing? They want to expel him?” Magda whispers, glancing over at Peter, who’s still talking to Wanda.

“I don’t know,” Erik says. “I tore into her pretty bad. Threatened to sue the school. I think I got her to back off, but... Emma will tear them into shreds if it comes down to it.”

"Yeah," Magda says, giving Erik a small smile, “I believe that. Look, Erik, it sounds like you handled it—well, maybe a bit—louder than I would have, but you handled it. Clearly, Peter’s upset enough as it is. We can’t just keep yelling at him.”

"Magda, he's been using his powers to steal shit. Again. We've already been here with him, and he obviously didn't learn his lesson last time. He thinks he's just got a head start on summer, for fucks sake."

Magda purses her lips. "Okay, so what do you want to do?"

"I think grounding him would be a good start," Erik says, irritated. "We can't do nothing. If he's suspended, he's not going to be playing video games at home. Or seeing those friends of his." Erik has a feeling he knows who Peter was stealing for.

"No, of course not, but what am I supposed to do, Erik? I have class all week. I can't stay home to enforce a punishment. Is he going to stay with you all week?"

She's not serious when she says it, but it's not a bad idea. Erik shrugs, "Yeah. Sure."

"What?"

"I'll have him with me all week. He has to understand how serious this shit is."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea…" She doesn't elaborate, but she doesn't have to; Erik knows she's thinking about him yelling at Peter. "What about your work?"

"It'll be fine. I'll figure it out." Erik watches the twins. Wanda's got her arms crossed, pouting, and Peter's nudging her, trying to cheer her up. God, Erik thinks, if Wanda had been the one locked in that room, if she'd been scared and lost control of her powers again… he can't bear the thought.

Magda watches him for a long moment, then sighs. "Okay. Just… don't be too hard on him."

"I'm not hard on him because I want to be, Magda. It's—" Erik cuts himself off, frustrated. Sometimes it's like she thinks Erik's just a hardass who enjoys yelling at his son, instead of someone who's doing his best to parent in a very complicated world. Magda's always been sympathetic towards mutants but there's a difference between sympathy and understanding. "I won't be," he finishes lamely, instead.

She nods and says with a weary sigh, "Fine."

Erik takes a moment to gather himself, to swallow his fear and panic and put his dad face on. "Peter," he calls out, "you're grounded, and you're with me all week. Get in the car."

"What?" Peter yelps at the same time that Wanda puffs up and says, "No!"

Erik ignores her. "You heard me. We'll go to your mom's to pick up clothes and school books, and then we're going home. Getting suspended isn't fun, kid."

Peter exchanges a look with Wanda. She stalks up to Erik, hands on her hips. "He's not going with you. You'll just yell at him and call him names. Just because he takes it doesn't mean you can be an asshole—"

"Wanda!" Magda says, appalled.

"Who do you think you are?" Erik snaps at Wanda. "You're not the parent here. You are a kid, and you are going to start treating me with respect. I let you get away with a lot of shit, but that ends now. I don't care if you hate me for it. Your brother fucked up. Bad. He's not exempt from the consequences just because you want to play hero."

Wanda looks like she might cry, but she also looks furious and recklessly brave. Erik knows that feeling well. She opens her mouth angrily, but before she can say anything, Peter puts his arm around her shoulders and says, "It's fine. Spending the weekend with Dad is still better than going to school."

The fury drains out of her all at once, leaving only misery in its wake. She looks down at the ground and mumbles something to Peter that Erik can't quite make out. Peter doesn't reply verbally, but he must say something telepathically, because Wanda lets out a short, watery laugh and hugs him again.

Erik watches them, heart sore. Honestly, he wants to take them both far away from this fucking school, but the school year will be over soon, and Wanda's more than likely to stay out of trouble. Though, it only takes one time, he thinks darkly.

He clears his throat and turns to Magda, "The principal said she'd handle the details of Peter's punishment with you. She said he'd be able to take his final exams still, but… call me if there's any trouble. And… will you walk Wanda back and make sure she's not in trouble for leaving school?" He doesn't think he can go back in there without making things worse, but he needs to know that Wanda won't be villainized and locked inside a closet because she has the audacity to be upset about something.

"It'll be fine," Magda assures him. "I'll handle the school. Do you… want me to bring Peter to your place later? I have school, but I can miss one class, it's not a problem—"

"No, just… go back to class after this. I'll take Peter to your house to grab clothes and then back to mine."

"Okay," Magda says. She hugs Peter tightly and says, "I'm glad you're okay, but we're gonna talk about this stealing nonsense, okay? I'll call you later, Erik. And um… thanks for rushing here. I was in class and didn't see the call until after, so I appreciate you coming to handle this."

"Of course," Erik says, feeling a little stung that she feels the need to thank him for parenting. It's not like he doesn't know she's the "default" parent, but… it still sucks. He can feel bad about that another time, though.

"Let's go, Peter."

Peter is sullen and quiet all the way to Magda's. When they pull into the driveway, Erik barks, "Go get your shit. Make sure to get your school books. You're going to be studying all week."

Peter slams the car door when he leaves, and he returns ten seconds later with a bulging overnight bag.

You took your time, Erik wants to say because he's irritated about it, but it sounds ridiculous, even though it's true. He sighs. What is he supposed to do with a kid who can move so fast he's literally invisible? Peter's powers are incomprehensible to other mutants, let alone humans. It's not a surprise that Laskey wants to expel him—she'd probably want Wanda out too, if the full extent of her powers was known.

Tension builds on the way to Erik's place as he thinks about the last hour of his life—the nightmarish moment he'd realized that Peter was in trouble and potentially in danger, the obvious disdain the school faculty had for people like them, and Peter's indifference toward everything, like it wasn't a big deal that he'd been locked away like a criminal. The fear in Laskey's eyes when she saw what Erik had done to the locks.

Wanda saying, I heard they put you in the mutie room.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Erik says, when he can't hold it in any longer. "Stealing, again? Why?"

"Who cares?" Peter sighs, exasperated. "It's just some candy and pop. Kids steal from the school store all the time."

"And what happens when they get caught?" Erik says pointedly.

"I dunno. Detention, or whatever," Peter mumbles.

"Exactly. And you almost got expelled. Do you get it yet?"

"Get what, Dad? That I shouldn't have used my powers to steal? Sure—I'll just do it slow, next time," Peter says sarcastically.

"God dammit, Peter! This isn't a fucking joke! I don't—how do you not get this? You're a mutant. You're always going to be a mutant, and they will always be scared of you. You can't do stupid shit like this. You're almost—you're almost sixteen." Sixteen is so young, Erik thinks despairingly, and yet still way too old for nonsense like this. "You have to grow up. I thought you were—doing better, working hard in school. But it's just the same old shit with you."

"Whatever," Peter mutters. "So I'm grounded? Is that it?"

"And—you're not seeing your friends anymore," Erik says impulsively. "All summer. At least."

"What?" Peter yells, finally showing something other than annoyed apathy. "You can't do that. That's not fair! They didn't do anything!"

"They roped you into stealing shit, didn't they?"

"No. That was my choice. You can't take away my friends."

"Then you're grounded all summer," Erik snaps. "That's your choice, too."

"Whatever," Peter shoots back. "That will last until you get sick of me and send me home in three days."

"You'll stay with me all summer if that's what it takes."

"Yeah fuckin' right."

"Hey. Watch how you talk to me," Erik says harshly. "You're on thin ice, Peter. I'm trying to help you! Do you get that?" He parks in front of his apartment. "I don't care if you think that makes me an asshole. My job isn't to get you to like me—it's to keep you safe." And he's doing a shit job at it.

He sighs, suddenly feeling defeated and sad. "Just… go inside, okay? I have to go to work and figure out what to do about the rest of the week. I'll be back soon. No games. Phone only for emergency."

Peter scoffs and disappears in a flash, the car door slamming behind him. Erik unlocks his apartment from where he sits, and locks it again when Peter's inside.

Driving to work and alone for the first time since he got the call from Peter's school, Erik finally feels the weight of all that's happened. Not just the bullshit with Peter's school, but now the drama with his kids, too. Wanda's furious at him, and Peter… Erik doesn't even know where to start with him. All the progress they made this year—gone, just like that. He can tell the kids he doesn't care if they hate him all he wants, but that doesn't make it true.

Erik feels lost, and pissed off, and upset. He wishes Charles were here, to hold his hand and hug him and maybe even tell him he's a good parent. Though, Charles probably wouldn't say that if he heard Erik bellowing at Peter and telling him he can't see his friends anymore. And it's not Charles' job to comfort Erik whenever he's upset.

It's not until he gets to work that he remembers he'd texted Charles earlier, asking if he was free this evening. He should call and cancel those theoretical plans, now. Erik misses when his day had looked like finishing up work and maybe having a fun date.

He hits dial and fiddles with some change while the phone rings, feeling anxious to talk to Charles, even if it's just to cancel their plans. But when Charles answers, there's a long moment of silence before he finally says, "Hello?"

His voice sounds strange.

"Charles?" Erik asks, taken aback. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just… woke up from a nap. I'm a little out of it, currently."

"Oo-kay," Erik says. "I guess you didn't see my text, then. I was asking if you wanted to do something tonight, but… Peter got suspended, so I can't anymore. He's with me all week."

"What?" Charles says, startled. "What happened?"

"He's been stealing from the school store, I guess." Erik sighs, rubbing at his eyes. "He's suspended for the rest of the year, but he'll be able to take his finals, at least. His principal sounded like she wanted to expel him, at first."

"Expel him? That's—a bit drastic, isn't it? On what grounds?"

"He used his powers to do it."

"Ah. How did—" Charles cuts himself off to cough, a loud, painful sounding thing that cuts off as abruptly as it had started.

"You're sick!" Erik accuses with a bolt of realization.

"No," Charles denies grandly, voice hoarse from coughing.

"You are. You sound like shit."

"I've just been sucking a lot of dick," Charles says cheerfully.

He's joking, Erik knows, but he can't bring himself to laugh at the moment. He feels so drained and now he feels terrible for getting Charles sick, too.

"That was a joke," Charles informs him.

"Yeah, I know. I just… God, Charles. I got you sick. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because of the guilt spiral you're in now?" Charles says brattily, though the effect is lessened by how congested he sounds. "It's fine, Erik. I hardly even feel that poorly. You were being quite a baby about the whole thing, if this is how you felt."

Erik laughs despite himself. "You get mean when you're sick, huh?" It's pretty fucked up that getting mocked by Charles is cheering him up this much. It's just good to hear his voice in any capacity, after a day like this. "Can I help you somehow? Bring you medicine or food? Anything."

"Oh no, I'm quite all right," Charles says right away. "You said Peter almost got expelled? I don't understand. Did he accidentally hurt someone?"

"No," Erik says, reluctant to change the subject, "he didn't, but—are you sure you're okay? I'm already out picking some stuff up from work, I can stop by. Or I could—I could go home and make you some soup. It might not be as memorable as yours, but…"

"Ha bloody ha," Charles says, sounding quite cute for being all nasal-y.

"Tell me your address. I know you're on campus somewhere, but—"

"Absolutely not," Charles says sternly. "I'm fine, Erik. You should be spending your energy on whatever's going on with Peter right now, not—not me."

Erik blinks. He's not sure if the pit in his stomach is from the rejection or the implication that he's not doing enough for Peter at the moment. "Okay," he says, stung.

"Oh, for the—I'm just irritable when I'm sick. I'm sorry," Charles says sincerely.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Erik says, because Charles has every right to ask for privacy when he's sick. Erik had wanted that initially, too. It had just been so nice to be taken care of, he wants to repay the favor. He hates the idea of Charles sick and alone. But Charles is right that Peter needs to come first today—Erik had been the one calling to say he's busy tonight, after all. He's just feeling overly sensitive right now. "I get it."

Charles is quiet.

"Um, anyway," Erik goes on, feeling awkward, "Peter's been stealing stuff from the school store and passing it out to his friends for a few weeks. Just like, candy, or whatever."

"A real Robin Hood," Charles says lightly.

Erik huffs a laugh, "Yeah, I guess."

"How'd he get caught? He's essentially invisible when he's moving."

"I don't know, honestly. We didn't get that far in the conversation before I lost it and started yelling at him," Erik admits, ashamed. He can't believe only this morning he was so determined to tell Peter how much he loves him, how proud he is of him. "So much for talking to him, I guess. I didn't mean to—to yell at him, but… they locked him up."

"What?"

"They called it a— a decompression room, but Wanda called it a mutie room. Really, it was a closet with a deadbolt, like… like Peter was dangerous."

"Oh," Charles says, distraught. "That can't be legal. How could they… is he okay?"

"Completely unharmed. He doesn't seem to care at all, actually. Small miracles, I guess," Erik says mirthlessly.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," Erik says, sounding much more certain than he feels. "I'm just—I was just worried about him. They were scared of him. And when people get scared, they can justify all kinds of awful shit. Worse than just locking someone in a closet."

Charles sighs heavily. "Yeah."

"He's just a kid. He should be able to steal a candy bar and get a detention. It's not fair." It's never fair to them. Mutants always have to be on their best behavior, because one mistake is enough for humans to justify their fear. His father had come down hard on him as a child, too.

"No, it's not," Charles agrees. "It must have been awful getting that call and seeing him in that room."

"I just want to keep him safe," Erik says, surprised by the thickness in his voice.

"I know," Charles says softly, and it reminds Erik of the way he'd held him last weekend. He's struck with a sudden and intense urge to see Charles.

"I wish you—" he stops himself, abruptly feeling far too vulnerable. "I wish I hadn't gotten you sick," he says instead.

But it's like Charles knows what he means anyway. He's quiet for a long moment, and then he says, "Yeah," like he's saying I wish I was there, too.

They sit in silence and breathe together, and somehow it's enough to loosen Erik's chest, to chip away at the tension he's been holding in his shoulders.

When he can't put it off any longer, Erik says, "I should go. I have to talk to my boss about working from home for the week and then get home to Peter. Are you sure there isn't anything I can drop off for you? Are you taking care of yourself?"

"I am sure, and I am taking care of myself, yes," Charles says firmly.

"Do you have lemon-honey cough drops?"

Charles pauses, and when he speaks, Erik can hear him smiling. "I do, yes. Under ordinary circumstances, I'd permit you to bring me soup, but I think Peter needs you more right now."

"He does," Erik admits. "I just feel bad I can't return the favor of putting on the weirdest movie I can think of while you're high on cough syrup."

Charles laughs, "Perhaps next time."

Erik likes the sound of that. "Yeah. Next time."

Feeling much better after talking to Charles, Erik collects himself and manages to convince his boss to let him work from home for the week—though really, Erik just announces he's working from home for the week, and his boss agrees. He just has to take his laptop to the IT department and have them install the proper software. He's waiting for them to finish up when Azazel finds him, looking visibly concerned.

"I thought I saw you. Is everything okay?" he asks.

"It is now, yeah. Sorry for rushing out earlier. The school called. Peter got in trouble." And then it occurs to Erik to ask, "Has Kurt told you about the—the room, for the mutant kids?"

Azazel's expression darkens. "Yes. Is that… Peter was sent there?" He grimaces when Erik nods. "Kurt got put there once, after accidentally teleporting to avoid getting hit by a dodgeball in gym class. Ridiculous, when he could just teleport out, but. Not the point."

"No," Erik agrees grimly. "Hopefully it's out of commission for a while, though. I melted the locks."

Azazel lets out a bark of surprised laughter and claps Erik on the back, "Good man! Peter is okay, then?"

"He is," Erik says, and the more he says it aloud, the better he feels. Peter is okay. "He was using his powers to steal from the school store."

Azazel's eyebrows shoot up, and Erik immediately protests, "Peter's not—he's a good kid, I swear."

"I believe you," Azazel says quickly. "I hear nice things about your son from Kurt."

"You do?" That's a bit of a surprise, but Erik appreciates it nonetheless. He moves on, "The stealing isn't really like him. He's just… naive, I guess. I think his friends put him up to the stealing. They're not mutants. They don't get it, and somehow, he doesn't either. I don't know how to make him understand. Nothing I say seems to get through to him."

"Ah." Azazel says thoughtfully. "If I may offer some advice?"

"Please," Erik says. He needs all the help he can get.

Azazel smiles, and he says, "My son is blue. I was upset, when he was born and I first saw his skin. There's no hiding what he is, even if people don't want to see it. I thought, if only I could change the color of his skin..." He speaks without shame, only a somber acceptance. "I could only think about how hard it would be to watch him deal with the same discrimination I face. And I was right. It is hard. But now I see that it is not him that needs to change, it is the world. And I can't snap my fingers and make it less hard, but I can be a soft place for him. Do you see?"

It's counterintuitive, to be soft for Peter when the world is so hard. It's certainly not how Erik's father raised him. But… he doesn't speak to his father all that much, now. Not because he doesn't love him, but because there's simply not much to say. His father's always been guarded and serious; a provider, but emotionally distant. It's his mother who had been nurturing and affectionate, and his mother who he calls every week and misses every day.

"I think I do, yeah," Erik says slowly.

Right then, the IT guy steps out of his cubicle holding Erik's computer. "Hey man, you're all set. You'll have to set up a VPN at your place, but I emailed you directions for that."

"Thanks," Erik says distractedly, accepting the laptop. Azazel walks him to the lobby, and before he can teleport away, Erik tells him, "Thanks for the advice."

"We're even for the cold now. And next time, if I'm around and you need to rush somewhere, you ask me, okay? That's what friends are for."

"I… okay," Erik says, touched. "Thank you."

"Maybe when your son is ungrounded, we can get our kids together, yeah? Kurt could use more friends, too," Azazel nudges him and grins.

And that sounds like the best idea Erik's heard all day. "Sounds like a plan," he says, and then he leaves to go home to Peter.

Chapter Text

Peter stays in his room the rest of the night, and doesn't reply when Erik asks him to come out for dinner. Erik could force the issue, but he thinks about how he'd snapped and yelled at Peter earlier, and he knows he doesn't want to do that again. He decides to leave it for the night. Instead, he makes plenty for dinner and tells Peter it's ready for him to warm up when he's hungry.

Be a soft place. The words ring in his ears all night, even when Peter doesn't come out until Erik goes to his room for the night. Even when he can tell Peter is using his phone against his wishes—he'll have to enforce the grounding more tomorrow, but Peter's had a rough day. Erik can give him the night.

Charles sends him a picture of himself curled up in bed, looking miserable with the tip of his nose bright red, like a caricature of someone being sick. Erik stares at the picture, and he wants to call Charles, but he's sure talking feels awful for him right now. If they were together, they could just chat telepathically. That had been a great comfort for him last weekend—though, that could have more to do with the way Charles had provided some much-needed pain relief with his telepathy.

The thought prompts him to text, How are you feeling? I've been wondering, can you numb your own pain receptors?

The reply is swift and short: Feeling absolutely delightful. And no :(

That seems pretty unfair, Erik says back.

Doesn't it? I'll survive, though. Treating myself to a Twilight Zone marathon.

Surely you mean the vampire movies. Twilight Zone came out well before your time. Can you even process black and white television?

Charles' reply is a picture of his hand holding up his middle finger, a laptop screen featuring a distinctly black-and-white show in the background. It makes Erik laugh out loud. He's finding that some of his favorite Charles moments are the ones where he's unrepentantly rude.

You're full of surprises, he writes.

I'd like to be full of you ;) , Charles writes, and then immediately after, I am a man of intrigue.

A vast understatement, Erik replies with a snort. Charles doesn't reply right away, presumably returning to his marathon. Erik stares at their messages and wants to say something more. He wants to say Do you have everything you need? or I wish I could be there, taking care of you, or maybe Did you mean it when you called me wonderful? He wants to say all of that, and more—but the moment he does, things get complicated, and he's not sure he's prepared for that. His thumbs hover over the screen uselessly, undecided.

He's still mentally drafting potential messages when Magda calls. "Hey, Erik. Is now a good time to talk?"

"Definitely," Erik says, happy for the distraction. "How did it go with the principal?"

"Fine. She's a real witch, but I think she was just glad she didn't have to deal with you again," Magda snorts. "She shook me down for a hundred bucks to replace the stolen goods, and Peter has to go in Thursday and Friday to take his exams. Can you take him?"

Erik's not entirely sure how he's going to manage that with work, but he'll take some some time off if he needs to. "Yeah, I can do that."

Magda sighs in relief, "Great. God, a suspension is really more a punishment for the parents, isn't it?"

"I know. What kind of kid cares about not having to go to school?"

"Right? Oh, and one of his teachers is going to pull him aside to talk about an extra assignment he has to do over the summer, now."

"Fine, but he's not going back to that school next year."

"What? You want to make him transfer?" Magda sounds shocked. "That's a bit far, isn't it?"

"It's not a punishment for him. They locked him in a closet, Mags. You should have heard that principal talk about the mutant students, like they're dangerous. If it was Wanda who got caught using her powers…" Erik shakes his head, unable to finish the thought. "I want to transfer both of them out."

"Where? I doubt another public school is going to be better—"

"Then we'll do private."

"Private? Do you know how much those schools cost?"

"Whatever it is, I'll pay it," Erik says stubbornly. "They're not safe at that school. I want them out."

Magda sighs, "Okay, yeah. I want them safe, too. Can we talk about it more another time? I just don't have the bandwidth for this right now. It's been a hell of a day." She sounds tired.

"Of course," Erik says. "How are the girls?"

"Lorna's fine, she just went to bed. Wanda… well, she hasn't said a word to me since she got home. That girl knows how to sulk."

Erik chuckles hollowly. "I guess I really fucked this one up, huh."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Today was a lot. And Wanda was completely out of line—she called you an asshole!" Magda says, so scandalized it makes Erik laugh. She'd probably lose her shit if she knew the other things Wanda's said to him over the years. "Only you would laugh about that," she says, amused. "Sometimes I look at her and I see you, I swear."

"I think the same thing about you, honestly."

Wanda is undeniably their child. It's strange, Erik thinks, recognizing his flaws in his children, and learning to see them in an entirely new light. Wanda's not sullen and unsociable, she's thoughtful and private—and she's got a hell of an attitude, but she's only fifteen. It's a trade-off Erik's more than willing to take. They sit there in silence for a moment, and Erik knows Magda's smiling, like he is.

"How's Pete?" she eventually asks, tentative.

Erik sighs, thinking about how Peter's been locked in his room all night. While that sort of behavior is typical for Wanda, it's certainly not for Peter, who inevitably gets bored and joins them again within the hour.

His silence speaks for him.

"You yelled at him, huh?"

Erik appreciates the sympathy in her voice, though he's sure he doesn't deserve it. "I told him he couldn't see his friends all summer," he admits ruefully.

"What? Erik," Magda reproaches, laughing, "did you also ground him until college?"

"I know," Erik groans. "I was possessed by my dad when I said it. I could feel my hair turning white."

"I can hear your grumpy old man voice perfectly. It sounds a lot like your normal voice."

"I'm glad you think this is funny," Erik says dryly. Actually, it's making him feel a lot better to talk to her about this right now. Maybe she doesn't entirely understand where he's coming from as mutant, but she understands where he's coming from as a parent. She trusts him to handle things with Peter, to work things out even if he is prone to losing his temper. It means a lot to him.

"It went about as bad as you can imagine," he admits. "Peter hasn't talked to me since. I figured I'd give him the night to decompress, then try talking to him again in the morning. He's had a hard day."

"That's surprisingly emotionally adept of you."

"Ouch," Erik says mildly. He's not as upset as he might have been if he hadn't recently come to terms with the fact that—yeah, he's been kind of painfully oblivious to what's going on with his family. Wanda's crush on Charles, Magda's feelings about their relationship and divorce, and whatever's going on with Peter. Thank god for Lorna. Erik reminds himself to carve out some time with just the two of them, soon. "I don't want things with Peter to end up like they are with my dad. Things aren't… great with him."

There's a long silence on the other end of the line. Erik checks to see if the call got dropped. "Are you in therapy?" Magda demands finally, and then, "Shit—sorry. Of course you don't have to tell me. I've just never heard you acknowledge that before."

Erik snorts, "I'm not in therapy. I've just been thinking about things, lately."

"Right," Magda says slowly, sounding highly suspicious.

"Anyway," he says hastily, not wanting to hear whatever her suspicions are, "I'm going to talk to Peter tomorrow. Try to level with him instead of yelling at him. No promises, though." It's meant to be a joke, but it falls flat, because Erik really is worried he'll yell again. He hadn't meant to yell today, after all.

"I just don't understand what's gotten into him," Magda frets. "He's been doing so well lately, with his grades improving, and spending so much time with his friends… I thought Wanda was the kid we had to worry about. Now I just feel like a shit mom. I've been so busy with school that I missed something going on with our son."

"You're not a shit mom," Erik says firmly. If he's going to give himself parenting grace, Magda definitely deserves it, too. "It's good that you're in school. The kids should know that your life doesn't end when you're forty and divorced."

"It kind of felt like that for a while, didn't it?" Magda says, sounding nearly wistful.

"It did." And now, that feels like the furthest thing from the truth. Erik's forty-two, and he'd thought the rest of his life would be confined to every-other-weekends with his kids, and then hopefully one day, his grandchildren. Now, he knows there's more. More time with them, more things to do than wait, more people to know—and that's just the start. For the first time since his twenties, Erik feels like the possibilities for what his life can be are endless. It's remarkably freeing.

Five years ago, Erik could never have imagined this is what his life would look like. It's not the first time he's had that thought, but it is the first time it's a good one. Still, accepting that his divorce, against all odds, might end up being for the best is bittersweet.

The end of an era.

The next morning, Erik does what he does best to start a good day with the kids: he makes breakfast. "Peter, what do you want to eat?" he says, standing outside Peter's door.

It's nine a.m.—early for Peter still, but he's not exactly supposed to be on vacation. Erik thinks letting him sleep in for hours after he'd be up for school ordinarily is pretty generous. Erik's been working for a while already.

"Peter, it's time to get up," he says, knocking loudly. "I'm in between projects right now, I can make whatever you want for breakfast."

He sighs, thinking about his conversation with Magda. "You're not—you're not grounded from your friends all summer. I didn't mean that."

Peter still doesn't answer, so Erik keeps knocking and talking. "I could do omelettes; I have some bacon and mushrooms that I think would be good. Would you eat spinach if I put some in there? You can't really taste it—"

His hand hits air, and there Peter stands, holding the door open and looking extremely annoyed. "Dad, it's so early."

"Ah, did you stay up late on your phone?" Erik says dryly, holding his hand out and catching Peter's phone as it flies through the air. "I'll be taking that so you can sleep better, tonight."

Peter scowls. "It's so boring here. What am I supposed to do if I can't play games or be on my phone?"

Erik frowns, "Even if you weren't grounded, you should be studying. You have your finals tomorrow. Do you want breakfast or not?"

Peter settles in front of the TV, mindlessly flipping through channels while Erik cooks. It gives him some time to think about what he wants to say next. He's determined not to fuck it up again.

"Food's ready, if you want to grab something to drink. There's a little coffee left, but I can make more if you want it," Erik says, setting the plates down onto the dining room table. He checks his work emails one last time before pushing his laptop aside. When he looks up, Peter is standing there, holding a glass of orange juice and giving him a strange look.

He sits down and stares at his omelette, then blurts out, "Why are you being nice to me?"

It winds Erik, the painful simplicity of the question. He takes a drink of coffee to buy himself time, to school the hurt he's feeling. "Well, you're still grounded, and I'm keeping your phone all week," he says after a moment. "Feeding you is just part of the parent gig."

Peter nods to himself, like he'd expected that answer, and takes a seat to start eating.

"But I—" Erik starts, then stops, suddenly petrified of saying the wrong thing again. Why is simply yelling at Peter so much easier than talking to him honestly? Erik forces himself to keep stumbling through, "I'm sorry for yelling at you yesterday."

Peter looks at him like he's speaking another language. "Are you dying?" he asks, genuine panic in his voice.

"No! God, Peter," Erik says, embarrassed. "I'm just—I'm apologizing."

Peter looks down at his plate, then back up at Erik, still dumbfounded. "Food and an apology? Is this gentle parenting?"

"That's—okay, don't be such a smartass," Erik laughs. "I feed you every time you're here. In fact, I make extra food for you because you eat more than both your sisters and me, combined."

Peter shrugs, "I'm a growing boy, Pops."

They eat in silence for a few minutes, and it's tempting to let this be it. Erik's apologized, Peter seems to have accepted it, and he's happily tucking into his breakfast, now. They could go on, and Erik could pat himself on the back for apologizing and promise to do better in the future.

"Peter, I want to talk to you about something," Erik say seriously.

"Oh boy," Peter groans. "We're not done?"

"Of course not," Erik says, as if he hadn't just had that very conversation with himself. He pushes his plate away and sips his coffee.

"Alright, go ahead. I'm ready to get lectured," Peter says with a shrug.

"That's not what this is about. I just want to understand why you've been stealing again. We give you an allowance, don't we?"

Peter's face loses all traces of humor. "I don't know," he shrugs. "It's easy."

It's a non-answer, and they both know it. "Try again," Erik says levelly.

"Why does it matter? I won't do it again. I promise." Peter bares his teeth in an obviously fake smile.

"Well, yeah, that's a good start. But I still want to know why you were doing it to begin with. You're a smart kid. You know better."

Peter scoffs and doesn't say anything.

Erik tries again, "Fine. How'd you get caught? Wanda said you got ratted out."

This trips Peter up—his face falls before he catches himself and pastes on an overly casual expression. It's the same nonchalance he often expresses, like it's all just one big joke. The difference is this time Erik knows it's not real. How much more has he missed, he wonders?

He thinks about Peter's inappropriate levity yesterday at the school, and the way he'd locked himself in his room afterward. Erik had assumed that was because he'd yelled at Peter, but now he wonders if Peter had been upset long before that. He remembers the shoelace eyelets, moving faster than light, how Erik had followed them like a beacon.

An SOS.

The thought hits Erik like a brick. Peter had been scared. He'd just been hiding it from everyone, and they'd believed it. Except… that's not true. Magda had told him to stop yelling, because Peter was clearly upset, and Wanda had cried and clung to him like she used to when they were little.

Erik hadn't seen it. "Peter, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that yesterday. Not that it's a good reason, anyway, but if I'd known you were upset—"

"I wasn't upset," Peter frowns. "I mean, getting caught was annoying. But they didn't do anything to me." He's brushing it off again, but this time Erik listens. They didn't do anything to me, like that's a point in their favor, instead of what should be a given.

All this time, Erik had thought Peter didn't understand.

"I know it's not fair," Erik says gently, "that you can't screw around with your friends without getting in much worse trouble than them. They get detention, and you almost get expelled."

"Yeah, it's bullshit," Peter grumbles, glancing at Erik to see if he'll get away with swearing.

"It's bullshit," Erik agrees. "And I know I've been harder on you, too, for the same reason."

Peter tilts his head, "…Because you don't like mutants?"

"Because your school doesn't like mutants," Erik corrects flatly. "And maybe one day your employer won't, or your girlfriend's parents won't. It's just—it's a tough world out there for us. You should be prepared. You'll be sixteen in a couple months, and then eighteen before you know it. I want you to be ready for that."

"For what?" Peter says, bewildered. "Are you going to kick me out or something?"

"What? No, of course not," Erik says. "But you—you'll be going to college."

Peter shrugs, "Maybe."

It takes everything in Erik not to snap, No, not maybe. Definitely. Don't be stupid. He manages not to say anything, but based on the gleeful look on Peter's face, he's not hiding his feelings on the subject particularly well. "Okay," he grits out. Peter is going to college, he'll make sure of it, but that's a conversation for another day.

"I'm just sayin'," Peter goes on, unperturbed, "I don't even know what electives I'm taking next year. Maybe Spanish Two, but last week, some kids brought in Taco Bell for Fiesta Day, and Mr. Molina said he was so depressed about it that he won't ever do another Fiesta Day. I think he was joking, but that's kinda the whole point of taking Spanish, so maybe I'll take art instead. You know?"

Erik blinks. "No, I honestly don't. I'm uh, glad you're thinking about it, though."

"That's my point: I'm not. I'm just a dumb kid."

"You're not dumb, Peter. That's why I get so frustrated when you do stu—when you fail your classes, or get suspended for some free candy. You're smarter than that." A shadow flickers across Peter's face, so quickly that Erik wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been looking.

"You are," he says softly, shame settling deep inside him, because only moments ago he'd almost called Peter stupid again. "You're a smart kid, Peter. I know that I… I'm sorry for calling you dumb, when I get mad at you. I shouldn't," Erik shakes his head, overcome with guilt.

Peter's forehead creases. "Dad, it's not like—I know I'm not smart like Wanda, okay? She gets straight A's, and next year she'll be taking AP classes. And even Lorna, she's—she's like, so good with her powers, and she's just a little kid." He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, "I'm just—I'm fast, y'know? I'm not smart, but I'm not all bad, either. I know that." It's clearly meant to comfort Erik, but every word sinks like a rock in his stomach.

"Peter, listen to me. You are smart. You're good at everything you actually put effort into, like Mario Cars, or… or school, when you started studying and doing your homework. You raised your grades a lot this year, that's impressive."

"That was all Charles," Peter says dismissively. "He could teach a rock. Watch, once he gets sick of me, I'll get bad grades again."

There's so many things wrong with that statement, but Erik can only address one thing at a time. "Even if you get bad grades again, you'll still be smart," he says firmly. "Grades aren't—I know it seems like they're the be-all, end-all at this age, and maybe that's my fault, I don't know. I only want you to get good grades right now so that you can have plenty of options for college, or whatever you want to do with your life."

"Even if that's skipping college to drive an ice cream truck?" Peter says slyly. "Or… become a professional Mario 64 speedrunner?"

Erik's face spasms without his permission. Surely, that's not a thing. Before Peter can make anything else ridiculous up, Erik says reaches over to put a hand on his shoulder and says, "Look, I just—I love you. I love you, and I'm proud of the person that you are. Okay? I need you to know that."

Peter stares at him for a moment, stunned. Then his face cracks into a smile, something overexaggerated and sarcastic to make up for the softness in his eyes. "Awww, Dad!" He's at Erik's side in a heartbeat, leaning down to hug him, squishing Erik's face. "I love you, too! Does this mean I'm not in trouble?"

"You are absolutely still in trouble." Erik swats at him, then hugs him back. It's an awkward position, sitting while Peter stands, but Erik thinks he'd cry if he stood up to properly hug Peter, who's getting enough amusement out of this already.

"Worth a shot," Peter shrugs, back in his seat so fast that it makes a breeze. "Can I have that?" He's gestures to Erik's half-eaten omelette. He digs in happily when Erik slides the plate over. "The spinach isn't bad! Can I have your toast, too?"

Erik sips his coffee and watches his son devour his second breakfast. Things aren't perfect, but it's a good start. Kids are resilient, Erik thinks ruefully. Forgiving is all they know how to do. It's like they're made to survive their parents' mistakes, the same way they're made to survive falling off the bed. Erik's not going to be something his kids survive anymore.

Working from home is pretty nice, Erik finds, though he might find it more relaxing if Peter wasn't there, constantly underfoot and reading his notes aloud (a study technique for which Erik has Charles to thank, as it turns out) and complaining about being bored without his phone.

"Think about that next time you're feeling like Robin Hood," Erik says dryly.

"Robin Hood was the good guy," Peter shoots back. "Stop making stealing sound so cool if you don't want me to do it."

"Peter," Erik warns, pinching the bridge of his nose, "please get back to studying."

Snickering, Peter returns to pacing around the apartment, reading nonsensical things from his study guide like, "Dark knight Peter captivates our fuzzy gerbil soldiers…" and tugging at his silver hair, muttering about recessive genes.

Why is my son talking about fuzzy gerbil soldiers? Erik texts Charles.

I'm so glad you asked, Charles replies, and then launches into a detailed, multi-text lecture about taxonomy.

Now I see, Erik writes, when the bombardment ends. How are you feeling today, by the way?

Better after teaching you some biology. It's my specialty, you know.

At this point, Erik knows Charles well enough to know when he's making a come-on. Bewildered, he replies, How are you horny? Aren't you sick?

His phone buzzes instantly. It's been AGES since we've had sex. Don't you miss me??

Erik bites down a smile, staring at the words. It reads just like Charles: ridiculous, sexy, and achingly sincere. I do, he replies simply. He watches in real time as Charles attempts to think of a good response, three dots appearing and disappearing over and over.

Stop being so sweet when I can't suck your dick, is what Charles ends up writing.

Erik laughs to himself, pockets his phone, and gets back to his day.

When Erik lived with the kids, he used to make what the kids called zombie dinner before big tests; fish dishes with plenty of greens. They always complained about the extra vegetables, and Erik always said, It's brain food, and then Peter would chase Lorna around with his arms outstretched, yelling Braaains! like a something from a bad zombie flick.

Watching Peter frown at his study guide all day inspires Erik to make zombie dinner for the first time in years. Peter's so bored at home that he actually jumps at the chance to go to the store with Erik, and he's thrilled when Erik stands at the front of the store with his cart, giving Peter a couple things to get at a time. By far, it's the fastest he's ever gotten groceries, and that's including Peter attempting to sneak potato chips and candy into the cart, like Erik won't notice just because he didn't see Peter put them in there.

"Peter, I'm not going to tell you again. Put the junk back," Erik says, trying to keep his voice calm.

"You can't make me eat spinach and broccoli for dinner and not let me have dessert," Peter complains. "Isn't chocolate brain food or something?"

Mollified by the notion that Peter actually listens when he talks, Erik says, "Dark chocolate, not Snickers. Tell you what—I've got strawberries at home. Put all of the junk back and I'll make Oma's strawberry shortcake for dessert."

Peter lights up. "Oh, worm?"

He's gone before Erik says, "What?" He never feels quite as old as he does when he's talking to Peter. "Did you say worm?"

Surprisingly—or perhaps not—the chance to stretch his legs at the store seems like exactly what Peter needed. He has no problem at all focusing on his exam prep when they get back, leaving Erik to relax and cook in silence.

He makes salmon bowls, and he can't help but think about how he made them that night he and Charles went to IKEA. While the fish cooks, he chops up the strawberries, and thinks about how he'd fed them to Charles, watched the juice smear his lips miraculously redder.

They need to stop with the food-in-bed thing, he decides, feeling his face warm. It's bad enough that he'll never be able to look at pie the same way again—he doesn't need to be blushing at strawberries.

He sets the strawberries aside to soak in water and sugar and pulls out the things to make whipped cream. The defining characteristic of his mom's strawberry shortcake is that it's made with slightly sweetened scones and homemade whipped cream. It's a family favorite that Erik makes often during the summer.

"How's studying going?" Erik asks Peter over dinner. "Do you need help? I could quiz you, or read your guide out loud so you can take a break, or…"

"Can you do a British accent while you read it? No lie, I think that helps me remember things."

Erik laughs, "Uh, sure. It's too bad Charles is sick. He'd probably be happy to help you do some last-minute studying."

"Charles is sick?" Peter frowns. "How do you know?"

Erik wants to kick the part of himself that apparently can't stop thinking about Charles—though in all fairness, Peter was the one who brought it up. Basically. "Uh, he called me last weekend to let me know he wouldn't be able to come over to tutor."

Peter's face screws up in confusion. "But weren't you sick last weekend?"

"Ye-es, and so was Charles, as it turns out." Erik takes a massive bite of salmon and rice, sort of hoping he'll choke on it and won't be able to say anything else dumb.

"And he's still sick? Is he okay?" Peter asks, concerned.

"I'm sure he's fine. Eat your spinach," Erik says, pointing with his fork. "Brain food."

Peter mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "Braaains" under his breath and gets back to eating.

After dinner, Erik makes the scones while Peter does the dishes, using far too much dish soap and splashing water everywhere. Well, Erik tries to make the scones. There's a missing ingredient in the recipe his mom's given him—she swears there's not, but he can never quite get the taste perfect.

"Do you not do the dishes at home?" Erik asks, taking a break from glaring at his spice drawer to toss a dry dish towel at Peter.

"I usually give Lorna a dollar to do it," Peter admits shamelessly.

"Peter," Erik says, exasperated. "Is that why you have no money to buy snacks at school? You're giving all of your money to Lorna to do chores?"

"Uh," Peter laughs a little, and drops the towel on the floor to mop up some of the water that had spilled with his foot. "Not really. The stealing thing was just…" he shrugs, looking embarrassed, "Jackson dared me to do it the first time. He didn't believe me when I said I used to steal from Wal-Mart all the time. Not that—I won't do that again," he adds quickly. "But I figured the school store wasn't a big deal. So I grabbed Jackson a pack of gum, and then Skye said she wanted some ice cream, and I figured I might as well get some candy for Toast while I was at it, and it kind of spiraled from there… I don't know. It was easy. I'm good at it." He bends down to pick up the towel and turns back to the dishes. "I know that's stupid," he mutters, keeping his eyes down on the sink.

Erik watches him for a moment, then turns back to measuring out the ingredients, trying to sort through his thoughts. "You're good at a lot of things," he says. Charles had once said there were truly limitless applications to Peter's powers. "Stealing has to be about the least inspired use of your powers."

Peter snorts, "It got pretty boring, yeah. But it was cool to hook my friends up, and I knew Mom would forgive me right away. And, you're… you know." The water turns off.

Erik looks at him again. Peter is leaning against the counter, staring down a frying pan as he rubs at it with a towel, though it looks dry already. "I'm what?" Erik pushes, steeling himself for the answer.

Peter glances up at him and looks down again quickly when he meets Erik's eyes. "You're always mad at me anyway," he mumbles.

It hurts in a way that Erik doesn't expect. It's a familiar emotion for him, anger. He can be angry at the world, for being a hostile and unforgiving place, or angry at himself, for failing in his marriage and career and family. Anger is for things that deserve it, condemnation for the things in life that are wrong, should be better.

It was always a comfortable lens through which he processed his emotions—a tool he wielded liberally until he had kids, and then his heart cracked open. Loving his children had evolved his simple anger to fierce protectiveness and undying devotion, had made him gentler and softer than he thought himself capable. It's not always easy for him to show it, but he'd hoped his kids felt it from him, anyway.

"I'm not always mad at you," Erik says. The words feel clumsy, stuck in his throat. "Why would—why would I always be mad at you?"

Peter shrugs, "'Cause I always piss you off, I guess?"

"You don't always piss me off," Erik protests, heart sinking.

"I mean, I know you still love me, and everything. It's fine," Peter assures him quickly. "I'm just saying that since you were still mad about the Lorna thing, it wouldn't make a difference, I guess. If I stole stuff or not."

For the most part, sticky kisses and skinned knees had doused Erik's considerable anger, but it still surges up and lashes out sometimes, a dangerous but effective weapon. More productive than fear, when Peter's in trouble at school and Erik's not sure what situation he's walking into, or when his kids almost catch him in a precarious position with Charles, or when… when Lorna gets hurt.

When Erik thinks about that day, what he remembers most is the heart-stopping fear he felt when he saw Lorna, pale and sickly, like she was about to collapse—and Charles, who had been there to comfort and steady everyone.

When he thinks about Peter, he remembers him standing there, trying to make excuses for running with Lorna. At the time, it had incensed Erik, had given him an avenue for his fear to become anger. He remembers feeling bad about yelling at Peter afterwards, and feeling relieved when he'd joined them for pizza and a movie, but he doesn't remember what he'd actually said, only that Wanda had called him a dick because of it.

"Peter, I'm not still mad at you for the Lorna thing," Erik says slowly. "I'm sorry I yelled at you that day. I should have handled it better, I was just—I was really scared about Lorna."

It's the truth, but it's a piss-poor excuse for his behavior. His kids shouldn't be the landing place for his anger, just because he doesn't want to face the full brunt of his fear.

"Yeah, I know." Peter puts the pan down and crosses his arms, though it just looks like he's hugging himself. "I was scared too," he says quietly. He looks so heartbreakingly young, so small and vulnerable.

Erik strides across the kitchen and wraps his arms around Peter, who makes an obligatory squawk of discontent before he softens and hugs back. "I'm sorry, Peter. I shouldn't have yelled about it, and when I did, I should have apologized."

"I love Lorna," Peter mumbles into Erik's shoulder, voice sounding wet. "I wouldn't—I never want her to get hurt because of me. I was so mad at myself."

Erik rubs Peter's back in soothing circles, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of guilt he's feeling. "Accidents happen," he says, many weeks too late. "It's okay. Lorna's completely fine."

Peter tucks his head down, into Erik's neck. "But she could've been…" his voice breaks, and falls silent, shoulders shaking.

Erik holds him closer, stroking the back of his head. "Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally dropped you when you were a baby?"

"What?" Peter says, bewildered enough to stop crying. "No. You dropped me?"

"Well, technically, I fell down the stairs while holding you, but you were only eight weeks old and it was, to this day, the single most terrifying moment of my life."

"Was I okay?" Peter steps back to give Erik an incredulous look, tear tracks still shining on his face.

"Yes!" Erik insists, "Obviously, yes."

"I don't know how obvious that is," Peter mutters, "since you apparently lied about dropping me to begin with."

"I didn't—Okay, that's not the point. Anyway, you and your sister were completely kicking our asses. One infant is exhausting, but two?" Two had been more work than Erik thought imaginable. It had also been some of the best moments of his life, holding one twin in each arm, watching them sleep, two pieces of his heart just out in the world.

He smiles, "Your Oma had been staying with us until then, but her best friend back home had a heart attack, so she rushed back to see her. It was just me and your mom for the first time since you two were born, and it only took a few days before we were begging her to come back." The twins had to do everything together. It was all Erik and Magda could do to keep up with the dual feedings, baths, and burpings. It had honestly been comical how much easier Lorna had been as an infant—aside from being only one baby, she'd also started sleeping through the night at a month old.

"I had just given you a bath, because you spit up milk everywhere, and of course, you were hungry, because you had just spit up your entire dinner. So we went downstairs, and I guess I just… stepped wrong. I fell, and it was terrifying, because all I could think about was you in my arms. That your mom had trusted you with me, and how I'd never forgive myself if you were hurt. But you weren't hurt," Erik says pointedly, "because something in me just acted instinctively. I curled around you and held you gently the whole way down. I ended up with a hell of a bruise on my ass, but you didn't even cry. You actually—you smiled." Erik laughs tearily at the memory, "I think you liked how fast we went."

Peter huffs a laugh, scrubbing at his face with his hand. "Did you ever drop Wanda?"

"I didn't drop you. I just fell. And my point is that your mom never held it against me. I was sure she'd be furious with me. But she just said that she knew it was an accident, and that I did everything I could to protect you, and she trusted me." She'd also said that he couldn't tap out at that point, because she grew the twins, so if anyone was going to get a break, it would be her.

"I was already so upset at myself. It would have been a lot harder if she'd been mad at me, too." Erik sighs, remembering the shrill panic in Peter's voice that day. Lorna wasn't the only child that had needed him. "Peter, I haven't been mad at you about the Lorna incident since it happened. I knew right away it was an accident, and I know you're always looking out for your sisters. I should have made that clearer at the time. I'm sorry."

"That's—'S'okay, Dad," Peter says thickly. "I don't even know why I'm—I'm not sad, I'm just…" He shakes his head, wiping at his eyes again.

Erik's chest aches, watching his endlessly cheerful son trying to box up his feelings. "Hey, I'm crying too," Erik says, gesturing to his face. "It's no big deal. Hell, I cried watching a movie last weekend."

Peter scoffs.

"Seriously, I did," Erik insists, smiling. "It was a good movie, I think. I was pretty out of it."

A smile creeps over Peter's face, and the tight, upset line of his shoulders finally drops. It looks like he's released something he's been carrying for a while. The sight of his son smiling eases Erik's chest, too. "How about you go pack your stuff for tomorrow, and then find something for us to watch on TV. I'll finish making the scones and meet you there with dessert."

"I… should probably study more, right?" Peter asks, uncertain. "I don't wanna do bad on my exams. I promised Charles I'd study hard."

Peter is such a good kid, Erik thinks, heart feeling fit to burst. "You've worked hard all day," he says, nudging him affectionately. "If you want to study more, I'll help you, but I seem to remember Charles saying that breaks are important, too."

Peter sighs in relief, "Yeah. Okay. I'll, um, finish the dishes."

"Nah, I got it," Erik says quickly. He's running low on dish soap, and he could use a minute to decompress.

The next morning, Erik drops Peter off at school for his exams. "I'm going to post up at a coffee shop around here to work, so I'll be right here if anything happens." He hates the idea of Peter being back at school, under that awful woman's thumb. "If there's so much as a security guard watching you, you call me and I'll be there. I won't ever let them hurt you," Erik says seriously. "I'd do anything to protect you. You know that, right?" He hands Peter his phone.

Peter takes the phone with a grin, "Hell yeah, I do. You were badass, Dad! I didn't know you were holding back on me all this time. Laskey almost peed her pants!"

"That's—That was an exception. You shouldn't threaten people," Erik tries, realizing too late what a poor example that had been for Peter.

"I wanna be just like you when I grow up!" Peter says cheerfully, then disappears with a slam of the car door. He appears a moment later down the sidewalk, and starts strolling toward the front doors with the other students.

Erik stays for a moment, watching the way Peter joins his classmates, looking confident despite the obvious way he stands out, movements just a hair too fast, silver hair shining in the sun. The other kids clap him on the back, initiating various complicated handshakes, looking happy to see him. Peter engages with them effortlessly, passing out free, handsome smiles. He looks much cooler than Erik's ever been around his peers.

He looks grown up.

Chapter Text

Peter's quiet when Erik picks him up later that day.

"How'd it go today?"

"Fine. Can we go?" Peter says, engrossed in something on his phone.

Erik drives in silence for a couple minutes before he tries again. "Did something happen at school?"

No response.

"Was it the principal, or—"

"Can you just like, give me a minute?" Peter snaps, typing furiously into his phone. "It's great that you want to play nice-Dad now, but I just—I just need a minute."

"You're still grounded, you know. Technically, you're not supposed to have your phone right now," Erik points out, not appreciating the attitude.

Peter doesn't reply, and after a minute Erik holds out his hand and says, "That's enough, Peter. Phone."

"Fine," Peter bites out, slapping the phone into Erik's hand. "Whatever."

He refuses to talk to Erik the rest of the way home. Used to the silent treatment from Wanda, Erik manages to stop himself from pushing the issue, but it's far more jarring coming from Peter.

"I'm going to study in my room," Peter mumbles, the moment they get to Erik's apartment. He disappears before Erik can say anything.

Honestly relieved for the time alone, Erik sinks down on the couch with a heavy sigh. He'd been looking forward to picking up Peter, had thought they left things on a good note this morning. It's clear that something happened at school with his exams or otherwise—something that likely had nothing to do with Erik, but it still stings.

He just feels so lost with his kids sometimes, and he doesn't really have anyone to talk to about it that understands. He wants to respect Magda's wishes for space, and he can accept that it's probably not healthy to be relying on her for emotional support too much at this point in their lives. Azazel, perhaps, except he'd already given Erik some excellent advice, and Erik doesn't want him to think he's completely incapable as a parent.

Feeling unmoored and a little homesick, Erik decides to call his mom. It's a little after nine p.m. in Germany, and there's a chance she'll be sleeping, but she's always told him not to mind the time, that she's happy to hear from him regardless.

She answers after only one ring, "Ja?"

Erik steps onto the small balcony from his living room. "Hi, Mama."

"Hello, Schätzchen. Is everything okay? You sound upset."

"No I don't," Erik protests.

"Hm," she says. There's some rustling on her end, and then a muffled, "Es ist Erik. Ja, ganz gut." She returns, sounding clearer. "Sorry. You know how your papa is. Always worrying."

"Unlike you," Erik says.

"Hush."

"Is this a bad time for you? I know it's late there."

"Never too late for you," Edie says warmly. "Now, tell me what's wrong. Everything okay with my babies? How's dear Magda?"

"We're good. Everyone's good," Erik says quickly, not wanting to worry her. Particularly after his divorce, he's put a lot of effort into not worrying her. "I've just been… dealing with some stuff, with Peter." He hesitates, "He was caught using his powers at school, and they nearly expelled him."

"Meine Güte," she frets. "Expelled?"

"We handled it. It's going to be fine. Peter's taking it seriously and he won't do it again. I just… I don't know, Mama. I don't know what I'm doing here. I feel like I'm messing everything up with the kids. Even when I think I've got it right, I don't…" he trails off, not sure what he's even trying to say. He's not entirely sure why he called. "I think I really messed up my relationship with Peter. And Wanda… I'm lucky if she talks to me, most days."

"Oh, Schätzchen," Edie sighs. "It's hard at that age. So much easier when a cuddle and some ice cream fixes everything, hm?"

Erik smiles, thinking about Lorna and her insatiable sweet tooth. "Yeah. I wish they were little again, sometimes."

"Don't we all," Edie chuckles wistfully. "Don't mind the drama too much. They'll grow out of it. You did."

"I never gave you and Papa trouble like this."

"Ha!" Erik hears her shriek with laughter, then muffled, rapid-fire German to his father. "That's funny," she says when she comes back. "Did you start a second career as a comedian?"

"Mama," Erik complains, "be serious."

"I am being very serious," she says, still laughing. He thinks he can hear his dad laughing in the background, too. "You used to get in trouble at school, too."

"Not for using my powers," protests Erik.

"You punched out another student."

"He was a bully."

"He wasn't even bullying you!" Edie says fondly, "My Bärchen, fighting battles for everyone."

"I couldn't just let it happen," Erik grumbles, rubbing at his face. "And that's different than what's going on with the twins. I was always good with you and Papa. I never… I never made you worry about our relationship."

Edie falls quiet.

"Right?" Erik prompts, disquieted by her silence.

"Oh, you have always been a good boy. I know that. But you moved across the world when you were just a child."

"I was eighteen," Erik corrects automatically, and then thinks about how the twins will be eighteen in just over two years. He doesn't even want to think about them moving into their own apartments, let alone out of the country. "And that—that had nothing to do with you and Papa. You know that, right?"

She says carefully, "I know you needed more than we could give you here. And we're so proud of you for chasing your happiness."

For the first time, Erik tries to think of it from her perspective. He'd always thought that it would feel natural, letting go of your children. As if one day the twins would be old enough and adult enough, and he'd look at them and think, Job well done. But instead, it's like… the older they get, the more he loves them, the more he wants to protect them. The closer they get to leaving, the tighter he wants to hold on.

"I'm sorry I left, Mama," Erik says, throat tight. "That must have been really hard for you."

There's a pause, and then Edie says, "Nonsense. You are my brave, strong boy, and I am proud of you. What I'm trying to say is that they always come back. Just give it some time. Right now, Wanda might not want to talk to you, but in twenty years, she will call and you will have to pause your Candy Crush to answer the phone."

Erik laughs, despite himself. "Did I interrupt your game?"

"Yes, but I'm happy that you did."

"Me, too." Nothing has actually changed, and yet Erik feels much better, having spoken to her. "Hey, Mama?"

"Mm?"

He has to try. "What's the missing ingredient in your scone recipe?"

She laughs, "You and your imagination. There is no missing ingredient. I gave you the full recipe. Come home and I'll make it for you. You'll see."

That's what she always says, with the same endlessly amused tone. "Right," Erik says. "I'll let you get back to your game, now."

"Okay, Schätzchen. Do you want to speak to your papa?" It's a formality, more than anything. She always asks, and Erik always says no, that's okay, he doesn't want to bother him. They don't have anything to talk about, anyway. But this time he thinks about Peter in his room, shutting him out. They always come back, Mama said.

"Yeah, I do," Erik says. "Will you put him on?"

"Your Oma's been playing Candy Crush," Erik says, when Peter finally slinks out of his room for dinner later that evening.

"Really?" Peter says, surprised enough to drop his scowl.

"Yeah. We got her that tablet for her birthday last year, remember? She likes to play games on it," Erik says, loading up Peter's plate with chicken, sweet potatoes, and spinach.

Peter frowns down at his plate when it's handed to him, "No fish? What about zombie dinner?"

Erik pauses. He thought Peter would be happy to eat something else; he always complained about it more than Wanda or Lorna. "You like chicken better, don't you? You'll do well on your exams anyway, I just figured—"

Peter groans, "All right! All right, I get it."

"Get what?" Erik asks, sitting down with his own plate.

"You're being extra nice because I was a jerk on the way home and you want me to feel guilty," Peter complains. "I get it. I'm sorry."

Erik stifles a laugh. "That's not—I mean, I'll accept the apology, but I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I just… wanted to make dinner that you like. Usually I have to think about feeding your sisters, too. They don't like sweet potatoes, but you do. Right?"

Peter's face scrunches up, "Aw, man. Now I feel even worse."

"Sit down and eat," Erik snorts. "Do you want to tell me what was going on, earlier? Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened. Not in the way you mean, at least." Peter pokes at his food, staring morosely at his plate. "I just… saw my friends at school today. Jacks and Skye and Toast. And I guess… a teacher overheard Skye talking about getting free stuff from the school store. So she got pulled into the principal's office and she…"

"Threw you under the bus," Erik guesses grimly.

Peter shrugs unhappily. "I guess so, yeah. Jackson and Toast got called in, too. And I mean, they weren't lying. I was the one stealing. They weren't really doing anything wrong."

"Maybe not explicitly. But they were a part of that scheme with you, right?"

"So what? You think they should have acted like I had nothing to do with it? Lie and say they were the ones stealing?" Peter scoffs. "You think they're shitty friends?"

"I don't know," Erik says, though he does think that. "I just think… it'd be nice if they had thought about what your consequences would be. Things are different for you than they are for them, and I think that… good friends would have considered that more."

"You never liked them, just 'cause they're baseline."

"That's not true. I have no problem with baseline people. It's just… hard for them to understand how things are for us."

"What about Mom?" Peter challenges.

"What about her? Your mom is a very thoughtful, good person. She may not be a mutant herself, but she's always believed in mutant equality and rights. You know that." Of course, Erik would never have settled down with someone who hadn't.

He goes on, "There are plenty of baseline people who accept mutants. Not all of them are going to keep your best interest in mind when it comes down to it, though. I'm not saying you should dump your friends or that they're bad kids, just that… it's important to pick the right people to be in your life."

"Yeah, I get that," Peter says. "They're good friends. They just… don't really get it. There's not really that many mutants at school, so it's not like we talk about it much, you know? I'm sure they weren't even thinking about the mu—the mutie room," he finishes quietly, glancing at Erik.

It can be easy to forget how different they are from humans, Erik thinks, until it's not. "Are you okay? After being locked in that room, I mean. It's fucked up, you know. It's okay if you were… if you're scared, or—"

"Naw, Dad. I mean… it was a little freaky at first, but it's just a room. I could have figured out some way to get out if I wanted to. I had the time," Peter cracks a smile at this. "But I didn't wanna get in more trouble, and I knew you or mom were gonna show up and tear the place down. I didn't think it'd be literal though. I can't believe you melted the locks. You're kind of a legend with the mutant kids now. I had like three of them come up to me today and ask if it was true my dad has acid powers."

Erik frowns. "Acid powers? And what did you tell them?"

"I told them you control metal."

"I mean, that's not technically true. It's—" Erik mutters, before he realizes Peter is snickering. "You're joking. Very funny."

"Like I haven't heard you explain it enough to Lorna over the years." Peter puts on a deep, serious voice, "Actually, it's electromagnetic—"

"Okay," Erik laughs. "I got it. You know what? I don't think I gave you enough spinach," he says, when Peter keeps going. The pot of spinach flies into Erik's hand from the kitchen, and he spoons the rest of it onto Peter's plate. "There you go. Brain food for your exams, tomorrow."

"Oh, great," Peter says sarcastically, though he doesn't look like he minds at all.

The next time Erik picks up Peter from school, he's in a much better mood. "I think I did alright. I'm honestly just glad exams are over," he says.

"I'm sure you did," Erik says, happy to see his son displaying some confidence about his schoolwork.

"I hope I passed algebra," Peter groans, rubbing at his head. "I'm so dumb with math. I'm already taking it with the freshmen, and if I don't pass I might have to take it again instead of an elective next year."

Erik reaches over and pats Peter's knee comfortingly. "You're not dumb. I'm sure you did fine, but if you didn't, it's okay. You tried your best and I'm proud of you." He also really hopes Peter passed algebra, but he is proud of how hard Peter has been working all year to bring up his grades. He studied last night until Erik caught him nodding off at the table and made him go to sleep. There's no denying he's been trying.

"Uh… Thanks Dad," Peter says awkwardly.

They'll get better at this. It just takes practice, Erik tells himself.

"So, uh, I spoke with your mom today," Erik starts, glancing over at Peter. "We were thinking… since you have to pay her back for paying the school, you could get a job for the summer, and that will be your punishment." Frankly, the concept of grounding Peter all summer wasn't even remotely appealing, so when Magda brought up the idea of him getting a job instead, Erik got on board immediately.

Peter looks at him. "Really? Instead of being grounded? So I can like, hang out with my friends and stuff?"

Erik's still less than impressed with Peter's friends, but he nods. "Yep. But every cent goes to your mom until she's paid back."

Peter sits up excitedly, "Yeah! For sure. What kind of job do I have to get?"

"Well, that's kind of up to you. We can put together a resume and your mom said she'd take you around next week to see who's hiring. Ideally, it'll be something you can do with your powers. I think it'd be good to explore what you can do with them aside from stealing," Erik says pointedly.

"You sound like Mr. Molina," Peter says.

"Your… Spanish teacher?"

"Yeah. I guess he's the one in charge of my summer assignment," Peter makes a face. "But it's not that bad. I have to write an essay about 'productive ways' to use my power. And he said if I take Spanish Two next year and I translate some of it, he'll give me extra credit."

"Sounds like you're taking Spanish Two."

"I guess so," Peter shrugs. "Mr. Molina's pretty cool."

Erik agrees—when he'd heard about an extra summer assignment, he assumed it would be something mutantphobic and insulting to Peter's intelligence. Given that he'd like the twins to attend a different school next year, he was planning on telling Peter to forget about the assignment. But something like this will be good for Peter, he thinks. Peter should start seeing his abilities for what they are: an awe-inspiring gift with endless potential.

All mutants should be proud of their abilities, Erik's always felt. It's especially important to instill that confidence in mutant kids. The thought reminds him, "Do you know a kid named Kurt? He's in the grade below yours. He's a mutant."

"The blue guy?" Peter asks, not unkindly. "Yeah. He's cool."

"You're friends with him?"

Peter shrugs, "Not really. We actually had Spanish together this year. I partnered with him once and got his gamer tag. He's pretty shy, but he's good at Fortnite. We've played a couple times. Why?"

"His dad's a… friend of mine. We work together."

"No shit? Is he blue too?"

Erik gives him a look. "You have to at least try to stop swearing so much around me, Peter."

"Sorry," Peter says with a shrug, not sounding very sorry.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Erik clears his throat and says, "He's red."

"No shit?!"

"I used nutmeg for this batch, but honey for this batch. Let me know what you think," Erik says to the kids that Saturday. The girls have joined Peter at Erik's place for the night. In the morning, Erik will drag them to the science and technology museum because it's Father's Day and he gets to do what he wants.

"Okay!" Lorna says cheerily, putting one of each scone in her bowl with no hesitation. She ladles a generous amount of strawberries over them and then the whipped cream.

Erik watches as she mashes everything together with her fork and takes a big bite. "Mmmm, so good, Daddy!" she says, mouth full of pink mush. It's adorable, but doesn't do anything to help him with his secret ingredient quest.

Truthfully, the kids are never much help. They only have his mom's recipe every few years, when she flies over for a visit. To them, it's all the same. But Erik remembers growing up eating her shortcake once a week all summer, and he can never quite replicate it.

As Lorna continues to shovel dessert into her mouth, Erik turns to the twins hopefully.

Wanda sighs, "We're doing this again?"

"He's been doing this all week," Peter says in a stage-whisper.

"Not fair!" Lorna cries, spraying crumbs everywhere. "Petey got grounded and he got to stay with you and have strawberry shortcake every night?"

"I had to do the dishes every day," Peter says, making a face at Lorna.

"Because no one was there to do them for you, you mean?" Wanda snickers. She seems much happier now that she's seen Peter's week with Erik hadn't consisted of anything worse than some lectures and dishes.

"Nutmeg," Erik says again, gesturing to one bowl of scones, and then the other. "Honey. Please."

"I don't think I like strawberry shortcake anymore," Peter says, even as he starts compiling a heaping serving for himself. Wanda rolls her eyes and does the same.

"Look, I wasn't even going to make it until you begged for dessert Wednesday. You started this," Erik points out.

"Mama's gonna be sad she missed this," Lorna says.

"You can take some home to her tomorrow," Erik says. "I'll make some fresh whipped cream for her. You can help, if you want."

"Really? Yay!" Lorna beams, "Daddy, this tastes just like Oma Edie's!"

Erik smiles at her, because he loves her dearly, but she always says that.

Peter shoots him a thumbs up, cheeks bulging.

"Red?" Erik asks, because by far, Wanda is the most observant and brutally honest of his children.

Wanda chews thoughtfully, then swallows and says, "No. Sorry. I like the nutmeg better, though."

"Noted," Erik sighs. He makes himself a small bowl and takes a bite, confirming Wanda's claims. "I want to try almond extract next. I know I tried that last year, but I think I didn't put enough of it in, maybe." He's really just talking to himself; the kids have all wandered to the living room, chatting amongst themselves.

It's nice to have them here, to be listening to Wanda catch Peter up on her week, as they haven't spoken much since he got suspended. These days, talking to Peter is about as animated as she gets. Erik wonders how much of Wanda's distress over Peter's grounding had to do with her not wanting to be without him for the week, and he abruptly feels guilty for separating them.

One day, they'll have to spend a lot more time apart than just a few days. It's hard to imagine them living separate lives, though it comforts Erik to know that they'll never let each other drift too far.

Because the universe likes to laugh at him, it's at this very moment that Peter jumps to his feet and snaps at her, "You don't know what you're talking about." Lorna watches him with round, shocked eyes.

"What's going on?" Erik steps in to ask quickly.

"Can I go for a walk?" Peter asks instead of answering. Wanda looks away, face pinched.

Erik blinks, brain still catching up with the sight of the twins fighting. "Uh… yeah, sure. Just—stick to the apartment complex, or—"

Peter's gone before Erik can say another word. The slam of the door makes them all flinch.

"What was that?" Erik asks into the tense silence.

"Nothing," Wanda says stiffly, and then stands and goes to her room, leaving her things behind. The door closes behind her, and then Erik feels something like a physical wave of sadness shudder through him—and then it's reined in like it was never there. Had that been Wanda?

Erik hesitates, unsure if he should go check on her, but when he looks back at Lorna, she's sniffling and staring down at her strawberry shortcake, forlornly dragging her spoon through it.

"Hey, Loo. Can I sit?" She looks up and nods, and Erik sits next to her and then scoops her into his lap. She rests her head against his chest and sighs.

"I hate when everyone fights," she mumbles.

"Yeah," Erik sighs. "It's not fun."

"I wish everyone could get along."

Erik's heart aches. Splitting up the family has been difficult for everyone, but the older Lorna gets, the more she seems to struggle with it. He squeezes her, "Me too. But you know what? I'm glad you're here. I've been missing you a lot. And now that you're out of school for the summer, we can hang out more."

Lorna cheers up at this. "I know! Mama said you might take us camping. Can we go fishing?"

"We can do anything you want."

"Can we get a puppy?"

"Okay, not that anything. We can do any activity," Erik corrects.

Lorna pouts, though it looks mostly perfunctory. "Can we go to the petting zoo?"

"I'm not sure where the closest one is, but sure," Erik nods.

"Can we… go to the space museum?"

Erik looks at her. "Do you like space?"

She shrugs, "Maybe."

"Fair enough," Erik says. He holds a hand out and catches a pen and notebook as it zooms through the air. "Why don't you write down all of your ideas, and we'll go over them later? I need to go check on your sister."

"Okay," Lorna says agreeably, sliding off Erik's lap and accepting the notebook. She gets to work right away, and Erik goes to Wanda's door and knocks.

"Hey, Red. Can I come in?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Wanda says flatly.

"Fine, we won't talk about it," Erik says. "Can I still come in?"

The door swings open, the motion itself managing to look quite sullen. Erik lets himself in, closing it quietly behind him. Wanda's sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring down moodily at her phone. Erik takes a seat next to her.

"How'd your finals go?" Erik asks, settling against the wall.

Wanda sighs, like it's a task just to speak. "Fine."

"Peter said you're taking AP classes next year. You can get college credit for those, is that right? That's impressive."

"So you and Peter are just best buddies now, huh?" Wanda says snidely.

Erik doesn't rise to the bait. "I think we worked things out, yeah." Bizarrely, it seems like Peter's suspension had been the catalyst to truly working things out with him. Last night, they'd celebrated the end of the school year with pizza and a movie, but Peter was so worn out from his exams that he fell asleep halfway through. Erik covered him up with a blanket and watched the rest by himself, savoring the rare peace of his son sleeping next to him, safe and sound.

"I owed him some apologies," Erik admits.

Wanda looks at him in surprise, but doesn't say anything.

Erik goes on, "I've been thinking a lot about the kind of parent I want to be. I don't—I don't want to be someone who yells at you guys, even when you mess up. I want to teach you that it's okay to make mistakes, and that I'll be here for you either way. I haven't… done a great job of that, I think. And I'm sorry that my stuff with Peter has affected you. You're a good sister. Thanks for being in his corner when I'm being a dick."

Surprise escalates into shock; Wanda stares at him with round eyes.

"I'm not dying, before you ask. Peter got his digs in already," Erik says wryly.

She huffs with laughter. "I'm sorry I called you an a-hole."

"Among other things," Erik points out. "Let's put a stop to that now, yeah? Though, I think your mom might have been more upset about it than I was."

"Oh my god, Mom was so mad at me. She made me pull weeds that night for an hour, even when I told her I had to study for exams."

"I'm sure you aced them, anyway."

"I did," Wanda says smugly. She scooches to sit next to Erik, then very carefully leans her head against his shoulder.

Erik freezes, afraid to move and scare her off. He can't remember the last time she'd cuddled up to him like this—certainly not within the last few years. He lets out a slow breath and lays his head on top of hers. "I love you, Red."

"I love you too," Wanda says softly.

"Can I do anything to help with you and Peter? I hate seeing you two fight."

Wanda sits up straight with a sigh. "No, it's fine. He's just… his friends are douchebags, and he doesn't want to believe it. The whole reason the school found out he was stealing was because Jackson and Skye got caught with a bunch of shit they didn't buy, and they ratted him out right away to get out of trouble."

"Oh." Of course Wanda feels strongly about it, like Erik. He tries to sound impartial, "Well… it's probably hard for him to hear something like that."

"Yeah, but he doesn't have to take it out on me," Wanda says, annoyed. "I told him he shouldn't trust them. Humans don't get it. They never do." A shadow crosses her face, and then it's gone. With a huff, she stands up and says, "Whatever. If he wants to be a baby about it, fine." She smiles at Erik suddenly, "Can we go to that coffee place?"

"Uh… sure," Erik says, not quite able to believe his luck in having navigated the conversation well enough to warrant a smile. "Only if Lorna can come, though."

Wanda shrugs. "She'd probably explode if she couldn't."

Peter ends up getting back not too long later, but he declines to go with them to the cafe. Still, Wanda brings him back some iced coffee drink and it seems to smooth things over between them. The following day, things are back to normal.

"Daddy, I had an idea!" Lorna throws Erik's door open first thing in the morning and rushes over to the bed.

"What? What time is it?" Erik says groggily, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Lorna climbs into the bed, and he checks his phone. "It's six o'clock, Lorna. Why are you up?"

"Because I had an idea," she emphasizes. She's clinging onto a large stuffed unicorn she'd brought from her mom's.

"Okay. What's your—"

"We should invite Mr. Charles to the museum today!" Lorna blurts out, bouncing up and down.

"Uh," Erik says, trying to gather his bearings still. "He probably has plans today, Loo."

"'Cause it's Father's Day?" Lorna asks, tilting her head. "He told me he doesn't have a daddy, though."

A soft pang sounds in Erik's chest at the reminder. Right. "Well… it's just last minute, is all." He does want to see Charles, but something about it feels selfish when he has the kids.

"Please?" Lorna begs. "You always say we should invite people even if they might say no. And… everyone's happy when Mr. Charles is here," she adds in a small voice, looking down at her unicorn. She'd been so sad yesterday, when Peter and Wanda were fighting.

Having Charles around isn't just for Erik, he realizes. It's for the kids, too. Lorna, at least, has clearly come to look to him for a sense of stability when everything else about her home life has been changing. Erik sighs and puts his arm around her tiny shoulders. "Okay. I'll ask him. Do you want to try and get a little more sleep? We're gonna spend all day at the museum."

Lorna groans, "Daddy, it gets boring after five minutes!"

"Okay, I know that's a lie," Erik says. "You love the kids section. Remember the giant bubble blower?"

"Yeah, but you're gonna make us go to the train section."

"Trains are cool. You of all people should like trains."

"Why me of all people?" Lorna scrunches her nose cutely.

"Because they're giant hunks of metal. Nevermind—you'll see," Erik says wisely, laying back down and tugging her with him. "Sleep."

"Noooo, Daddy it's Father's Day!"

"I think that means we should do what I want to do," Erik says, though at this point he's feeling pretty wide awake.

"Come on! I want breakfast," Lorna says, wiggling out of Erik's arms to jump out of bed.

"Is it Daughter's Day?" Erik grumbles, before following her to the kitchen.

On the counter sits a glass of orange juice next to a wet, orange-stained paper towel and a yellow piece of paper. Lorna bounds over to it and hands it to Erik, "I made this for you!"

It's a sheet of construction paper with two green hand prints and the words, Hands Down Best Dad Ever! written on it. It's clearly something she'd made in class at the instruction of her teacher, but the sight of her small handprints on the page brings a lump to Erik's throat.

"And I made this, too," Lorna says, holding out a bracelet Erik had missed earlier. It's a friendship bracelet, made with different shades of green. "Mama said you'd like green best," she says, sounding a little shy.

"I do," Erik chokes out. He leans down and hugs Lorna tightly. "I love you."

"I love you too. Happy Father's Day," she mumbles against his chest.

"Thank you, Loo." He releases her and puts the bracelet on. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Pancakes?" she says hopefully, as if he could deny her anything at all.

"Mr. Charles! Over here!" Lorna shouts, waving her arm and bouncing on her toes. Like usual, she's making a bit of a scene. Also like usual, Charles' entire face lights up at the sight of her. He walks to them, fighting through the crowd of people—evidently, the science and technology museum is a popular choice for Father's Day.

"Hello darling," Charles says warmly, hugging Lorna. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" It has been, Erik thinks. It's good to see Charles—especially looking energetic and healthy.

"Are you feeling better? Petey said you were sick," Lorna says, stepping back to look up at him with concern.

Charles glances at Erik, then says, "Oh, I'm right as rain, now. I had to get better so I could see you this weekend, hm?"

Lorna grins, "Daddy, show him your bracelet!" She grabs Erik's wrist and thrusts it at Charles. "It's green!"

"It's very pretty," Charles says appreciatively.

"Why don't you ever wear the bracelet Daddy made you?" Lorna asks him bluntly, pointedly looking down at Charles' bare wrists.

"I, um," Charles laughs, "I suppose I want to keep it safe at home, but you're right. I should wear it more." He pats her hair affectionately and then walks over to the twins to greet them and ask about their exams.

Lorna grabs Erik's hand and beams up at him, "I'm so glad Mr. Charles could come," she says happily.

"Yeah, me too. Come on, let's get in line."

"Do you think he gets sad without a dad?" Lorna asks, following Erik to the ticket line.

Erik thinks of the detached way Charles had told him about his father's death, the faraway look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I think he probably does," Erik says quietly to her. "Let's be extra nice to him today, okay?"

"Okay," she agrees solemnly.

They get their tickets and head back to the others. "You guys ready to go?" Erik asks, nodding his head towards the first exhibit.

"Oh, you didn't have to buy my ticket for me," Charles says. "I'm sorry, I just got caught up with the twins."

"It's no problem," Erik says, handing out the wristbands.

Full of energy that will surely peter out in just a few hours, Lorna drags the twins ahead, eager to start exploring the museum. Charles trails behind with Erik, watching Peter and Lorna ooh and ahh over a tornado simulator. Even Wanda looks interested despite herself, reading the information stand.

"Thank you for inviting me along," Charles says. "I feel bad intruding on your Father's Day excursion."

Finally able to look his fill, Erik smiles at him. "Don't feel bad. Lorna insisted, really, but… I wanted you here, too. It's good to see you." An understatement, really, but it's a complicated feeling, being so happy to see Charles when his children are right there. They should be the focus of the day, and yet… Erik can't take his eyes off of Charles.

"The feeling is mutual," Charles says, looking pleased. "How are things with Peter?"

"Good," Erik says honestly, and it feels great. "Really good. There's a lot to figure out with his school still, but… we talked and it went well. It was a good week."

Charles hums thoughtfully. "I'm not surprised at all. And now you have a beard," he says lightly, eyeing the ginger scruff on Erik's face.

Erik rubs at it, a little self-conscious. "I've been working from home all week, so I haven't shaved."

"Hmm. I like it," Charles says, smiling. "Let's go catch up with the kids." He brushes Erik's fingers lightly with his own as he goes to join them.

When it's just the two of them, it's easy to forget how enmeshed Charles has become with his family. Watching them like this, it's obvious how much the kids love him. Lorna grabs his hand right away, leaning into him, and the twins part around him, easily letting him join the conversation. Erik wonders if it's Charles' teaching instinct that gets the kids to open up to him so easily, or if it's just his innate kindness.

For the first time, Erik thinks about how this relationship could affect the kids. Up to this point, he's been operating under the assumption that the kids will never know because it was more or less a fun, meaningless sexual relationship. Now, it's clear that the kids would be hurt by a sudden departure by Charles, regardless of what they do or don't know about his and Erik's relationship. They've already been trying so hard to adjust to their parents splitting up, the last thing Erik wants is to disrupt their lives more.

"Daddy, come look!" Lorna twists around and hollers for him. She looks blindingly happy, surrounded by her siblings and Charles, frantically beckoning at Erik. He puts his thoughts aside and rushes to join them.

They make their way through the museum like that, Lorna glued to Charles' side, the twins laughing and chatting with each other. It's great to see Peter in high spirits again, and Wanda looking happier than she has in ages. Erik feels lit up from the inside, watching them.

"Is that a slime making exhibit?" Lorna gasps a little later, yanking on Charles' shirt excitedly. "Can we please go make slime?" She points toward to the kids' section.

Erik says the first thing he thinks of, which is: "That sounds messy."

Lorna's face falls, and Erik immediately wants to take it back. He should just suck it up and do it with her, but the kids' section is loud and chaotic on a good day—today, it's absolutely deafening, teeming with children.

"I wanna make slime," Peter chimes in. "Dad, me and Wanda can go with Lorna. You can go watch that boring train movie."

"It's not boring," Erik frowns. It had been a twenty minute educational video about the steam engine, back in the locomotive section—which Lorna did not show any more interest in than the last time they were here, much to Erik's dismay. The kids had unanimously agreed they did not want to watch it.

"Mr. Charles, do you want to come make slime with us?" Lorna asks, putting on her cutest face.

"Oh, I couldn't leave your dad all alone, could I? Who else is going to wake him up when the film is over?" Charles says sweetly, making the kids laugh, though Wanda looks a little disappointed.

"Are you sure?" Erik asks the twins. "It's pretty hectic in there. You'll have to watch your sister very carefully."

"It'll be fine," Wanda says, looking up from the pamphlet she'd been studying. "The class starts in ten minutes, and it's fifteen dollars per person. And we might want some snacks after," she says pointedly.

A small price to pay for not having to go himself, Erik thinks. He fashions the kids some metal bracelets and gives Wanda enough cash to pay for their slime and a couple snacks. "We'll come find you right after the movie, okay? Stick around here. Call me or get a hold of Charles if you need anything. Stay with Lorna at all times."

"I know, I know," Wanda rolls her eyes.

"You got it!" Peter says cheerfully.

"I'll keep tabs on them too," Charles says as they part ways with the kids and head to the train exhibit movie. It actually does make Erik feel quite a bit better, knowing there's another adult—with telepathic abilities, no less—looking out for the kids.

The theater room is small but mostly vacant, save for a handful of harried-looking adults, likely also getting a much-needed break from the bustling museum. They manage to slide into their seats at the back just as the lights go dim and the film starts.

What, no popcorn? Charles pouts in Erik's head.

Erik jumps, startled at the sudden intrusion.

Sorry, Charles says apologetically laying a hand on Erik's arm. I should have—

It's fine, Erik replies hurriedly. It's actually genius. I don't know how I hadn't thought about how useful telepathy is for things like talking during a movie.

I would never have pegged you for the type to talk through a movie, Charles marvels.

I'm not. But you certainly are.

Illuminated only by the screen, the white of Charles' smile is bright. Very committed to learning about steam engines, are you? His voice dips, imperceptible if not for the hand he sets innocently on Erik's leg.

Erik takes all of five seconds to look around the room and decide it's empty enough before he leans over the armrest to kiss Charles. It's a relief, to finally get to kiss him the way he's wanted to all day—all week, really. Charles smiles into it before sliding his hand up Erik's thigh, just enough to make Erik gasp quietly, and then Charles slides his tongue in his mouth.

There's something very sexy about making out in the back of a movie theater and trying to be quiet—all shaky breaths and smothered moans. They carry on for longer than advisable, surely. We have to stop, Erik thinks regretfully, even as he slides his hand into Charles' hair.

Mmm, Charles agrees, nodding into the kiss.

They don't stop until someone coughs loudly in the room, making them leap apart, doing their best to laugh quietly.

God, everyone here hates us, Charles says.

Still laughing and face burning, Erik tries to focus on the movie, but it lasts only until Charles reaches down to grab his hand. Erik looks over at him, and Charles is staring dutifully ahead, looking for all the world like someone paying attention to the film.

I'm dropping the kids off at Magda's later today, Erik says. If you want to get dinner, or something.

Or something, Charles muses, smiling but not taking his eyes off the screen.

We could stay in, too.

Hmm, Charles says, and he looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding decisively. I'd like to take you out, if you're up for it. I know just the place.

When they meet up with the kids again, they're waiting by an interactive bicycle power generator, currently occupied by a determined looking child. There's a display of lightbulbs flickering half-heartedly, despite the child's best efforts.

"You guys ready to go? If you're hungry, we can stop somewhere on the way to your mom's," Erik offers.

"We're waiting to give this a try," Wanda says, nodding her head toward the bicycle. "Well, Peter is." Peter turns around to shoot them a thumbs up from where he's patiently waiting.

"It's really hard to light up all the lightbulbs, but I bet Petey can," Lorna says confidently, not looking up from the sparkly pink slime that's covering her hands. Erik eyes it warily; it looks very sticky, and Magda's not going to be thrilled.

"How was the movie?" Wanda asks.

Erik can't recall a single thing about the movie, to be honest. "It was really… interesting."

Wanda waits, clearly expecting him to tell her more about it. "That good, huh?" she says dryly, when it's apparent Erik's not going to add anything. Charles laughs rather obviously, doing a bad job at pretending it's a cough.

Thankfully, right then the kid on the bike gives up, and everyone's attention is diverted to Peter as he hops on.

"Go slow, Peter," Erik says. "Try not to—"

POP. Just like that, every lightbulb in the enclosed box explodes in a brilliant flash of light. Lorna shrieks in delight, and Wanda covers her face in embarrassment, though she's laughing behind her hand.

"Oh my," Charles says mildly.

Peter looks back at them, eyes wide. "I tried to go slow, I promise!"

Erik's only recourse is to laugh; of course Peter destroyed the lightbulbs in one second. "Okay, we have to leave now before they kick us out," he says, ushering them all hurriedly.

He makes a generous donation on the way out.

Chapter Text

"God, it's been ages, hasn't it?" Charles says against Erik's mouth later that day, upon greeting him with an enthusiastic kiss.

Erik wraps his arms around Charles and laughs, "It's been a couple hours."

Charles clicks his tongue impatiently, "You know what I mean." He nips Erik's lip on his way for another kiss. "Though, it is sort of sexy doing the whole secret-relationship thing."

"There is certainly something appealing about it," Erik concedes. He pulls away and looks down at Charles, "You look really good. Wow."

Charles steps back and preens, allowing Erik to see his outfit fully; a casual suit, charcoal gray with a crisp blue dress shirt and a thin, stylish tie. Simple but well-tailored, clinging in all the right places to his trim waist, his strong thighs. He'd looked great earlier today at the museum, but now he looks absurdly good—though, maybe it's just that Erik can openly ogle him this time.

"Did you already make reservations?" Erik asks. Now that Charles is here and they're finally both healthy again, the thought of staying in and getting reacquainted is incredibly appealing.

"Very tempting offer, I must say," Charles says. "But I'm afraid I look too good to stay in all night, don't you think?" Still, he turns this way and that, enjoying the attention.

"Where did you say we're going?" Erik asks, dutifully admiring him as he preens.

Charles grins at him, "I didn't. It's a nice place. Bit stuffy, but excellent food. You'll like it."

"Am I dressed okay?" Erik doesn't really have anything in between his work clothes and something he'd wear to a funeral. Charles had said he'd liked his stubble earlier, so he'd just cleaned it up instead of shaving it off entirely, but he's starting to regret that decision now.

"You look perfect," Charles assures him, stepping close to tug at Erik's collar until he bends down to kiss him again.

Apparently, perfect doesn't mean the same thing as appropriately dressed, Erik realizes when they arrive. It's a ridiculously fancy restaurant, with a valet and an elegantly dressed hostess that takes one look at them and says, "Good evening, Mr. Xavier."

They're led through the dining room, and some people turn their heads as they go, staring at them. Surely he's not that underdressed, Erik thinks.

Charles places a comforting hand on Erik's lower back and says in his head, Don't mind them. They just know my mother, that's all.

Finally, they're led into a private, intimately lit room. Erik relaxes the moment they're out of the dining room, and then he looks around. There's a lone table in the room, set for two, and a large bay window with a gorgeous view of a flourishing garden twinkling with string lights. The sun is setting, and the sky is a brilliant orange. It's stunning.

"Your server will be in momentarily," the hostess says as she pours them water from a chilled carafe. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Xavier." She nods at them politely and leaves. Erik's nearly surprised she didn't curtsy.

"Is this a private room?" Erik asks, shocked, when she's gone. "Did you win a—a radio contest, or something? Is that why she knew your name?"

"Not exactly," Charles says, sitting down. He pushes the other chair out with his foot. "Take a seat."

He looks awfully comfortable in the fanciest restaurant Erik's ever been to, Erik thinks, sitting across from him. Erik takes a sip of water, then wonders if they charge for the water. Then, he realizes it doesn't really matter if they do, because they have to drink water regardless. He should just accept that the bill is going to be hefty and try to enjoy the night, since this is clearly the kind of place Charles wants to eat at. He hopes Charles isn't under the impression they can do this all the time, though.

"Will you relax?" Charles says, looking a bit tense himself. "Don't worry about the bill. It's on me."

"Uh, no," Erik says, looking at Charles like he's crazy. "That's—I can pay, really. I invited you out."

"But I'm the one that picked the restaurant," Charles points out.

"It's fine, Charles. I just wasn't expecting…" Erik picks up a menu—nothing even has prices. Jesus Christ. "It's fine."

"Erik," Charles says, reaching out to touch Erik's hand gently, "I want to talk to you about something."

He sounds nervous.

Erik drops the menu and looks at Charles, his own stomach suddenly doing backflips as the pieces start to slide into place. Charles inviting him out, dressing up and looking incredible, booking this extremely nice, extremely romantic table.

Charles is going to tell him he wants things to be serious.

Erik sits up straight, heart pounding. He's not sure how to feel about this. Things are hectic with his family right now—though if he's honest, that's usually the case. Sure, he'd been considering the idea himself, but that doesn't mean he's ready to actually address his feelings—

"Erik," Charles says, voice high, "will you please calm down and listen to me?"

"Um, yes," Erik says, because Charles clearly went through a lot of trouble and the least Erik can do is listen to him. "Sorry."

"No apologies needed," Charles says, and then nothing else. He looks like he's struggling with his words, opening and closing his mouth before finally starting, "The thing is—"

Right then, a sharply dressed server comes into the room and greets them politely before launching into a long spiel about the menu and wine list. Erik doesn't hear a word, still trying to get his bearings. Upon second thought, it's entirely possible that Charles has put this together to end things. It's not likely, considering his enthusiastic greeting earlier, but Charles is both exceedingly polite and quite strange. He takes Erik by surprise more often than not. He could be trying to let Erik down easy, giving him a nice dinner on the way out. That might explain why Charles, who is typically incorrigibly horny, had turned him down earlier.

Charles' sharp accent cuts through his distress, "That's enough, thank you. We'll have an order of scallops with the chef's tasting menu and wine pairing." He glances at Erik, then says, "And two glasses of… Balvenie Seventeen, if you've got it. If not, the Twelve is fine."

The server beams, "Excellent choice, sir," and leaves promptly.

Erik blinks. "Did you just order for me?"

"It will be excellent, trust me," Charles says with a brisk smile. "I apologize for any stress I've caused you. That's certainly not my intention. It's nothing to be worried about. Or, well, I hope it's not. Um, actually, hold that thought, I'm going to—" he stands and brings his chair to the side of the table and then sits down again, much closer than he was before. "Much better," he says, turning to Erik and taking his hand.

He's so unfairly attractive, Erik thinks helplessly, staring at Charles, at his blue eyes and his slightly too-big nose and the perfect curve of his lips. He rubs circles into Erik's hand with his thumb. "Shall I put you out of your misery, hm?"

Aware that Charles has probably been privy to his rambling thoughts, Erik says, "Yes, please."

"Okay," Charles says, sitting up straight. He looks nervous. "Sorry, I'm making this into a much bigger deal than it has to be. It's just… people sometimes act differently when they—"

"Just say it," Erik says, impatient.

"I'm very wealthy," Charles blurts, then winces. "Sorry, that was—that sounded pompous. I don't mean to brag, it's just a matter of fact. I'm only telling you because the longer this goes on, the stranger it is that you don't know. It made me feel like I was hiding it, and that wasn't my intention at all. I just… when's the right time to bring it up? Hello, my name is Charles Xavier—yes, those Xaviers. It's just—it's gauche—"

"Hang on," Erik says, mind whirling. Xavier? His first thought is Xavier Pharmaceuticals, only that would be ridiculous, but that is a very old, very distinguished company worth billions. That would be ridiculous.

Charles goes on, like he'll lose nerve if he slows down, "—and it doesn't matter anyway, only… with Peter's trouble at school, I wanted to—to offer to pay for any legal services you might require. I'm aware that you're likely to decline my assistance, which is why I'd really like to stress that it is really not a big deal. I quite literally will not so much as blink at whatever legal fees may be accrued—"

"Wait," Erik says, "I need… a second." He looks around the room, seeing the restaurant in a new light; the private room, the staring in the dining room, everyone knowing Charles by name. Charles, who has a car entirely too nice for a college student, who seems delighted by all things convenient and cheap. Charles, who is watching him with his eyebrows pinched together, chewing on his lip.

"Um," Charles says nervously, "I've actually—I've gotten you something." He reaches into his suit and pulls out a small envelope. "It's really just a lark, but I think you might find it helpful at the moment." He sets the envelope in front of Erik.

Erik stares down at it, wondering if Charles has given him money. That would be… slightly offensive and incredibly presumptuous, but at this point, anything could happen.

"It's not money," Charles says incredulously. "For gods sake, just open it."

Erik opens the envelope and pulls out a photo.

It's Charles, on all fours, looking over his shoulder at the camera, recognizable by his pouty red lips and the back dimples above his incredible ass, though most of his face isn't visible. He's wearing nothing but black, lacy panties, stark against his pale skin, the lace stretching across his ass and biting into his plush cheeks. It is, perhaps, the hottest thing Erik's ever seen.

Erik stares at the picture, mouth dry, pants a fair bit tighter than they were twenty seconds ago.

Is Charles wearing those right now? That's… outrageously sexy, and also very confusing. He's still trying to wrap his head around the other information he'd learned, about Charles' family. Why had Charles elected to give him this photo now? He turns the photo over, like it might hold some clue. Happy Father's Day xxx is written on the back of the picture.

"Is this a joke?" Erik asks, struggling to make sense of it all. Is the whole thing a joke? Erik's confused, and now he's also horny. He turns the photo over again to look at Charles' ass.

"If anything, it's blackmail material," Charles says, then he cringes. "God, that was a joke. I'm sorry. I'm fucking this up."

Right then, the server returns to drop off their drinks. Charles picks up his scotch and says, "Bring me another in ten minutes, please," then takes a long sip. The server leaves, and Charles takes another drink and then a short, steadying breath. "Okay. The Happy Father's Day was a joke, obviously. The picture is not."

Erik's eyes flick down to Charles' lap before he can help himself. He drags his eyes back to meet Charles'. "And the—the money?"

Charles shakes his head once, "Not a joke. And I meant it when I said I want to pay for Peter's legal fees, should you decide to sue the school. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I must insist—"

"Charles," Erik interrupts, reaching out to touch the hand that's wrapped around the scotch tumbler, "I appreciate that, really, but if we did anything legally, Emma would be our lawyer. She wouldn't charge us. She'd be insulted if I even tried to pay her."

Charles stills, a pink flush steadily creeping up his cheeks. "Oh," he utters finally. "I… appear to have made a massive twat of myself, then. God," he buries his face in his hands, "I'm sorry. Here I am, brandishing my money about like a complete arsehole—"

"Charles, stop," Erik laughs, pulling his hands away from his face. "You were trying to make me feel comfortable accepting your money. I get it. I'm not accepting your money, but I get it." He glances down at the picture of Charles' ass, still looking ridiculously good. "And what is this about?"

"Well, I just thought it might soften the blow," Charles admits, cutting his eyes away.

"The… blow that you're secretly a billionaire?" Erik says dryly.

"It's not a secret, honestly. I'm shocked you didn't just Google me, it's all there," Charles insists. "And I'm not a billionaire. My family may be, but it's not exactly liquid—"

"Jesus," Erik says, because that sounds like something straight out of the trust fund kid handbook. Suddenly, all of Charles' entitlement and wild confidence begins to make sense. Of course he hadn't taken no for an answer when pursuing Erik; he's probably never been told no in his life.

"Lovely," Charles spits, sounding hurt. "This is exactly what I wanted to avoid—you treating me differently. Thinking about me differently." He pushes his chair back and starts to stand up.

"Wait," Erik says hastily, "I'm sorry. You're right. That was shitty. I just… I'm taking in a lot of new information at the moment. Can I have a minute to parse through all of this?"

Charles looks at him for a long moment, then nods and sits down with a huff. He sips steadily from his drink while Erik considers things.

It's certainly a surprise, which is a feat all in itself, Erik thinks. He's never met a rich person who didn't flaunt their money. Then again, he's never met someone quite as rich as the Xaviers. That's another beast entirely; a truly unimaginable kind of wealth. It's the kind of wealth that completely separates one from reality, dulls one's ability to feel empathy.

But if there's anything Erik knows about Charles Xavier, it's that he's empathetic. He's kind and generous in every aspect of the word and shockingly, impossibly down to earth, all things considered. He does ridiculous things like get absurdly excited over IKEA—and suddenly so many things are slotting into place—and plan an entire ostentatious date to offer to pay Erik's son's hypothetical legal fees. In truth, nothing has changed: Charles still has the same huge, bleeding heart.

"I guess I just have one question," Erik says carefully.

Charles drains the last of his drink and sets it aside, looking solemn. "Go on."

Erik leans in and lowers his voice, "Are you really wearing those panties?"

Charles blinks for a moment, face blank, before he bursts into laughter. "You complete knob," he says, reaching over to push at Erik's chest. He smiles, looking relieved.

"Is that a yes?"

"Perhaps," Charles says coyly, face flushed.

Erik smirks, "Then I think we're all good."

The coyness stutters into disbelief. "Just like that?"

"Sure," Erik shrugs. "I don't care how much money you have, Charles. It doesn't change anything, right?" He's talking out of his ass, a bit. It's staggering information, truth be told, but it's clear that it's important to Charles that nothing changes, and if that's the case—well, Erik will do his best.

"No," Charles says, smiling again, "I don't think so. Except that you let me buy dinner from now on."

Erik leans in, cups his cheek and kisses him, languid and warm, tasting the liquor on his tongue. He pulls back and grins at the slightly dazed look on Charles' face. "Absolutely not."

Charles looks confused for a moment before he pouts, "What? Why not? I've just said—"

"That doesn't mean I'm going to let you pay for everything," Erik protests.

"Why not?" Charles says again petulantly.

The server returns with a plate of steaming scallops and Charles' second drink, reminding Erik to take a sip of his own drink. "Wow. This scotch is incredible," Erik says, inspecting his glass with newfound respect. "And because I can pay for things myself."

"I know you can." Charles sighs, "Moira never lets me pay for anything, either. It's not fair. You like to provide for the people you care about, don't you? Why can't I?

He makes a pretty good point, actually. Erik does like paying for things, or cooking meals for people—for his family, and Emma, and Charles. It makes him feel good to take care of them.

"Okay," Erik concedes. "We'll take turns."

Charles smiles brightly, "Excellent. Thank you." He cuts a neat bite of scallop and holds it out to Erik. "Try this."

"Okay, but I'm not generally huge on—Oh," Erik chews, eyes widening in wonder. "That's really good."

They polish off the appetizer and another round of drinks, and by the time their dinner arrives, Erik is pleasantly buzzed. The server smoothly sets their plates down, pours their wine, tops off their water and sweeps out of the room. The chef's tasting menu turns out to be a selection of artfully crafted seasonal dishes, each more delicious than the last. Erik's suitably impressed by everything, but Charles takes it all in stride, clearly used to eating food of this caliber. They eat and chat about the kids, about the museum earlier today and Peter's impending job search.

The next time the server stops by, Charles politely informs him that they're set for the rest of the evening, and to include a generous tip when they charge the card on file.

"Thank you for dining with us, Mr. Xavier. Enjoy the rest of your evening," the server says graciously, nodding at Erik before seeing himself out.

"Mr. Xavier," Erik muses. "Your family comes here often, I take it."

"One of the restaurants my mother frequents, yes," Charles finishes off the last of his wine. "I thought it would be nice to treat you, and the privacy is certainly desirable, for several reasons. Don't you think?" He levels Erik with a glinting, knowing look.

The gig is up; as good as it has been to chat freely with Charles after a week without getting to speak to him much, Erik's thoughts have been relentless, returning to the photo over and over. He's willing to bet that Charles is actually wearing the lacy underwear. It seems exactly like something he'd do—plant a sexy idea in Erik's mind and then sit there, coquettish, teasing them both.

It's funny, Erik thinks, nearly hysterically, because before Charles, he wouldn't have said he was a particularly sex-motivated person. Now, it takes only one searing glance, one suggestive word, and it's all he can think about. Somehow, at forty-two years old, he seems to be having a sexual awakening of sorts. It's completely ridiculous.

Charles' smirk grows wider by the second. "Do you want to leave?"

Erik blinks in surprise; they're only about halfway through their food. Charles had clearly put thought into this date, and Erik would feel bad about cutting it short on his behalf. "No, that's okay," he says. "I'm enjoying this."

"You're sweet," Charles says fondly, reaching out to grab Erik's hand and pressing it to his lips gently. "But you're not the only one feeling distracted." He guides Erik's hand slowly, down his neck and chest and stomach, all the way until he stops, resting just above his trousers.

Erik stares at his hand, thinks about going lower, feeling more of Charles. Yet their setting doesn't escape him—however private the room, they're still in a public restaurant. Moreover, everyone knows Charles. Going further would be unnecessarily risky. He pulls his hand back, but Charles comes with it, half standing, half straddling Erik's lap in one fluid motion.

"Fuck that. Touch me," Charles says breathlessly, kissing him and shoving Erik's hand down, pushing his hips up into the touch.

Erik gropes at him obediently, groaning out loud when he realizes he can feel Charles' half-hard cock through what is undeniably soft, lace panties. That confirmation that Charles actually is wearing them is obscenely hot, and Erik finds himself rethinking his stance on public sex.

"Please," Charles says, lowering himself to grind into Erik's lap, "we'll be quick."

Erik's hard-pressed to deny Charles anything, particularly when he's sitting in Erik's lap like this, hot and flushed and asking so nicely, but he doesn't want quick. He wants to see Charles in the underwear, wants to take it in and take his time. "Let's go home," Erik says, nudging him.

Charles whines into his mouth, sounding equal parts turned on and disappointed before reluctantly standing. "Fine," he pouts, though he's looking quite smug.

Erik doesn't realize how much he's drank until he stands and the room tilts for a moment. "Shit. I can't drive."

"That's fine," Charles says, straightening his clothes. "We can sneak out the employee entrance and call a cab."

Erik frowns, "What about the valet? Won't they be waiting for us?"

"It's not a problem," Charles says easily. "They'll figure it out." He drains the rest of his drink, "Shall we go?" He doesn't sound particularly drunk, though he's had more than Erik. He smirks and extends his hand, "I hold my liquor well. Come on."

Feeling like a rebellious teenager, Erik takes his hand and follows him out of the room and down the hallway, away from the dining room. "Are we supposed to be here?"

Charles waves his hand, "It's fine."

Erik's led outside, amused at Charles' comfort at breaking the rules. "Are we getting a cab or calling your driver?" he teases.

Charles must actually be drunk, because he pauses and looks at Erik, "I was thinking a cab, but I suppose we could…" his earnest expression melts into a scowl, "You're having me on. Oh, very funny."

Erik laughs and kisses Charles before he can help himself. "Sorry."

Charles huffs and tries to look annoyed, though by the time he flags down a cab, he's blushing again at Erik's indecent thoughts.

There's something juvenile and charming about getting drunk at dinner and taking a cab home. Erik doesn't remember the last time he's done this—certainly many years ago. He and Charles spill into the backseat, and Erik manages to give his address before Charles kisses him again.

"Charles," Erik laughs, face heating up, "we'll be there soon."

"The driver won't see anything," Charles says, tapping his temple before groping at Erik's chest, his stomach—anywhere he can reach.

Erik grabs his wandering hands with an embarrassed huff of laughter, "You're nuts."

"I've been sitting in bloody lingerie all evening while you broadcast all of your lewd thoughts about me."

"Not lewd," Erik protests, smiling. "Just appreciative."

"Oh yes," Charles says. "You certainly appreciate my arse in women's underwear, that much is clear."

"Well I—I don't know that yet, do I?" Erik manages, pinned to his seat by the arresting blue of Charles' eyes. "I haven't actually seen it."

"The jury's out, is it?" Charles murmurs, leaning in close, breath hot on Erik's lips.

"Something like that," Erik agrees nonsensically, and kisses him.

They manage to get back to Erik's with their clothing and dignity mostly intact. Charles hastily tosses a couple bills at the driver and calls out, "Thank you!" over his shoulder as he pulls Erik to the building.

Intoxicated with expensive alcohol and Charles, Erik doesn't mind at all when Charles is on him the moment they step into his apartment. "Bedroom," he says against Charles' lips, walking him backwards and kissing him, not slowing down even when they bump into the dining room table.

Charles shimmies out of his jacket and shirt, dropping them on the floor as he undresses. "God, you looked so good at dinner," he breathes, undoing his pants.

Erik scoffs and pulls his own shirt off, "You're one to—"

The breath is stolen from his lungs when Charles stands, pants shucked off to reveal the delicate black panties. "You're…" Erik can't seem to make a coherent thought. They fit well around his slim hips but stretch across the front where his cock protrudes, plump and pale through the lace. It looks completely obscene, the hair dusting his belly leading to the sheer lace, undeniably feminine and masculine at once. Erik can't take his eyes off him, and Charles' cock fills out and stretches the fabric more as he stares.

"God, Charles," Erik says, not quite able to string words together yet. "What do you want?" he asks thickly, because he doesn't know where to start. He feels drunk and dumb and undeserving of the beautiful man in front of him.

Charles absolutely preens under the attention, and he sits on the bed, thighs spread wide. "Show me how much you like them."

The implicit invitation brings Erik to his knees. He wraps his arms around Charles' waist, yanking him to the edge of the bed. Charles laughs as Erik manhandles him, pulls his legs on his shoulders and presses kisses to the soft skin on his stomach. "Your beard tickles." He palms Erik's cheek with a warm look and murmurs, "So handsome." He smiles down at Erik for a moment, then he raises an eyebrow, "Well? What are you waiting for?"

It's all the urging Erik needs. He licks a broad stripe up Charles' cock through the panties, and Charles gasps, fingers burying themselves in Erik's hair. Erik does it again, and again, until the panties are soaked and Charles' cock is leaking through the fabric, and he's shuddering with every swipe of Erik's tongue. "Erik, please—suck me," Charles begs, pushing his hips up against Erik's face.

And Erik, for once, decides to give Charles exactly what he wants. He lets one of Charles' legs fall to the side, pulls the panties down just under his balls and wraps his mouth around his cock. "Oh, fuck," Charles utters, head dropping back in bliss. "You're actually—god, yes, that's good—" he moans, and Erik takes more of him in his mouth, sucking and bobbing his head.

It's addicting, unraveling Charles like this; tasting his cock, tugging at his nipples by the metal in them, using a hand to softly massage his balls, feeling them tighten as his impending orgasm looms. Charles braces himself with one hand on Erik's shoulder, pulling on his hair with the other and babbling, "Erik, I'm going to—oh, Erik—"

He's giving Erik enough warning to stop if he wants to, that much is clear. Come, Erik thinks instead, a command as much as a plea. Charles listens beautifully, spilling down Erik's throat, nearly folded over Erik's head, hips shaking with the effort not to thrust up. Erik swallows the bitter taste of him down until the secondhand waves of pleasure fade, and then he pulls off his softening cock.

"Good?" he can't help but ask, gently tucking Charles back into the panties.

"Oh, fuck you," Charles breathes, falling onto his back to laugh at the ceiling.

Erik pulls off the rest of his clothes and crawls onto the bed. Charles wriggles further up to join him, then turns on his side and starts pulling at Erik's cock lazily. It feels good, sending warm shivers of pleasure up Erik's spine. "What about you, then?"

"Is fucking you off the table?" Erik asks, running his hand up Charles' side, thumbing at his nipple slowly.

Charles' eyes flutter and he shakes his head, "Not at all. I might need a minute, though."

"After all that talk about being able to go again and again," Erik tuts, pushing himself to his knees. He leans over to the nightstand to grab the lube. "Get on all fours."

"Somebody's feeling domineering today, hm?" Charles snips, even as he listens. "Can I take these off yet, or does your fetish persist?"

Snickering, Erik gets settled down the bed behind him, face to ass. "My fetish? You're the one who not only wore those to dinner completely unprompted, but went through the trouble of taking a photo and having it printed out so you could ambush me." He palms Charles' ass, squeezing his cheek until the skin plumps between his fingers, then he slaps it, watching the reddening skin jiggle.

"Ah—Ambush? That sounds awfully like a complaint," Charles scowls over his shoulder at Erik, impressively irritated for someone who's arching his back like a slut. Erik hooks his thumb around the underwear and pulls it to the side, revealing Charles' tightly furled hole. Somehow, Charles keeps going, "It was a Father's Day—"

Erik slaps him again, and Charles gasps a moan, like it's wrenched out of him. "Is that supposed to be a punishment?" he asks, wiggling his ass. "Because it's—"

"I want to taste you here," Erik says, running his thumb over Charles' hole.

"Oh," Charles says, and yesyesplease pops into Erik's head, so quickly and urgently that Erik's sure it wasn't on purpose.

Before he can overthink it, Erik bends down and licks him. It's the first time he's ever licked someone's asshole, and it's—it's weird, the way the skin is tight and dry, until Erik licks again and again, getting it wet. Charles makes pretty, desperate noises with every pass of his tongue. Once the muscle loosens a little, it's not all that different from eating pussy, Erik thinks, lapping at it with growing enthusiasm. It's simpler, but no less arousing. Erik's cock throbs.

"That's, oh that's so hot," Charles wails, falling onto his forearms and pushing his ass back. Erik sucks at the skin until it's puffy and loose and Charles' thighs are shaking, and only then does Erik slick a finger with lube and watch the way Charles' body sucks it in, clinging and squeezing.

As promised, Charles' cock is heavy with need again, tenting out the panties, stretching them. "Fuck me," Charles moans, sliding down to his chest, presenting himself. "Please, I want your cock inside me," he asks, like he knows exactly how much it turns Erik on to hear his posh voice saying filthy, slutty things.

Erik adds another finger and draws them out slowly before pushing them back in, stretching Charles' hole further. Erik watches the way Charles' cock wells with precome through the lace. He's a vision, pale skin and pink splotches and black lace, slick with come and lube and spit.

Erik's going to fuck him with the panties on, he decides. They're already stretched and filthy beyond repair. He might as well finish the job.

"Fuck, yes. I'm ready," Charles urges, pushing himself to all fours again with some effort. He likes it borderline, likes the sting of being stretched, Erik's come to learn.

Still, Erik can't abide purposely causing him discomfort. "Almost there," he murmurs, bending down again. "You're doing so well." This time, he adds his tongue again with his fingers, fucking them in and out. Erik stretches him thoroughly, softening the surrounding skin with spit as his fingers work inside Charles, making room. He likes eating Charles out, likes how intimate it feels, the way it makes Charles quiver and moan and drip through his panties. Erik's cock hangs heavy and neglected, twitching at every noise, every imperious word out of Charles' mouth.

"Erik," Charles moans, "I'm—I'm close, you need to fuck me now or make me come again." His telepathy hangs thick in the air around them, making Erik's head spin with want.

What do you want? Erik asks, stilling his fingers but not pulling them out yet. He presses a kiss to the base of Charles' spine. "I'll make you come like this. Or I can fuck you." He wants to be inside Charles, but he wants to make him feel good more than anything else.

"Come here and fuck me, you ridiculous man," Charles says, sounding unbearably fond. "I'm ready for the monstrous thing you call a prick, now."

Erik sits back on his haunches and slicks his cock with lube, still holding the underwear aside and admiring the view; hole gaping and winking, ready for his cock, the skin around it pink and irritated from Erik's stubble. He looks… claimed. Erik's.

When Erik starts pressing himself in, Charles opens up beautifully around his cock. Erik gets even harder, watching Charles take him—it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, something out of a fantasy. “Fuck," Erik mutters when he's all the way in, hips pressed against Charles' ass. "You're still so tight."

The muscles in Charles' back ripple as he shudders, bracing himself on his arms. "Whenever you're ready," he says, voice strained.

Erik pulls out and pushes back in slowly, weak with how good Charles feels around his cock, sucking him in, hot and slick and tight. Erik could fuck him forever, he thinks, watching his cock fuck in and out in slow strokes.

Yet somehow, it's not enough. Erik doesn't want to just fuck Charles, he wants to touch him, kiss him. He molds himself against Charles back, holding himself up with one arm and using the other to touch Charles' neck, his chest, his stomach.

"You can—harder, please," Charles gasps, leaning over to kiss Erik.

At the last second, Erik remembers where his mouth has been and pulls away. He doesn't want to presume, though he does really want to kiss Charles.

"It's my arse," Charles huffs, "if it's clean enough for you to lick, it's clean enough to kiss you after. Come here." He kisses Erik, sweetly at first and then sloppier as Erik starts pumping into him harder, unable to do anything but drop his mouth open and take Erik's tongue.

"That's so—fuck, Erik," Charles moans, arms folding to the bed again. "You're so good, so big, taking care of me—"

A groan rips out of Erik's throat, "Yeah," he grunts, pushing himself upright for a better angle. He fucks into Charles hard, watches him press his face sideways into the pillow and moan, open-mouthed and drooling.

"God, yeah," Charles mumbles, "fucking me so good." So good, he echoes in Erik's head, like the afterthought of someone who can't remember if they've already said something. He's pliant and boneless and babbling in the way he gets when he can't think about anything other than the cock driving into him. Erik watches as Charles tries and fails to regain his composure, struggles to hold himself up and reach down to touch himself, body jolting with the force of Erik's thrusts.

"I got you," Erik says, reaching down to wrap his arms around Charles' chest and haul him upright to his knees with a grunt. Erik stills, buried inside him, looking down the splotchy canvas of Charles' body, chest heaving and glinting with metal, cock straining in black lace. Charles has been so good, not even attempting to touch himself until now.

"Don't stop," Charles whines, turning his head to look at Erik, eyes glassy with pleasure. Erik kisses him and reaches down, eliciting a loud groan when he frees his cock and takes it in hand. Erik starts moving again, fucking into him and stroking his cock with the motion of each thrust, and Charles whimpers into his mouth, getting louder and louder.

Muscles burning with exertion but unwilling to stop, Erik sits back, pulling Charles into his lap and fucking up into him. Charles' cock is pink and hard and perfect in his hand, leaking with every thrust. He uses his other hand to grope Charles' flat tits, rub his nipples, catching on the metal. He can feel Charles in his mind, thoughts starting to blur and intensify. "Oh, yes," Charles moans, "that's so good—keep going, fuck, I'm gonna come—make me come, Daddy—"

It hits Erik like a sledgehammer, his orgasm. It's completely unexpected, and all he can do to clasp onto Charles and mindlessly pump into him, the word Daddy echoing in his head, unsure if Charles is actually saying it again or if he just can't get it out of his head. He doesn't even notice that Charles has come too, until it's over and Erik comes back to Earth, realizes he's still holding Charles' cock, wet and limp.

There's a loaded silence.

"I—" Charles starts, sounding strangled.

"Don't," Erik says firmly, which seems to be the wrong thing to say, because it sets Charles off. He starts laughing so hard that Erik has to hold him just so he doesn't fall over.

"I—I didn't—that wasn't on purpose—" Charles chokes out between cackles, holding Erik's arms for balance. "You liked it! I know you did—"

"Stop," Erik groans, trying not to laugh himself. "That wasn't—it's not fair, to say it during sex like that." He helps Charles off his lap, wincing in discomfort at the sudden cool air on his cock.

"I didn't say it on purpose, honest. It just slipped out," Charles protests.

"That's what you get for joking about it all the time," Erik complains. "And you've brought me down with you." He's starting to notice a pattern, to be honest; Charles pulling him headfirst into whatever kink comes to mind at any given moment.

Charles strips off his underwear and tosses them off the side of the bed, then lays down and pats the space next to him, still wearing a gleeful smile, "Come here."

"I need some water first. Do you want anything?"

"Oh, no. I've gotten everything I want, I think," Charles says smugly, curling up around a pillow.

Erik returns with water and a washcloth to clean up, and when he's done he gets back into bed and presses against Charles' back, holding him close. He's still a little drunk, he realizes—they likely both are. That's the only reason he'd been so into the Daddy thing, he decides.

Charles laughs, "Oh, yes, that's it. Mm, I've missed this." He sighs, pressing back into Erik's chest. "The unbelievable sex, I mean."

"Of course," Erik says, kissing Charles' bare shoulder. He stares down at the smattering of freckles, a faint constellation across his skin. "Tell me about your week."

"My week?"

"Yeah. Everything at dinner was about my kids or your money."

"Or my underwear," Charles adds helpfully.

"Right," Erik laughs. "So tell me about your week. What did you do?"

"I was sick, in case you've forgotten," Charles points out. "I didn't do much. Your life really is much more exciting, you know."

"More chaotic, maybe," Erik admits. "But I want to know what's going on with you." He clears his throat and says quietly, "I care."

Charles rolls to his back and looks up at Erik. "I know."

Erik wants to kiss him, so he does. "So tell me."

"Okay. Um, I watched a lot of TV, as you know. Twilight Zone, a bit of a comfort show. I… used to watch it with my dad, actually. Before he died. Obviously," Charles averts his eyes, looking embarrassed.

"What was he like?" Erik asks. "Your father."

"We don't have to do this," Charles laughs humorlessly, "talk about my dead dad. It's—a bit much, don't you think?"

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Erik assures. "But, if you did… I'd listen."

Charles is silent for a long moment, then he says quietly, "He was fun." He looks like he's about to say more, so Erik waits, but then he shakes his head like he's clearing his thoughts and goes on, "Hm, what else about my week? Moira came by to drop off some food and medicine, when I ran out toward the end. She wore a mask and stayed across the room from me at all times, but it was still nice to have some human contact."

Erik waits, like Charles might say more if he's quiet long enough. When it's clear that's not the case, Erik clears his throat and says, "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were sick."

"Oh, that wasn't what I was getting at," Charles waves it off. "It's fine. Is that enough information for you, or would you like a detailed account of my time spent napping? No interesting dreams, if you were wondering."

"Hm. What kind of food did Moira bring you?"

Charles rolls his eyes, smiling, "She brought Thai food, which is great, because it was so spicy it helped clear my sinuses a bit."

"Do you like spicy food?"

"I do. My mum can't stand it, so I never had it growing up. I don't have much tolerance for it, but I do like it. Also," Charles pokes Erik, "now I understand why you could stomach the soup I made. You couldn't bloody taste it."

The indignant look on his face makes Erik laugh. "Yes, I could. It was great."

"Oh, sure." Charles pushes Erik away from him, laughing.

Erik lays on his back, arm still wrapped around Charles' shoulders. They sit in comfortable silence for a couple minutes, and then Charles says hesitantly, "I am sorry for blindsiding you today at the restaurant. About the money, I mean. I hope you're not… I hope it's okay."

"Why wouldn't it be okay?" Erik asks genuinely.

"Well, I… I don't know," Charles shrugs. He curls into Erik's chest, absently running his fingers along the skin. "It's something I have that I didn't work for. It has nothing to do with me at all, really."

"I wouldn't say that," Erik says. It's certainly a surprise, but in retrospect… it makes a lot of sense. "You were also born with telepathy and gorgeous eyes. That doesn't make it less a part of you."

"Sure, but—it's not exactly respectable, is it?"

Erik hesitates. He can't say he's thought too highly of ultra-wealthy families in the past, but he never thought it would come up in any real capacity, either. He likes to think he's grown out of snap judgments about people over the years, but if he'd been asked to imagine what he thought someone born into the Xavier family would be like, he would never in a million years have described someone like Charles.

"God, listen to me," Charles laughs self-deprecatingly, "feeling bad because I was born wealthy. I know that's contemptible. Just ignore me."

"That's not it," Erik insists. "I was just thinking that… you're surprising."

"Surprising," Charles repeats dourly.

"Yes. I thought you were really strange, but it turns out that you're really rich and just a little strange."

"Strange? How am I strange?" Charles sits up, mouth dropping open in offense.

"Really? Do you want a list?" Erik laughs, "Let's see… you're a twenty-two year old academic prodigy who doesn't know how to do the dishes, you love Hamburger Helper, and you get very excited to go to IKEA and put together furniture. Oh, and that one time you coerced me into having sex with a pie."

Charles clicks his tongue in disdain, "Coerced. Please. You loved it. And all of that is circumstantial, anyway."

"It's okay. I like that you're strange," Erik grins. Then he remembers something else and cringes, "God, I tried to give you money so many times."

Charles laughs loudly, "Oh my god, you did. You were quite insistent. That's how I knew you truly didn't know. I almost told you ages ago, just to get you to stop pushing cash on me. But I didn't want to… change anything between us, I guess. When the Peter thing came up, it felt like some sort of cosmic sign. But I just embarrassed myself, anyway."

"You were really that worried about telling me?" Erik says, surprised.

"Did the emergency nude photo not get that across? I had to remind you why you're really dating me," Charles says, voice dropping seductively. He's joking, it seems, but it makes something unpleasant twinge in Erik's stomach.

"Charles," he says, "I'm not… You should know that I'm not in this just for the sex. Don't get me wrong—I really love having sex with you, but…" Erik swallows, suddenly nervous, "I like you, as a person. I like spending time with you, and—and cooking for you, and talking to you."

Charles doesn't say anything, and Erik feels his cheeks heat up. It's hardly a declaration of love, but it still feels vulnerable, and Charles hasn't exactly confessed any real feelings on his end, either. Perhaps Erik's just read too much into his natural kindness and charm.

"I like you, too," Charles says, just before the silence becomes uncomfortable. He lays on Erik's chest to smirk down at him, "And I really liked when you ate my arse. Was that your first time doing that with anyone?"

"Could you tell?" Erik asks, exhaling in relief. For a moment, he was worried he'd crossed a line, or broken an unspoken rule. Ruined things.

"Not at all," Charles says. "It's all about enthusiasm, and you've got that in spades." He kisses Erik sweetly, "Here I thought I wasn't getting any of your firsts."

Erik smiles, brushing Charles' hair off his forehead. "Turns out you're getting quite a few of them."

Chapter Text

The next morning at work, Azazel steps into the elevator beside Erik. He gives him a strange look, "Were you whistling?"

Erik snaps his mouth shut, feeling caught. So he's in a good mood, sue him. He'd woken up with Charles in his bed, who had immediately starting grumbling about the time, and his hair had been sticking up every which way, and his morning breath had been awful, and he'd snuggled against Erik and pressed sleepy kisses to his jaw. The best part was that when Erik finally tore himself away, Charles had simply rolled over and fallen back asleep. Erik left him a key and a note saying that he could stay as long as he liked, and if he was still there when Erik got back from work, he'd make dinner. The possibility of Charles waiting for him at home has him giddy, sunshine in every step.

"Why do you take the elevator if you can just teleport to your desk?" Erik asks instead of answering him.

"So I can talk to my friend Erik, of course," Azazel deadpans, flashing him a smile.

"Ah. Do you want to grab lunch today?" Erik should probably stay in and work through lunch, but he's feeling too restless to sit at his desk all day.

"Let's do it," Azazel agrees, then he bamfs away, just to make a point.

"Bit dramatic," Erik mutters.

They go to a bar a couple blocks away from their building. Azazel offers to teleport them as far as needed, but Erik uses the opportunity to stretch his legs. Between getting sick and then the fiasco at Peter's school and the early start on Sunday with Lorna, it's been a while since he's gotten a good run in. At least he's gotten some exercise, he thinks, remembering the evening before with an unbidden smirk.

Azazel excuses himself to the rest room after they order, and Erik takes the opportunity to check his phone. A few hours ago, Charles had sent him a picture of a steaming cup of tea and a simple, See you after work xx.

Erik doesn't have anything else from him when he checks, but he stares, grinning at the confirmation that Charles will be waiting for him when he gets home. He wonders if he can get away with leaving early.

"The thing is," Azazel says upon his return, causing Erik to hurriedly put his phone facedown on the table, "I can count the times I have seen you smile on one hand. And all of these times have been in the last couple months or so."

"I didn't realize you were paying such close attention," Erik says wryly.

Azazel gives him an unimpressed look. "You are kind of famously grumpy, you know that? You never come to the bar with us."

Erik's not entirely sure who us entails, but presumes he's referring to their coworkers. "You go out often?"

"Do you not read your emails? We go for drinks the last Friday of every month. Sometimes karaoke."

Admittedly, Erik pretty much ignores all emails that aren't from his boss or directly related to whatever project he's working on. Drinks with coworkers every month and sometimes karaoke? Erik makes a face, "That sounds awful."

Azazel laughs. "You see my point?"

"What, I'm grumpy because I don't want to get drunk with twenty of my closest coworkers?" Erik complains. He'll admit he's crotchety sometimes, but that criteria seems ridiculous. No one actually likes socializing with their coworkers.

"It's not a bad time," Azazel says. "It's not a great time either, but it's good to, you know, put on a good face."

"No, I don't know," Erik snorts, because he couldn't care less about making good impressions. What does he care what a bunch of strangers think about him? He's there to work, not make friends.

An annoyed look flickers over Azazel's face, then he waves a hand and shrugs, "Eh." He picks up the drink menu, suddenly interested in it.

"What?" Erik pushes. "Am I supposed to feel bad about that?"

Azazel looks like he's debating whether or not to say something. Eventually he sighs, "No, of course not. But you don't really have to worry about it." He gestures vaguely toward Erik, "You fit in already."

Erik frowns, "What? I fit in with—"

Oh.

Azazel goes out with their coworkers because he needs the help fitting in, and Erik… is an asshole. "Right," he says guiltily. "Sorry."

"Bah," Azazel waves it off. "No worries."

The waitress stops by to drop off their food, and Azazel digs in, seemingly unperturbed, but Erik can't shake the feeling that he needs to share something personal to make it even somehow, so he says, "I've been, um… seeing someone."

"Ah-ha! I knew it," Azazel says triumphantly around his burger. "Hard to be grumpy when you are in love, hm?"

"I'm not," Erik denies hotly.

Azazel pauses mid-chew, eyes wide. "Okay," he says. "Sorry."

"No, it's—it's fine. I'm just saying it's… complicated," Erik finishes lamely.

"Because of your divorce?"

"Not really," Erik says, "though that doesn't help. It's more that it's… my kid's tutor."

Azazel nods, "Ah. That's not so bad, is it?"

"It's a man," Erik offers.

"Oh," Azazel says, eyebrows raised.

"I like women too," Erik says quickly, though he's not sure why. "It's just—he happens to be a guy." He's certain he would like Charles if he were a woman, too.

"Oh, I'm not judging, my friend. My Kurt is queer," Azazel assures him. "I can see how that's complicated."

"That's not really the complicated part," Erik says. "He's, um… young. Twenty-two."

Azazel promptly chokes on his burger. "Don't worry," he says, coughing as he reaches for his water. He shakes his head and looks at Erik, eyes watering. "Sorry, sorry. I just didn't expect that. Go on."

"It's not like—he's very mature," Erik says, cheeks burning. He regrets this conversation immensely.

"I'm sure," Azazel nods.

"No, really. He's a telepath, and there's a lot of, you know, being exposed to adult thinking his whole life."

"And now an adult is exposing themselves to him," Azazel says, mouth twitching.

Erik wants to crawl into a hole.

"Oh, I'm only joking," Azazel says, grinning at him. "I'm not judging."

It certainly seems like he is, Erik thinks, stabbing at his salad.

"I'm not," Azazel insists. "Honest. So you have fun with a young man and it makes you happy. So what?"

"Well, it's not…" Erik's gut instinct is to say it's not just fun because that feels like a disservice to Charles. But they haven't established anything more serious, and Azazel's reaction has already been humiliating enough. "Yeah, I guess so," he says instead.

Then, because he's had enough of this subject, he asks how Azazel's weekend was. They trade Father's Day stories (Erik leaves out the detail about Charles going with them to the museum, because on the off-chance that Azazel truly hadn't been judging him before, he certainly would after hearing that) and Erik shows him the picture he took of Lorna's card and the bracelet on his wrist, which leads to them sharing photos of their kids back and forth. Surprisingly, Kurt doesn't look like Azazel much at all, unique skin color notwithstanding.

"He takes after Marisol," Azazel says fondly, looking at the picture of his somewhat elfen-looking son. "That reminds me—I'm having a barbecue this Sunday to celebrate Kurt making the honor roll. I don't know if you have the kids, but I'd love for you to come either way. It will be mostly neighbors and some friends. Marisol will be there, too."

"Oh," Erik says, surprised, but not unpleasantly. "I do have the kids, actually. We'll be there."

Azazel beams, "Excellent."

"Honey, you're home!" Charles trills the moment Erik walks through the door.

"Hey," Erik says, with a big dumb grin on his face because coming home to Charles had seemed too good to be true and he'd half-expected him to be gone, but here he is, sat on the couch and looking right at home with his laptop.

Charles sets it aside and stands up to stretch, bouncing on his toes. "I went to pick up my car, and then stopped home to change and grab some things."

"And then you came back?"

Charles raises an eyebrow. "Yes? I seem to recall being invited to stay."

Erik flushes. "No, I—I'm glad." An understatement, really—he just figured Charles would be staying here out of convenience, not to leave and go out of his way to come back. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to say otherwise."

"Mm, I know," Charles says, coming over to greet him with a kiss. "Sometimes I wonder how you've made it this far without a telepath interpreting all your noble intentions."

"I wouldn't say noble," Erik says, wrapping his arm around Charles' waist and kissing him more thoroughly this time, feeling every bit of metal on Charles like a caress.

Cheeks pink, Charles pulls away and says, "How was work?"

It's achingly domestic, chatting about their days while Erik cooks. Charles sits on the counter and sips on some wine, which is impressive in its own right; after getting quite drunk last night at dinner, Erik certainly has no desire to drink again so soon.

"I got invited to a barbecue today," Erik says, plating up their dinner.

"Really?" Charles lights up, "A genuine American barbecue where you grill five kinds of meat in the backyard, and everyone brings some sort of starch-y salad, and then for dessert you eat a massive watermelon right off the rind?"

"This is another one of those things for you, isn't it?"

Charles pouts, "Are they not really like that, then? I always thought they looked fun. Sharon wouldn't be caught dead at one, so I've never been."

Erik considers it. "No, they're pretty much like that."

"Good to know American television gets some things right," Charles says with a satisfied nod.

"I would invite you if I could," Erik says, "but Azazel has a son the same age as the twins, so it's kind of a kid thing. And I know you love the kids, but…" It's a little hard to focus on them when Charles is there. And if Erik's honest, his pride hasn't quite recovered from the hit it took today, talking to Azazel.

Charles pouts. "I confess, I'm a little disappointed, only because the image of you wearing a novelty apron is terribly charming. Would you wear one here if I bought it for you?"

"I guess it depends on what it says."

"Why, darling, of course it'd say Kiss the Cook," Charles purrs without missing a beat.

"Of course," Erik laughs, cheeks pleasantly warm.

They finish dinner and then play a couple rounds of chess, and Erik asks about Charles' friends, assuming he must have plenty of them. After all, Charles knows about Azazel and he's met Emma, and that's… pretty much all of Erik's friends, unless he's counting Magda.

"Why must I have plenty of friends?" Charles asks, amused.

Erik blinks. "Because you're—you know, you're… likable." He's not sure why he feels embarrassed; it's hardly a secret that Charles is clever and interesting and charming. Charles himself seems to know it, considering the smug look he's wearing right now.

"Wonderful though I may be," Charles says grandly, "I wouldn't say I have many friends."

"Really?" Erik asks, shocked.

Charles shrugs, "It's… hard, making real connections with people when you're a telepath. Either I don't tell them, and I'm hiding this huge part of myself—to say nothing of the dubious morality of being privy to their thoughts without their knowledge—or I do tell them and they harbor a general sense of distrust forever. It's just—easier to keep things surface level."

For the second time today, Erik is chastened by his failure to put himself in his fellow mutant's shoes. He wonders what it would be like, having another arm's length between him and the rest of the world. If he'd have to be more agreeable, more openly friendly like Azazel or Charles to tell everybody Hey, no threat here.

"Oh, it's nothing quite so dire," Charles says lightly. "Just part of the psionic package."

Erik can't help but think of Wanda, with none of Charles' easy social graces—her father's daughter, truly—quitting drama club and clinging to her brother.

"It's not easy, being a teenage telepath. Wanda does need a little extra support," Charles says kindly. "But she's very lucky to have such a supportive and loving family. It doesn't take much to feel less alone. At least in my experience."

"You don't feel alone, then?" Erik asks, suddenly desperate to know the answer.

Charles studies the chess board intently instead of answering for some time. "I do," he says eventually, "but I imagine everyone feels that way, sometimes. I feel less alone when I'm with people who accept me, warts and all. Moira and other psionics. You," he says, eyes flicking up to meet Erik's.

"Your telepathy isn't a wart," Erik says, offended. In fact, there's nothing about Charles he'd consider a wart.

"As I said," Charles says, smiling. "I think myself quite fortunate, actually. Not many people have a best friend who would help them take nude photos, you know. Even if I did bribe Moira quite handsomely. I agreed to cover two of her classes next semester, no questions asked. It was originally only one, but she upped her price when I made her go through the photos with me to pick one." He makes his next move, frowning, "Bit unfair, that. I'd do it for her, if she ever asked. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

Erik pauses, wondering which bit of information to process first. "Moira helped you take that picture? And there's—more?" He can't decide if he feels more jealous of Moira seeing Charles like that, practically naked and oozing sex, or if he's simply elated at the prospect of more photos.

"Well, yes," Charles says coyly, "I had several colors to pick from."

"Colors?" Erik repeats dumbly, because surely he doesn't mean…

"Of underwear," Charles says easily, like it's not ringing in Erik's ears. Like he hasn't spent the day replaying yesterday, from the restaurant to the car to their earth-shattering orgasms in bed. Charles calling him Daddy—

"I told you," Charles says, smirking devilishly, "I stopped at home for a change of clothes." He stands, eyes locked on Erik's. He reaches behind his head to pull his sweater off, fluffing his hair when it lifts to reveal his bare torso, lean and pale, blinking with metal. Deftly, he removes his belt, the decisiveness of each movement felt acutely through the metal, tugging on his pants just enough for Erik to catch a glimpse of soft, baby-blue lace. "You're in check, by the way," Charles says, nodding toward the chess board as he tosses his belt aside.

Erik can't tear his eyes away from Charles long enough to glance at their game, let alone think of a coherent response. "You're wearing…" he swallows, eyes roving over Charles' broad shoulders, the dip of his waist, the jut of his hips, "again?"

"They're surprisingly comfortable," Charles says conversationally. "All soft and silky. Maybe I ought to wear them more—" he shrieks with laughter as Erik lunges at him.

The couch, as it turns out, works just as well as the bed.

-

"Have you always been mad for lingerie?" Charles asks a bit later, laying with his back to Erik's chest.

Erik shrugs, "Who doesn't like lingerie?" Magda had worn it several times, for anniversaries or other notable dates. He hadn't had quite the visceral response he'd had with Charles wearing panties, but then, she'd never surprised him with it on a date like that. And it's hard to ignore that there's something specifically appealing about Charles' masculinity dressed with such delicacy.

"Okay, but I mean… when you watch pornography, what do you type in the search bar? Twink in Lingerie Gets Destroyed or something?"

"What? No," Erik says, bewildered. Is that a popular thing in porn? Truthfully, he doesn't watch it too often; most of the time he finds the fake moaning and the strange, almost hostile energy off-putting. He honestly can't remember the last time he got off watching porn. He can hardly remember the last time he got off thinking about anyone other than Charles. "Why, what do you watch?" he asks, feeling strangely defensive.

"Oh, I don't watch it often," Charles shrugs.

Erik relaxes; it's not just him. Porn is weird.

Charles goes on, "It's a bit—jarring, not being able to feel someone's mind during sex. It doesn't bother me much with television or movies, but with sex… that's a fairly big part of it, for me. Even if I'm keeping to myself telepathically, it's still… present. When I do watch pornography, though, it's like my sex life; a bit of everything. Men, women, whatever. I like to try things."

"Women?" Erik says, before he can stop himself.

Charles pauses, and then, "Did you think I was gay?"

"Um," Erik says.

"You did!" Charles gasps, twisting around to look up at Erik with betrayed eyes.

"Well, I—there's nothing wrong with being gay!"

"Of course not, you knob!" Charles flips over and sits up to straddle Erik, poking his chest. "But I'm not. I've slept with plenty of women, I'll have you know."

"Like… they pegged you?" Erik says, biting down a smile, then laughing loudly at Charles' indignant screech.

"No, I do the fucking, thank you very much! God," Charles laughs, "I'm not particularly feminine, am I?"

"In my defense, you've worn women's underwear for the last two nights in a row," Erik says reasonably, then intercepts Charles' fist when he goes to thump Erik's shoulder.

"Spoken like a man who doesn't want to see the other pairs."

"I'm joking," Erik says hastily. "You're not feminine."

"Hm," Charles sniffs haughtily.

"Really. I just meant… you seem to really like getting fucked." Erik hadn't considered Charles' sexuality all that much, to be honest. He'd simply assumed that given his very enthusiastic responses in bed, he preferred to be on the receiving end.

"Well, it feels good," Charles says simply. He gives Erik a considering look, then tilts his head. "You've never…"

"No," Erik says, feeling a little self-conscious.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Charles assures. "It's just a preference. Some people never bottom, or some always do. I like it both ways, for various reasons." He skims his hand up Erik's chest, brushing against his nipple and making him shiver. "Have you ever fingered yourself?"

"Once or twice," Erik says. It was a long time ago, and he hadn't really liked it. In all fairness, he'd been experimenting by himself, and had never been able to shake the awkwardness of it enough to give it a real chance. It's certainly much sexier to finger someone else, he's always thought.

Charles makes a thoughtful noise, staring down at Erik. "Would you… consider letting me?" His fingers dance along Erik's neck and up his jaw. "Fuck you, I mean."

Erik swallows and says intelligently, "Um." Truthfully, he's a bit apprehensive about the idea, but he can't deny the hot jolt of arousal that had shot through him at Charles' blunt proposition.

Charles shifts, and there's a noticeable bulge in his underwear (a fresh pair of Erik's boxer-briefs he'd pulled on after they'd predictably ruined another pair of lace panties). Erik stares at the bulge, thinking about Charles' perfect pink cock, the way it feels thick and heavy in his hand, on his tongue. He tries to imagine what it'd feel like inside him, splitting him open.

"Think about it. You certainly don't have to decide while I'm all…" Charles gestures sheepishly to himself. "Obviously, I like the idea. But it should be something you do because you want it, not to please me." He lays back down, adjusting himself so his cock isn't pressed directly against Erik. "But yes, I do sleep with women as well. Really, when you can read someone's mind, all the gender stuff feels so… unimportant."

"That makes sense." Erik wraps his arm around Charles' shoulders, grateful for the chance to consider the idea of bottoming more when Charles isn't looking down at him, half-hard and smoldering. He thinks he'd agree to anything, under those circumstances. He wonders if that would hold up in court—like being under duress, but under extreme, helpless lust. He thinks it would, if the judge could see Charles like that. Charles snorts, clearly having caught the thought.

"Earlier," Erik says, "you said Moira took those photos for you, and that you'd have done it for her, because it was nothing you hadn't already seen."

Erik hadn't thought too much of it at the time, because he'd still been under the (clearly mistaken) impression that Charles didn't sleep with women. In retrospect, it seems incredibly short-sighted of Erik, to assume that Charles wouldn't be as open-minded and flexible with his sexual preferences as he is with everything else.

"Does that mean you two used to date?" Erik asks.

Charles hesitates, "I wouldn't say date. We slept together a few times, in the early days of our friendship."

Erik swallows his jealousy, knowing it's irrational. "And she took that picture of you?"

Charles looks up at Erik, amused. "You're jealous?"

"No," Erik denies.

"You are!" Charles says gleefully. "It was nothing, really. I just couldn't get the angle right on my own. Wouldn't you trust Emma to take a naked photo of you, if you needed one?"

"Absolutely not," Erik says, face burning just at the idea. "She'd hold it over my head forever."

"Well, I suppose Moira is a good deal nicer than Emma." Charles shrugs, drawing lazy lines on Erik's arm with his fingers.

A good deal nicer, apparently, Erik thinks. He wonders if Charles has lain like this with Moira, post-coital and intimately soft. He wonders if they still sleep together sometimes, when one of them is feeling particularly lonely, or maybe just horny.

"Oh my god," Charles laughs, "you really are jealous. Please, Erik. Moira and I are absolutely better suited as friends. I can say quite confidently we are very past the will-they, won't-they stage."

When Erik doesn't say anything, Charles huffs, "Come on. Emma is your best friend. She's bloody gorgeous. You're honestly telling me you two have never fooled around?"

"Uh, no," Erik says shortly. "I'm pretty sure Emma rips the heads off the people she has sex with."

"Ah, well. You are much too handsome to be decapitated," Charles replies fondly.

"I'm just… not really the casual-sex type," Erik says. Too late, he realizes who he's saying this to and how it sounds. He clears his throat, "I mean, the type to—to seek out purely sexual relationships." He'd always found it a bit strange, the way people act like sex is the point of a relationship, rather than just one of the many aspects of it—and frankly, not an important one.

Charles makes a quiet, thoughtful noise.

Feeling self-conscious, Erik goes on, "It's just never been that important to me, I guess. It feels a bit different with you, but…" he trails off, not entirely sure what he's trying to say.

Before Magda, his sex life had felt largely exploratory—seeing what the big fuss was about. Sometimes, it was simply a way to bond with other mutants, to make them feel good, desirable. He didn't seek it out so much as he accepted propositions. And when he met Magda, it felt like closing a door on that chapter of his life, where he was figuring out what he liked and what he wanted—because he knew. He wanted a family; a wife and children to take care of, to love forever. He wanted that, and he'd been so certain that would be the rest of his life.

Perhaps that's why he's having a sexual awakening of sorts, now that his life is turning out so differently than he'd thought. It's the only way he can think to explain his fervent, all-consuming want for Charles, when he's never felt like this before. Or… maybe he had felt like this in the beginning, with Magda. It was so long ago. Maybe he's just forgotten. The thought is unsettling.

Charles turns onto his belly, so they're face-to-face. "I think," he says carefully, "that our identities are incredibly complex, and what was true for you twenty years ago likely isn't true for you now. And what's true for you now might not be in a year, or next month, even. But that doesn't make it less a part of you, and it doesn't make it less worth knowing."

It's comforting, the way that Charles picks through Erik's thoughts, deciphering his feelings far better than Erik could put them into words. The way Charles uses his telepathy to understand and comfort makes it a gift to everyone else, Erik thinks. He's grateful.

He doesn't know what to say, but Charles seems to understand anyway, because his gaze goes soft. Erik's sure he has a matching expression. "Are you staying again tonight? You're welcome to," he says.

"I probably shouldn't," Charles says, and he doesn't elaborate. "You have the kids this weekend, right?"

"I do, yeah," Erik says. "They should be coming around a bit more, now that they're out of school. If they want to, I mean. It's up to them." He's trying not to get his hopes up too much—it's not fair to hang his feelings on the kids, should they decide they'd rather not spend more time at his place than they have to.

"They'll want to," Charles says.

"Maybe if you're here," Erik snorts. It's mostly a joke, but the kids really do adore Charles. "Are you going to be working with the twins over the summer still? Magda said something about SAT prep."

"Yes, and I'll be working with Wanda still, too." Charles hesitates, "But it's not something they'll need every week, and Magda said it was best to do at her house, so it doesn't impede on your time with them."

It's thoughtful of Magda, and not necessarily incorrect. If Charles was nothing more than a tutor, Erik would prefer to keep his time with the kids to himself. The reality, however, is that Charles has melded seamlessly into the family. It's not that Erik feels like something is missing when it's just the kids, but… it feels like more, when Charles is there too. It feels right.

They can hardly explain that to Magda, though.

"Lorna will miss you," Erik says.

"Just Lorna?" Charles teases.

"You'll have to come around to feed the ducks once in a while. You know I can't tell her no."

"Well, if Lorna misses me so terribly much, you let me know, and I'll come by." Charles smiles, reaching out to scrape his nails gently on Erik's stubble. "Have I told you I like this?"

"Multiple times," Erik says, amused.

"Do you think you'll keep it?"

"I usually don't." Erik had planned to shave tomorrow morning before work—he would have today, but Charles had been entirely too tempting to get out of bed any earlier than he had to.

"Have I told you my favorite part?" Charles leans in until his mouth is only an inch away from Erik's, and he whispers, "I like the way it marks my skin."

Perhaps, Erik thinks, he'll keep it after all.

When the absurdly-good-sex-haze finally lifts, Erik starts to digest what Charles had told him over the weekend. He thinks about it after Charles leaves that night, and the following day at work. He looks up the Xavier family online, and when he reads their approximate net worth, he slams his laptop shut, like he's been caught doing something embarrassing. He counts to nine, then opens his computer and counts to nine again.

Yep. Nine zeros.

Charles is a billionaire. With a B.

It's not like Erik cares, really—if anything, it's a relief to know that Charles isn't a struggling student, spending all of his spare time tutoring Erik's kids for free. But still, it feels like a secret that he's struggling to keep all to himself, even though it's absolutely not a secret.

There's even a picture of Charles on the Xavier Wikipedia page. Multiple pictures. In all of them, he looks commanding and distinguished, far closer to the way he'd looked at the restaurant over the weekend than he'd looked last night, wearing Erik's clothes and biting his nails as he'd studied the chess board. No, the secret isn't that Charles Xavier is rich. The secret is that Erik is sleeping with Charles Xavier.

It's big, recontextualizing news. Between Charles' money and telepathy, he's got more power and influence in his pinky toe than Erik's got in his entire body.

He doesn't want to cause any trouble for Charles, so he hadn't told Azazel that part of the story yesterday, but he has to tell someone. Emma is the obvious choice; aside from getting her up to speed with the events at Peter's school, they haven't spoken much in the past few weeks. This is just the sort of thing she would kill him for not telling her, so he calls on the way home from work.

"Is everyone okay?" she says as a greeting, already sounding pissed off.

"Uh, yes," Erik says, taken aback, "are you okay?"

"What? Yes, I'm fine. Look, I'm sorry, but I don't have time to talk. I've been working on this huge case and I got a few thousand pages of discovery dropped on my desk at the last—"

"Is it something I can help with?" Erik asks.

Emma blows out a breath. "No, that's okay. It's horribly tedious, and it's all confidential."

"Who am I going to tell? I'll sign something, if it makes you feel better." It's not the first time, but he knows she's loathe to ask for help. Erik can tell she's about to decline again, so he says, "I'll trade you a secret."

She pauses. "Fine. Bring dinner."

When Emma opens the door to her penthouse an hour later, Erik does a double-take. He can't remember the last time he's seen her in sweatpants, or with her hair tied up.

"Shut it," Emma snaps.

"It's cute," Erik protests. "I like your glasses." He holds out a heavy bag of takeout as a peace offering. Emma sniffs and turns around, leading him to the dining room. Aside from a corner she'd cleared off, the table is covered end-to-end with towering stacks of paper.

"Can you work and eat? I have about a week to get through all of this. I could file for an adjournment, but that's what the defense wants me to do, and I'll be damned if I let that rat bastard call the shots. My client is ready for this to get moving, and I am too. If I can manage this, at least." Emma takes a breath, looking at the mess of papers like she might cry, Erik notes with alarm. She says, "Sorry, it's just… this case is important and my client really deserves a good outcome, and I—"

"Em," Erik says, "it's okay. I'm here for whatever you need." Knowing Emma, she's likely not actually as behind as she claims, but if he can save her some stress, he's happy to spend the evening squinting at paperwork.

She directs him to one particularly menacing stack of bank statements with a set of account numbers to find and highlight. They eat dinner and work in silence, and after a couple mind-numbing hours, Emma finally looks up and groans, "God, my neck is killing me. The first thing I'm going to do after this is get a massage." She pushes her glasses to her forehead and rubs at her eyes.

Erik stands and stretches, twisting side-to-side. "Can I make coffee?" It looks like it's going to be a long night.

"I'll make it. I don't trust you with my espresso machine," Emma mutters, heading to the kitchen.

Erik grabs their empty plates and follows her, "That's not fair. I only broke it once."

"You only used it once."

"Because you never gave me another chance!" Erik protests. "And I fixed it right away. You always leave out that part of the story."

"Build your own with paperclips or something, if you want one so badly."

"That would take an unreasonable amount of paperclips. What do you think my powers are?"

Emma just turns the grinder on, drowning out any further complaints.

"You know, I was recently told I'm famously grumpy by someone. They should meet you so they can see how pleasant I actually am," Erik says, when the grinder shuts off.

Emma ignores him. "You said you had a secret. I hope it's something juicy about your naughty babysitter. I need something fun."

"It is about Charles, actually," Erik says. "It's, um… Well, you can't tell anyone."

"I'm sorry, was I meant to tell people before about you fucking the nanny?"

"He's not the nanny," Erik says, annoyed.

Emma waves her hand in a Go on motion.

Erik rolls his eyes. "Do you know who the Xaviers are? As in, Xavier Pharmaceuticals."

"Sure," Emma says, handing over his drink. "What about them?"

"Well, that's… Charles. That's his family. Charles Xavier."

Emma just stares at him, like she's waiting for him to say, Sike! That would be crazy, huh?

He sips his coffee, and the silence stretches on.

"Oh my god. You're serious," Emma finally says. "Are you saying he's…"

"Really fucking rich? Yep."

"Erik, it's not just that. The Xaviers are powerful players in the corporate world. There's not a door that won't open for them, if they want it. Every lawyer in this city would kill for a connection to them." Emma shakes her head, marveling, "You know, I did hear that the Xavier heir was screwing around in academia. I can't believe that's Charles. The Charles I met at your place, who you've been sleeping with for months? And you didn't tell me?"

"Obviously I didn't know," Erik says defensively. "I only found out last weekend."

"What do you mean? How could you not know? God, you are the most oblivious—"

"You didn't know when you met him, you just said so yourself!"

"I spoke to him for like, two hours. You've been going at it like rabbits with him for months."

"It's not my fault! He's, you know, he's down-to-earth."

"More like his nubile twenty-year-old charms kept you thinking with your dick," Emma snorts. "My god, Erik. Here I thought you were the sugar daddy, but you're actually the Pretty Woman. You hit the like, slutty nanny lottery. Talk about friends with benefits. You've been dicking down the trust fund brat—"

"Stop talking about him like that," Erik snaps. "He's not a naughty babysitter or a slutty nanny or a trust fund whatever. He's a good person, okay? I know he's young and rich but he's—he's a lot more than that."

Emma's eyebrows shoot up. "You like him."

"You've said that before," Erik grumbles.

"Yeah, and you always tell me I'm wrong. Of all the times to decide that you… Jesus, Erik," Emma barks a laugh, and that seems to set her off into a fit of giggling that lasts until she's gasping for air. "Your—your big secret isn't even that he's a fucking Xavier, your secret is actually that you want to be his boyfriend!"

"Stop laughing," Erik frowns. "You're such a shit friend."

That, of course, makes Emma laugh harder. "I'm sorry," she gasps, clutching her side. "I haven't slept in like, two days. I'm delirious and this is just—it's too much."

"Look, just—just don't talk about him like he's just some rich, vapid asshole. He's genuine and kind and… and complicated. It's not just friends with benefits, or having fun."

The smile dissipates from Emma's face like smoke. "You're… actually in love with him, aren't you?"

Erik shakes his head, "No. I'm not—I don't—"

"Jesus, Erik," Emma says seriously, "he's twenty years younger than you, and he's Peter's tutor, and he's—did I mention that he's twenty—"

"I know!" Erik says, throwing his hands in the air. "Do you think I don't know that?"

"I mean, I get it. I met him. He's… adorable, and he's sweet with the kids, and he's apparently just phenomenal in bed, but… Erik, come on. Are you sure you're not just infatuated? It's been a long time since you've gotten laid, maybe the sex is just—clouding your judgment a bit."

"Aren't you the one that pushed this on me to begin with?" Erik complains.

"I said you should hook up with him, not fall in love with him! Does he even—"

"I don't know! Why are you being like this? It's not like I'm going to marry him, I just—I like spending time with him. I'm happy. Isn't that… That's good, right?"

Emma stares at him like she doesn't recognize him. Then she lets out a long, deflating breath and her gaze softens. "Yeah. Of course it's good, Erik. I'm glad you're happy. If this is real, if it's serious, I'll support you. One hundred percent. I just want you to be certain that he's worth it, and that this isn't just a midlife crisis."

"It's not a midlife crisis," Erik says immediately. "I don't know how serious it is, but it is real."

"Okay then," Emma says simply. "It's real."

Hearing her say it is both relieving and terrifying. Perhaps she was right; his feelings for Charles had been the news he wanted to share, after all.

"Okay."

Emma gives him a complicated smile, then, in a rare show of physical affection, she squeezes his arm. "Finish your coffee. I need at least two more hours of work from you."

They work for four more hours, until Erik's eyes are burning and Emma starts nodding off at the table. Despite her protests, Erik manages to bully her into bed, with a promise to return the following day to help again.

"You don't have to do that," she mumbles into her pillow, eyes closed. She looks so innocent and girlish, a far cry from her typical ferocity.

"I know, you're scarily competent and you've got it handled. But I'll see you tomorrow anyway," Erik says.

She's already asleep.

"Why do we have to go to your friend's house?" Wanda complains that Sunday, not for the first time. Erik's happy to have them back so soon, but he could do without the frequent bemoaning from her. They're on the way to Azazel's barbecue, and Wanda has made it very clear that she'd rather have stayed home. Erik is beginning to regret not letting her.

"Because it's a barbecue, and he invited all of us," Erik says, very patiently, in his opinion. "Plus, as I've said, you go to school with his son."

"So it's a play-date? Don't you think we're all a little old for that?" Wanda crosses her arms and frowns at Erik from the passenger seat.

She makes a good point—it is sort of a play-date for their teen children. But Lorna had been ecstatic to go out, and barbecues are fun. And moreover, Azazel is Erik's friend and he invited him.

"This isn't up for debate," Erik says firmly.

"Daddy, does your friend have a dog? Or maybe a hamster?" Lorna pipes up from the backseat.

"A hamster?" Peter asks from his spot next to her.

"Olivia has a hamster," Lorna informs him solemnly.

Of course she does, Erik thinks. "I don't know if he has any pets, but we can ask when we get there."

Lorna makes a disappointed noise.

"I don't need your help making friends," Wanda says, as though Lorna had never spoken.

"Okay, well this guy is my friend, so can you please just be your usual delightful self?" Erik snaps.

She's quiet for a minute, and Erik's just starting to feel bad when she says, "So this is a play-date for you? That's… pretty cute, actually."

"Enrichment for his enclosure," Peter says, and she laughs.

Erik sighs.

Azazel, it turns out, has a fat, orange cat named Lucky. Lorna is elated. She promptly begs to play with him, and Azazel gamely sets her up with half a dozen cat toys and a handful of treats. Erik fits her with a couple of metal bracelets and then follows Azazel into the kitchen to drop off the dessert he'd brought—shortcake again (he'd tried almond extract this time, to no avail).

"Can I get you a beer?" Azazel asks.

"Water's fine," Erik says. "Thanks for having us over. And for letting Lorna play with your cat. She might be a little… overzealous. Hopefully he doesn't mind."

Azazel waves his hand. "He will be fine. He's used to me and Kurt poofing all over the place. Your Lorna, she is very funny. Confident. Even with her hair, she seems so unafraid."

Erik hadn't really thought it in those terms before, but it's true; Lorna, with her striking green hair, is very clearly a mutant, yet she's unapologetic and bold, impervious to the stares she regularly attracts.

"Kurt seems like a nice kid," Erik says. Kurt is indeed as blue as Azazel was red, but he doesn't yet have the quiet confidence of his father. Instead, he'd shyly introduced himself to Erik, and then quickly offered to show the twins around. It wasn't until he was walking away that Erik noticed his tail, long and pointed, tucked against his body like it's trying to hide. 

With a bob of his head, Azazel says, "He is. He's quiet around new people."

"The opposite of Peter, then," Erik huffs.

"I might have noticed that, yes," Azazel laughs. "Your Wanda reminds me of my Kurt, a bit. Careful."

"Yeah, she's more… reserved than Peter and Lorna." Erik hesitates, unsure how much to divulge. "Her mutation is sort of… complicated. She's still getting used to it. Charles—my, um—Peter's tutor, I mean," Erik can feel his face warming, "he works with her, to better control her powers."

"Ah," Azazel says, obviously thinking about what Erik had told him last week. "Is he still… tutoring Peter, now that it's summer?"

"Um, no," Erik says, wondering if Azazel thinks tutoring Peter is a euphemism. "He's still coming around to work with Wanda, and he'll be doing some SAT prep with the twins, but that will be at their mom's. He's—he's really good with the kids, you know. Peter's been way more motivated in school since they started working together. And Lorna loves him. Not that that's why I—but it's… I wouldn't do anything to hurt my kids, is what I'm trying to say. I guess." Erik grimaces and takes a sip of his water, wishing he had gone for the beer.

Azazel looks askance at him, then reaches into the fridge to pull out two bottles of beer. Erik neatly pops the caps off and then takes one. Azazel looks impressed, and it almost makes Erik laugh despite his nerves—the idea of a man who can literally teleport hundreds of miles away in the blink of an eye, impressed because Erik can open a beer without a bottle opener.

"My friend," Azazel starts kindly, "I know you are a good father. You don't need to explain yourself to me, hm?"

"I… okay, yeah," Erik says, because if he's looking for absolution, it's not Azazel's to give. "Sorry."

"Oh, none of that. Now, I have to start making food before people complain. I wonder, do your powers help with grilling?"

Half an hour later, Azazel and Erik are standing in front of the grill, drinking beer and chatting while Erik cooks. He warps the metal of the grill to hold the meat this way and that, until it's cooked perfectly on all sides. Azazel watches, highly impressed.

"I hope you're not making him do all the work," a woman with dark hair and olive skin says, walking up to them with an empty plate and eyeing the grill hungrily.

"Marisol!" Azazel says cheerfully, "When did you get here?"

"About fifteen minutes ago. Therese caught me on my way in, you know how she is. I haven't spoken to Kurt yet, though. He looked busy with some kids. Who are they?"

"Those are Erik's children," Azazel explains, gesturing to Erik. "This is Marisol, Kurt's mother. Mari, this is Erik."

Marisol shakes Erik's hand, appraising him shrewdly. Something about the look in her eye reminds him of Emma. "Nice to meet you, Erik. Tell me, are your children going to be nice to my son?"

"Mari," Azazel scolds, "you be nice."

"It's fine," Erik laughs. "I'm protective of my kids too."

Marisol smiles, though there's little warmth in it. "Yes, but your kids aren't—"

"Yes, they are," Azazel interrupts. "They are both mutants. You think the boy dyes his hair silver?"

"Oh," she says, looking embarrassed.

"You shouldn't assume," Azazel tuts. "We've talked about this. Not every mutant has red skin."

"Yes, I get it," Marisol says, harried. "Sorry, Erik. I'm sure your kids are lovely. I'm just—like you said, protective."

"Sure," Erik says easily. "I get it. But they're good kids. Wanda and Peter, the twins—they go to school with Kurt. And my youngest, Lorna, she's somewhere around here, with the cat. She's a mutant, too."

"She has green hair," Azazel says. "Not dyed, in case you were wondering."

"Shut up, Az," Marisol scoffs. To Erik, she smiles and says, "Is your wife here, too?"

"Nope," Erik says. "Divorced."

"Hey, join the club," Marisol says cheerfully.

Erik feels some familiar metal approaching rapidly. "Actually, Lorna should be—"

"Daddy!" Lorna calls out, emerging from the house. She bounds up to Erik energetically, "Is lunch ready? Can I feed Lucky a hot dog?"

"Lunch is ready, yes. And no, you can't feed the cat a hot dog," Erik says. He opens the grill with a wave of his hand to reveal dozens of burgers and hot dogs, neatly held over the smoldering coals. He wiggles a patty at a giggling Lorna. Marisol watches, looking embarrassed again.

Lorna's eyes are wide, "Can I have a hot dog and a cheeseburger?"

"Why don't we start with one, and you can eat more if you're still hungry after you finish," Erik advises, knowing she's likely to eat one hot dog and then return to the cat. "Lorna, this is Mrs.—Uh," he blinks, realizing he doesn't know Azazel's last name. To that end, he doesn't know if Marisol even has the same one.

"Mrs. Mari," Marisol supplies warmly, smiling down at Lorna. "It's very nice to meet you. I'm Kurt's mom."

Lorna looks between Marisol and Azazel, face creased in confusion. Erik can hear the gears turning in her head, and just when he realizes what she's going to say, she opens her mouth and blurts, "Why is Kurt blue?"

Marisol and Azazel stand in stunned silence for a moment, then burst into laughter.

"Lorna!" Erik chides. "It's not polite to ask people questions like that."

"It's fine," Marisol says, still laughing.

"I don't get it! Why isn't he red like you?" Lorna says, frowning up at Azazel.

"Why is your hair green?" Azazel says, amused. "Your papa doesn't have green hair."

Lorna looks down at her hair and tugs on it, "I don't know. It just is."

"Well, I guess Kurt just is, too."

Lorna accepts this. "Okay. I like his blue," she says shyly. Erik can practically see Azazel and Marisol melt right where they stand.

"And I like your green," Azazel says warmly.

Erik gets Lorna set up with some food, and then they plate everything up so people can serve themselves. Marisol takes her leave, looking much more relaxed than she had when she first showed up.

"Sorry about that," Azazel says when she goes. "Kurt's had some… trouble, making friends. Marisol is very protective. I know your kids are nice, though. Kurt actually told me once that Peter partnered with him for the group project. The other kids, they don't talk to Kurt much. He said that when Peter noticed, he went right up to him and asked to work together."

That sounds just like Peter, Erik thinks, heart squeezing, though it's terrible to hear that Kurt struggles with making friends, similar to Wanda. It's hard to watch your child be lonely.

Azazel goes on, "Marisol will learn. We are just both very sensitive to Kurt's struggles." He smiles, "She is a good mom."

"It sounds like it," Erik says honestly. He completely understands being wary of how people will treat your children. Though he's the one that tends to get angry and loud about it, Magda has always been unequivocally on their kids' side, too. When the kids' mutations had first manifested, she bit the heads off anyone who dared offer anything but congratulations. "Magda's the same."

"It is good, to have kids with the right person, yeah?" Azazel says, clapping Erik's arm. "Makes it easier to be apart from them, knowing they're in good hands."

And that's something Erik might have been taking for granted, he thinks. As much as he misses the kids when they're gone, he doesn't really worry about them, because he knows Magda is taking good care of them, protecting them. She's always been a great mom, and that hasn't changed, even when everything else has. Their marriage may have ended, but there's no doubt in Erik's mind that she was the right person to have a family with.

"Yeah," Erik says, "it is good."

The rest of the barbecue passes without incident, and it's a good time. Lucky the cat eventually gets tired of Lorna's attention and hides, much to her dismay. She stays by Erik's side after that, and when they set out dessert, she excitedly tells anyone who will listen about her Oma Edie's mystery scone ingredient. Marisol is especially interested, apparently quite the baker herself, and she gives Erik some tips and ideas.

The most surprising part is that Erik has to actually go hunt down the twins when it's time to leave. They're in the basement, sitting in front a large television and playing a chaotic looking video game. Wanda's sitting next to Kurt, cheering him on and sounding unusually boisterous. She jumps when Erik speaks, evidently having too much fun to notice him coming down the stairs.

"Hey guys, it's time to take off."

"Can we have fifteen more minutes?" Wanda asks. "It's my turn next."

"Did you say you're playing?" Erik asks, because she almost never plays video games.

"Well, yeah. It's more fun against Kurt, because I might actually win."

"Hey!" Kurt protests good-naturedly. "Rude."

Peter laughs, "Don't take it personally. I'm just that good."

This sets Wanda and Kurt off, teasing Peter for being so full of himself. It's so nice to see Wanda goofing off with someone other than Peter that Erik doesn't mind at all when fifteen minutes turns into thirty.

"Kurt's pretty cool," Peter says on the drive to Magda's. "He delivers papers in the summer, and he said if I want to work there, he'll ask his boss if they're hiring."

"That's a good idea," Erik says approvingly. Really, he's happy with anything that Peter actually shows interest in. He'd been half-afraid that Peter would drag his feet and they'd have to force him to get a job—and historically, forcing Peter to do anything is always a losing endeavor.

"He seems like a nice kid. He's welcome to come over any time, you know," Erik says, glancing at Wanda in the passenger seat. She doesn't say anything, so he goes on, "It's your place, too. I know it's not the same as your mom's, but… I want you to feel comfortable there. We could decorate your room a bit, maybe. I saw some cool art at IKEA, or maybe a bookshelf—"

"Ugh, no thanks to the mass-produced art," Wanda interrupts, "but a bookshelf sounds cool."

"Great," Erik says, happy that she likes the idea. "I'll pick one up and have it ready for you the next time you come over. Unless you want to help build it."

"No, that's okay," Wanda snorts, then she smiles at him. "Thanks, Dad."

"If you're buying stuff for us, can I get a new game?" Peter asks cheerfully.

"Oh! Can I get a cat?" Lorna pipes up, kicking her feet into Erik's back.

"No, and no," Erik says. Honestly, he's got to take a serious look at his financials if he's going to be putting the kids in private school next year. Maybe he can talk to his boss about taking on some extra work, he thinks grimly. "We can decorate your room too, though."

When they get to Magda's, she's outside working on her garden. She comes over to greet them, smudged with dirt and wearing a cute, floppy hat. The twins head inside right away, eager to get out of the summer heat, but Lorna sticks around long enough to hug Magda hello, and Erik goodbye.

"Did you have a good time?" Magda asks Erik, peeling off her gardening gloves to stick them in her back pocket.

"Yeah, the barbecue was fun. The twins hit it off with Azazel's son, and there was a cat for Lorna to play with."

"Oh, boy. She must have loved that."

"She did, yeah," Erik laughs. "Are we going to get her a pet eventually?"

It just slips out. We. As if they make household decisions together all the time still, as if there isn't a firmly drawn line between Erik and Magda, etched years ago. Embarrassed, Erik tries to think of a way to backtrack that won't make things weirder.

But Magda just shrugs and says, "Yeah, maybe we should. What do you think, a hamster she can ferry back and forth? Maybe a snake?"

"A snake?" Erik looks at her in disbelief, and she's smirking.

"Got you. Can you imagine Lorna trying to feed a snake those little mice?" They look at each other and frown for a second, thinking about their sweet Lorna contending with the circle of life.

"Definitely not a snake," Erik says. "Maybe on the hamster."

"Maybe."

"Your flowers look great, by the way."

"Ha, thanks. I like your—I mean, you've—you've got a beard," Magda stammers, looking mortified.

"Uh… yeah," Erik says, trying not to think about Charles, well-kissed and pink with stubble burn.

There's an awkward beat of silence, and Magda clears her throat and nods towards the flowerbed. "I should get back to weeding."

"Right. I'll get going," Erik says, then turns to leave.

He's at his car when Magda calls out, "Wait, Erik." She walks up to him, "I wanted to say… what we talked about before, you seeing the kids when it's not necessarily your weekends? I meant it when I said you can come pick them up whenever. They love seeing you. And—I'm really glad you and Peter are working things out." She smiles, "You're a good dad."

Erik stares at her, too surprised to think of an easy response. "Oh. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Just a belated Father's Day gift," Magda says lightly. She looks so kind and beautiful, and Erik stares at her, wondering what's wrong with him, to not be in love with her. She's warm, and loving, and funny. She gave him three incredible children; Wanda her hair color and her eyes, Peter his thoughtful heart, and Lorna her bright optimism, her confidence. Erik will never be able to repay her for all that she's given their family, and he hates himself a little for not giving her the life she wanted.

Maybe he didn't try hard enough, he thinks. I didn't want you to have to try, a distressed voice echoes in his head. He hadn't entirely understood what she meant at the time, but he's starting to, because on the way home, his thoughts drift back to Charles, again and again.

Chapter Text

"The word of the day is tryst," a familiar voice says from the door of Erik's office, a few days later.

Erik looks up from the phone he'd been frowning at, trying to decipher the game in question.

"Charles," he says, helpless to stop the grin spreading across his face. It's instinctive; he can't help but smile when he sees Charles. Still, he's confused. "What are you doing here? I mean, I'm happy to see you, but…"

"I thought I'd bring you some lunch," Charles says, letting himself in and closing the door behind him.

Erik gets up to greet him properly, with a too-brief kiss. It's good to see you too, Charles says warmly in his head. He pulls away and says, "I got it in three guesses, by the way."

"I hate it when you tell me before I can give it a shot," Erik gripes.

"I just saved you some agonizing. You were probably staring a hole into your phone, trying to come up with the perfect guess so you'd get it sooner than me," Charles says. "You're terribly competitive, you know." He starts setting out the food on Erik's desk, pushing papers aside to make room for two hearty-looking sandwiches and cups of soup.

Erik scoffs, opting not to dignify that with a response. "How did you get past the front desk, anyway? The security here is pretty…" He trails off, because Charles is giving him an amused look. "Right. Telepath."

Charles smiles brightly in reply. He looks so handsome, so happy to see Erik in any capacity. "I hope I'm not interrupting your day too much."

"And if I said you were? Would you leave?" Erik asks conversationally. He pulls his chair around to the other side of the desk, and curls his fingers at another chair in the corner, bringing it close to his.

"Erik," Charles pouts, "you'd send me away, after I went through all this trouble to see you?"

"You must have really wanted to see me," Erik says smugly.

Charles rolls his eyes, but smiles indulgently. "Well, it's been a while. I thought it'd be nice to catch up."

It has been a while; he hasn't seen Charles since last week, as they'd both been busy with work and school, and then Erik had the kids again. They sit and eat while Charles tells him what he's been up to lately; namely, helping Moira move into a new apartment.

"I know she doesn't like to take my money," he complains, "but paying for a moving company is as good a reason as any. If anything, I'm saving both of us from potential injuries! Did I mention it's on the third floor? There's no elevator! I nearly threw my back out."

"Shame she wasn't moving this weekend. I would have helped," Erik says.

"You certainly would have thrown your back out," Charles says.

Erik laughs and nudges him with his foot, "Hey, my core is probably stronger than yours. I exercise regularly—when's the last time you worked out?"

"When did we last see each other?" Charles says right away.

"I seem to remember doing most of the work."

Charles gasps and kicks Erik's chair, "That's too far. I won't have you saying I'm lazy in bed."

"Not lazy, but you have to admit I do the bulk of the action." Erik's having far too much fun winding him up.

"We could change that, you know," Charles says, voice dipping. He leans forward, gleaming eyes locked onto Erik's.

Swallowing, Erik remembers what Charles had asked him last week, the way his voice had curled around the words. Would you let me?

The thing is, Erik has thought about it a few times since then, because apparently he's someone who thinks about sex all the time, now. He thinks about Charles on top of him, leaning over him, strong and confident. He still doesn't know if he wants to be fucked, but it's hard to imagine that it wouldn't be good, if he was doing it with Charles.

"I'm… open to it," Erik says.

"Really?" Charles' eyes widen. "I—I have to admit, that's a bit unexpected."

"Can't you read my mind, Charles?" Erik says playfully, tilting his head.

Flushing, Charles says, "What goes through a person's mind hardly represents what they choose to do, you know."

"Is that so," Erik says lowly, enjoying the creeping red on Charles' cheeks.

"Yes. You might recall thinking all kinds of lascivious things about me, before you finally admitted it."

"Like what?"

"What didn't you think about," Charles huffs. "My lips, my eyes, my voice. My chest and waist and on several notable occasions, my arse in yoga pants."

"Jesus," Erik says, fighting the urge to cover his face, "you could hear all that? I'm surprised you didn't quit and sue me for sexual harassment." Hearing it like that makes him feel like a bit of a creep, to be honest.

Charles smirks and stands, coming over to Erik's chair. "You might also recall that I was very interested, myself. In fact, I'm certain that I was interested in you first." He swings a leg over Erik's lap and sinks into it, pulling his knees up so he's fully pressed against Erik. Having him so close makes Erik's heart speed up.

"Charles," Erik says weakly, eyes flickering over to the door. He locks it with a twitch of his fingers, even as he says, "I can't, here."

Charles leans in and says quietly, "Then why are you thinking about how good I feel on top of you?"

Erik tightly grips the arms of his chair in an effort to keep his hands to himself. "What happened to someone's thoughts not representing their actions?"

Charles smirks, "But your thoughts are so loud." He kisses Erik, coaxing his mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. It's so good that Erik nearly forgets where they are. Nearly.

He pulls away with Herculean effort, though he's disappointed to see his hands have found their way onto Charles' waist anyway. He doesn't have the willpower to move them. "I'm at work," he says unconvincingly.

"I'll be quick," Charles says. He kisses Erik again, bites at his lip and slides their tongues together, swallowing his halfhearted protests. He ruts shallowly into Erik's lap, pressing their burgeoning erections together.

"You are a menace," Erik groans, grabbing Charles' hips and stilling them. "I really can't do this at work, Charles."

"Why not? I'll personally make sure no one notices anything," Charles grins.

"I've heard that before," Erik mutters.

"Oh, don't you start," Charles scowls, tugging on Erik's hair.

"You're a brat, do you know that?"

"Is that any way to talk to someone who's about to give you an excellent blowjob?" Charles slithers off Erik's lap and sinks to his knees. He uses his hands to spread Erik's legs wide, runs his hands up Erik's thighs, squeezing gently.

"I…" Erik glances at the door despairingly. It's honestly unlikely anyone would stop by his office; it's a slow Thursday, and everyone is happy to keep their heads down and go into the weekend with no outstanding work.

"Please, Mr. Lehnsherr," Charles purrs, undoing Erik's belt and zip with clever fingers, "I won't spill a drop."

-

"Has anyone ever told you no?" Erik says after, trying to get his head back on straight as Charles gets to his feet and plucks the wrinkles out of his pants.

"Are you going to start?"

"I… don't think so," Erik says, huffing a laugh.

"Smart man." Charles smirks, "I have good ideas."

"What about you?" Erik asks, glancing down at the bulge Charles is sporting in the front of his pants.

"Oh, I'm fantastic. I just got to blow you in public," Charles says brightly. "I'll be wanking to the memory for years to come."

Erik hesitates. He'd like to reciprocate somehow, but now that the lust is clearing from his head, he can't forget that they're at his place of work. He does actually need this job to provide for his family. There's no trust fund for him to fall back on, should he lose it. Still… "Are you busy tonight? We could do dinner and pick this up then?"

Charles smiles, "I'd love to, but I have plans. I'll be out of town all weekend for a friend's birthday."

"The whole weekend?" Erik asks, surprised.

"Yes, it's a bit much," Charles laughs. "But we do it every year. It's fun." He steps closer, reaches out to palm Erik's cheek, smiling warmly when Erik leans into his hand. "I leave tonight. I wish we could have gotten together earlier this week, but between the kids and Moira moving it just didn't quite work out."

Charles had gone out of his way to bring Erik lunch because he wanted to see him before he left, Erik realizes. He stands up to kiss Charles, cradling his face. "Thank you for coming by," he murmurs.

"It's nothing," Charles says breathlessly. "I—I like your office."

"I like you in my office," Erik says, enjoying the way it makes Charles blush. "When will you be back from your trip?"

"Early next week."

"Can we do something then?" He crowds Charles up against the desk and kisses him again.

"Well, um," Charles says, "yes, but my sister's coming into town again, and…"

Erik pulls back. "Is she staying with you again?"

"No, actually. She was invited to exhibit at a gallery in the city for a month, so she'll have her own accommodations this time. I was just going to say that my birthday is next week," Charles says, seeming to have trouble meeting Erik's eyes. "If you wanted to—I mean, I usually go out with Moira and whoever else wants to join. It's not quite a weekend at the Hamptons, but… if you'd like to join us, I'd—I'd like that."

Charles is inviting him to his birthday celebration, Erik realizes, touched. "I'd love to," he says, honestly. "Just let me know when and where, and I'll be there."

"Excellent," Charles says, looking absurdly pleased.

"No need to be so surprised," Erik snorts. "It's your birthday. Of course I'll go out with you."

"I just wasn't sure that you'd want to go out with a bunch of twenty-somethings," Charles explains, a little abashed, like Erik might still change his mind.

Erik shrugs, "It doesn't matter to me." He doesn't much like going out with his peers, let alone people nearly half his age, but he's finding that there's little he wouldn't do to make Charles happy.

Charles' smile is blinding.

"What am I supposed to get a billionaire for his birthday?" Erik complains to Emma that Saturday. She'd made it past the first hearing for her case successfully, and had invited him out to lunch to celebrate. You can bring your sugar daddy if you want, she'd told him, and Erik was happy to tell her that Charles was out of town for the weekend, because he cannot deal with a drunk Emma around Charles, right now. Or ever, possibly.

"I don't know," Emma says, stabbing a green olive and popping it into her mouth. "A private plane, maybe? Or something he can't buy, like—your firstborn child, or something." She pauses, "Do you think that, like, troll thing in that fairy tale was a billionaire?"

"Sometimes I wonder why we're friends, and then I remember it's because you're so helpful," Erik says dryly.

Emma rolls her eyes, "Well, I don't know, Erik. He can buy anything he wants."

"That's exactly my problem," Erik groans.

Emma bites into another olive, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay, so… other than a firstborn child, what's something he can't buy? Sex? I mean, he can, but… sex with you? Give him a really spectacular orgasm, or something."

Erik's first thought is about letting Charles fuck him. It's not an unpleasant thought at all—to which the swooping in his stomach can attest—but he doesn't want that to be something he gives Charles as a present. It feels more… serious than that, or something. And he likes to think he gives Charles spectacular orgasms regularly, and he plans to do that again on his birthday anyway. Knowing Charles, there's some outrageous sexual fantasy he's already got in mind.

"Maybe some jewelry, or a nice watch or shirt," Emma says. "Some things mean more when they're given as a gift."

"That's a good thought," Erik says. Charles doesn't seem particularly material, but he'd clearly been in his element at that ridiculously fancy restaurant. Maybe he's been holding back on his expensive tastes a bit for Erik. Though, that doesn't seem right either—Charles has never seemed anything less than genuine in his appreciation of Erik's cooking, and even his apartment.

God, Erik's embarrassed to think about his sparsely furnished bachelor-pad-esque apartment, now that he knows about Charles' money. No wonder Charles had encouraged him to furnish the place. Honestly, it's a wonder Erik hadn't picked up on Charles' money before, considering the childish wonder with which he'd walked around IKEA.

Erik perks up, because that gives him an idea. "You're a genius," he tells Emma.

After lunch, he drops a tipsy Emma off at the spa (she'd been serious about her post-hearing massage, it seems) and then he calls Magda. "Hey, I hope it's not a bad time. I was thinking… if the kids are free today, I could come pick them up and we could have the day together?"

"Oh," Magda says, sounding pleasantly surprised. "Well, the twins are busy today, but Lorna's free. I'm sure she'd love to see you. She has a friend's birthday party tomorrow morning, so it'd be best if you could drop her off tonight."

"Yeah, no problem," Erik says, happy that Magda's on board.

"Great. She's upstairs, let me get her on the phone—"

"Wait," Erik says. He hesitates, "Do you—do you think you should ask her privately? Maybe she'd rather stay home with you." It's embarrassing, but he's nervous, like Lorna might reject him. He doesn't want her to feel like she has to see him, just because he's asked.

As usual, Magda sees right through him. She scoffs, "One, when have you ever seen that girl do something she doesn't want to do? And two, you're ridiculous. Loo adores you. She'll be over the moon."

Also as usual, Magda's right. When Erik asks Lorna, she agrees right away. "Yes! Can we go to the zoo? Or the petting zoo? Or—can we get smoothies? Wait, no, ice cream—"

"Slow down," Erik laughs, feeling warm inside. "I was thinking we'd go to a furniture store. I want to pick up Wanda's bookshelf, and I'll let you get something for your room, too."

"A furniture store?" Lorna says dubiously, and Erik can picture her little nose wrinkling.

"It's more fun than it sounds. They have a food court with really good meatballs."

"Okay!" Lorna agrees, easily won over. "Can we go to the petting zoo after?"

Erik checks his watch—it's early afternoon, and he has the feeling Lorna will get caught up at IKEA the moment they step foot in there, not unlike Charles had. "Probably not today. But… we'll do this more often, okay? Whenever you want, you can call me and as long as I'm not working, I'll come get you and we can do something together."

"Really?" Lorna gasps, sounding so amazed that it makes Erik feel guilty. He hadn't realized she's been missing him just as much as he's missed her.

When he arrives at Magda's a little later, Lorna runs up and hugs him tightly around the waist. "Hi, Daddy!"

"Hi, Loo," Erik says fondly, grinning down at her. "How was your week?"

"Good! I miss school though," Lorna frowns. "I miss seeing all my friends every day."

"I bet you do," Erik says, wondering (not for the first time) where their daughter's social butterfly tendencies came from. "If you ever want to invite one of your friends along to my place sometime, you can."

Lorna's eyes go wide. "Really? Like a sleepover? Could we show them the ducks?"

"Definitely," Erik says. "My home is always going to be your home, no matter where I live. You can have friends over, just like you would here."

"Does that mean I can get a bunk bed?" Lorna asks excitedly. "Bunk beds are so fun! Layla has one, and sleepovers at her house are the best."

"Um, maybe," Erik says. "That might be a project for another time. But we can take a look. Where's your brother and sister?"

"They're at your friend Azazel's house," Magda says, coming around the corner with a laundry basket on her hip.

"Both of them?" Erik asks, surprised. "Wanda too?"

"Yep," Magda says. "I couldn't believe it either. Azazel is really nice, though. He came over to introduce himself and Kurt before taking the kids back to his place. Wanted to make sure I felt comfortable with the kids being there."

He probably wanted to gauge Magda's reaction to Kurt, too, Erik thinks. "Well, I'm glad Wanda made a friend," he says. He's not surprised that Kurt managed to befriend Peter, but Wanda's another story.

"Me too," Magda agrees. "And Peter's going in Monday morning to interview for the paper delivery job. Well, it sounds like he's got it, honestly, but I'm going to make him do a mock interview with me tomorrow, anyway."

Erik laughs, "He's gonna hate that."

"Tough luck," Magda snorts. "Perk of being a parent."

"Sounds fun," Erik says honestly, and he's struck with the realization that this is something he's missing out on. Magda's smile dims, as if she's realizing it at the same time.

"Daddy, can we go?" Lorna says, tugging on his watch.

"Yeah," Erik says, offering Magda a quick smile before turning to Lorna. "Let's go, kid."

"Can we get ice cream later?"

"Tell you what. Where we're going, we can get ice cream and meatballs."

After dropping Lorna back off at Magda's, Erik goes for an evening run. He's back at his place and just getting out of the shower when his phone rings. He's not sure how long it's been ringing, so he rushes to answer before he misses the call. Erik smiles when he sees that it's Charles. Outside of a handful of texts, they haven't spoken much since he's left for his trip. "Hello?"

"Erik!" Charles shouts in greeting. "Where are you?"

"What?" Erik says. "I'm at home. Where are you?"

"In the Hamptons, I told you," Charles says. "But I mean—this is a video call, darling. I want to see your face!"

"Oh," Erik says, thrown. He can't remember the last time he's video called someone other than his parents during the holidays, with the kids. He holds the phone in front of him, and sure enough—there's Charles, looking radiant and flushed. It's good to see him. "Hi."

"Hello," Charles says happily, and then his eyes widen, "are you naked?"

"Uh, I just got out of the shower," Erik says, cheeks warming. "One second. Let me get dressed."

"Don't you dare," Charles says right away, but Erik's already levitating the phone and pulling on some comfortable clothes. In the background, there's the sound of a door slamming and then a cacophony of voices. "Shit," Charles says. "They're back. Sorry, I meant to call earlier, but Moira had a run-in with her ex, so I gave her a call, and—" The voices get louder, and Charles shoots someone to his left a dirty look. "One moment, Erik. I'll go to my room."

This statement is met with a chorus of boos but they seem good-natured, because Charles just rolls his eyes. "I won't be long," he says to someone off-screen. "I'll take another, though. Thank you, darling," and he laughs loudly at whatever they say when they hand him an expensive-looking glass of amber liquid.

He holds the phone up to his face again as he walks away from the group and down a hallway. "Sorry about that. My room's down this way, we can get some privacy…" he takes an absent sip, squinting at the doors as he walks.

"Having a good time?" Erik asks, amused. Charles is clearly drunk—at least, more than he'd appeared during their date.

"I am," Charles says. "I was thinking about you, though, and I—oh, here we are," he stops in front of a door and opens it, then shrieks and starts laughing raucously, joined by two other laughing voices, both distinctly masculine. "I'm sorry!" he calls out loudly, "I thought this was my room. And I didn't know you two were—well, carry on. Pip, pip. God, that's embarrassing," he giggles to Erik after closing the door again. "Okay, my room is the next one over."

"Are you sure?"

"Reasonably," Charles shrugs, then opens another door. This one appears to be the correct one after all, because Charles smiles. "Wonderful." He flips the camera around and says appreciatively, "My room."

It's an elegantly furnished room, with a couch, a nice dresser set, and a large, comfortable-looking bed. There's also a door that looks like it leads to a bathroom, and a glass set of doors that open up to a balcony with a striking view of the ocean.

"Wow," Erik says. "Nice place."

"Only the best for Warren," Charles says, chuckling like he's told a joke. "It's his parent's house. At one point we owned the next house over, but I'm not sure if we still do."

"Wow," Erik repeats, having absolutely no idea what to say to that.

"God, I'm sorry," Charles says, turning the camera back to him, cheeks pinker than before. "I know how that sounds. I'm just—I'm drunk, and I've been around Warren's friends all day, and—"

"It's fine, Charles," Erik says. "You didn't say anything wrong. I'm just not used to the whole… Hamptons thing." Or the extremely expensive dinner thing. Really, he's just still adjusting to the whole billionaire thing.

Charles huffs a laugh and looks away, still looking embarrassed.

"It looks beautiful there," Erik says honestly. "Are you having a fun time?"

"I am, for the most part," Charles says, a complicated look crossing his face. "I… forget what it's like, sometimes, to see everyone I grew up with."

"What do you mean?"

Charles shrugs, and he sets the phone down on the bed, so Erik is looking at the ceiling. Off-camera, Charles goes on, "Well, I've known everyone since boarding school, at least. It wasn't until I went to uni that I realized exactly how… the same we all were. All just growing up with household staff and knowing we'd inherit trust funds and companies, and… I don't know. I went to uni and everyone was so… real. And I'm—I'm certainly not complaining, but I just—" the phone screen spins again, and then Charles is there again, bare-chested this time. "It's just strange being with everyone again, that's all. Though the booze helps," he adds with a wink.

Erik snorts, "I'm sure. Are you—did you just take your shirt off?"

"Yes," Charles says simply. "Your turn, now. Pants too, please."

"Uh, why?"

"Because for some reason you put clothes on, when I specifically told you not to." Charles huffs when he sees Erik's bewildered expression, "For phone sex!"

"What?" Erik laughs, "Are you serious?"

"Sure, why not?" Charles pouts. "I'm horny. I've been thinking about you all day."

Heat curls into Erik's stomach but he crosses his arms, trying to look stern. "I don't think so," he says. There's no way he's having phone sex with Charles while all of his drunk friends are in the next room.

Though it's not as bad, a small voice reminds him, as having sex in his office during his lunch break. But that's different; Charles is unbelievably persuasive in person, when he's there to kiss and touch, pressing into Erik's mind.

"Is your phone floating?" Charles asks suddenly.

Maybe he's given up on the phone sex, Erik thinks skeptically. "Yes," Erik holds up his hands.

"God, that's sexy," Charles groans, falling onto the bed dramatically, phone screen bouncing before he props it up against something so the upper half of his body is visible. "So useful for phone sex, too. Well, video sex."

"Do you do this often?" Erik asks, trying not to ogle Charles too much.

"Not ever, actually," Charles says. "You'll have to let me know how I do."

"I'm not going to—Charles," Erik says, exasperated, though his dick is already taking interest in the sight of Charles, nipples pert and pink, glittering with metal, moving with each breath. "God, you are…"

Charles flashes him a handsome, crooked smile. "Go on," he says, fondling his chest, brushing his fingers over his piercings. His lips open at the touch in a silent gasp.

"Terrible," Erik finishes, mouth dry. He swallows, and adjusts his rapidly swelling cock.

"It feels good," Charles says, pinching his nipple and tugging it. "Not as good as you, but… it's good enough." He trails down his chest carefully, slowly, following the thin line of hair on his lower belly until his hand disappears out of frame.

"What are you—what are you doing?" Erik asks, suddenly desperate to see.

"Why does it matter, if we're not having phone sex?" Charles says, and his arm starts moving in a lazy rhythm.

Erik curses and shoves his pants down.

"Shirt too, please," Charles says cheerily. He goes still to watch as Erik strips off his shirt, dropping it on the floor. Erik gets on the bed on his side, phone floating in front of him. He tries not to look at the small image of himself in the corner of the screen, instead focusing on Charles, who's watching him back.

"I should have let you get me off on Thursday," Charles says, eyes roving over Erik's naked body.

Seeing Charles flushed and primed to unravel, Erik's having a hard time remembering why he'd been against it, at the time. "I want to get you off now," he says, voice low.

"Show me your cock," Charles says, and the way his accent cracks around the word—cock. It's indecent. Erik's so hard. He tilts the phone toward his dick, which is straining upwards, eager for attention it's not yet been given.

"Touch yourself," Charles says loftily. His arm starts moving again, maddeningly out of sight. And though he's not here to read Erik's mind, he smirks like he knows anyway, moving his phone until his own cock is visible, hard in his hand. His foreskin stretches around the head on every stroke, revealing the pink, wet skin, glistening with precome.

Erik's hand is on his dick before he even realizes it, matching Charles stroke for stroke. It feels good, though it doesn't compare to physically being with Charles, feeling his telepathy pressing into his mind, bleeding his pleasure over.

"Yes," Charles says breathlessly, "that's good. God, you feel so much better, but this—it's good, too." Only his lips are visible, with his cock in the picture. Charles bites into his lower lip, white teeth sinking into plump red flesh, and Erik wants to kiss him, taste him. Charles' hand moves quicker over his cock, spreading precome generously down the shaft, over and over.

Somehow, watching Charles is more gratifying than actually touching himself. "I want to see your face," Erik says.

Charles' hand falters before it resumes its motion, and then the camera tilts back up. His cock is out of sight, but his face is in the frame now, pretty and pink. "You're bad at dirty talk on the phone," he says, huffing a laugh that turns swiftly into a moan.

"Sorry," Erik grunts, hand moving quickly over his cock. "You're just—so gorgeous, I like to look at you."

"Better," Charles says, voice hitching. His eyes are dark with arousal, staring into the camera at Erik. "I'd finger myself, but I don't think I'll last long enough. It's enough to think about how you feel inside me, filling me up—" His face creases in pleasure, mouth dropping open and eyebrows drawing together.

"Jesus," Erik says, face burning. His hand moves faster.

Charles continues smugly, "I love when you come in me. It feels like—ah, like I'm all yours. I'd like you to come on me, sometime, too. I've been thinking about it all day. You, coming on my face. Everyone seeing it." He turns his face into the bed and moans, like he wants to hide his pleasure.

"Don't," Erik pleads. "I want to see you come."

"Fuck," Charles shudders. He rubs his chest, squeezing his nipple between his fingers. "Say that again. Tell me to come. I'm so close, Erik."

"I wish I was there," Erik says honestly. "Or you were here. It doesn't matter, I just—I wish I was the one touching you."

"Yeah? Would you make me come?" Charles moans loudly, and Erik is abruptly struck with the fear of someone overhearing Charles, his obscenely sexy sounds.

"Come just for me," Erik says.

Charles stiffens and his eyes squeeze shut, and he comes with a loud cry. His cock is still off-screen, but watching his face alone is enough to make Erik's cock throb.

"Fuck, Charles," Erik breathes, and then it's silent except for Charles' heavy breathing, chest moving up and down, catching the sunlight streaming in from the window.

"Oh, fuck," Charles giggles a moment later. "I missed the comeshot." He turns the camera toward his softening cock, still held gently in his hand and covered in come. "Oops."

"No, I—I like seeing your face," Erik says. "It's a good… face."

Charles laughs again, then brings his hand to his mouth, moving the camera along with it. He slips his fingers between his lips, sucking on them, tasting his own come. A potent bolt of lust shoots straight to Erik's cock at the sight. "Jesus, you're filthy," he says, voice low with desire.

"If you hurry up and come, you can pretend it's yours that I'm eating," Charles smirks.

Erik groans and obediently starts moving his hand again. He's painfully hard after Charles' ridiculously hot performance. Again, he hopes no one else heard it—the thought fills him with jealousy, a need to claim Charles.

"I wish you were fucking me instead of your hand," Charles says, hungrily watching Erik's hand move over his cock. "I said I like when you come in me, but you like it too, don't you?"

"Yeah," Erik grunts, closing his eyes and thinking about fucking into Charles' perfect ass, or his perfect mouth, hot and wet and tight, better than anything else he's ever felt.

"Won't you come, darling?" Charles purrs, "Close your eyes and think about fucking me. Come inside me, or on me, it doesn't matter. Either way, I'm yours."

"Charles," Erik groans out as he comes, striping his stomach as he pumps himself through it, thinking about filling Charles up. It's certainly different, having sex with Charles without feeling the now-familiar press of his mind, but hearing his voice goes a long way, too.

"Christ, Erik," Charles says, sounding awed. "You're so hot. That was—god. I've half a mind to leave now and come over to your place."

Erik opens his eyes, still trying to come back to his senses. He really wishes Charles were here now, too. He's gotten used to laying with him after sex, exchanging aimless kisses and chatting, maybe getting a snack.

"Are you okay?" Charles asks softly.

"I'm not going to lick my come off my fingers, if that's what you're asking," Erik says, turning the camera to his face again.

Charles laughs, "No. Just making sure your head didn't explode from having video sex."

"I think I'll be okay." Erik sighs, looking down at his stomach, which is covered in rapidly cooling come. "Let me clean up. I'll be right back." An unpleasant thought strikes him. "Unless you—you have to go, I mean. I'm sure you're busy."

"No," Charles says right away. "I mean, eventually, yes. But… I'd like to chat for a little bit, if you're up for it."

"Chatting is actually what I had in mind when I answered your call, if you can believe it," Erik says dryly.

They clean up and return to the call, and Charles props the phone up somewhere and sits cross-legged in front of it. He looks very soft, wearing a t-shirt and a suspiciously familiar pair of sweatpants.

"Are those mine?" Erik demands.

"What?" Charles says, feigning surprise. He inspects his pants carefully, "I'm fairly certain they're mine."

"I have never seen you wear sweatpants that aren't mine," Erik says flatly.

"Maybe they belong to my other boyfriend," Charles says carelessly, and then he freezes. "Not that, um—I mean, I'm not seeing anyone else, but it's not like you're my—I know we haven't exactly—"

"Charles, it's fine," Erik says, forcing himself to laugh over the thumping of his heart.

"It's just, I'm drunk," Charles says, laughing a little hysterically. "And I've just had a really nice orgasm, actually, so… you know what they say."

"Sure," Erik agrees, though he's not sure he does know what they say. Even though he'd vehemently insisted to Emma that Charles wasn't his boyfriend, that had been before his feelings had grown into… whatever they are now. Charles is certainly more than a casual hook-up, but the word boyfriend feels… simultaneously too juvenile and too formal. Erik's certain that neither of them are seeing anyone else, and that's good enough for now. They can talk about it another time, when Charles hasn't been drinking, and they can actually sit down and discuss it.

"So, how was your day?" Charles asks, reaching over to the nightstand to grab the drink he'd gotten earlier. He takes a long sip, looking at Erik over the rim of the glass with his beautiful blue eyes.

"It was really good," Erik says. "Emma and I had lunch together, and then I picked Lorna up and we did some shopping."

"That sounds fun," Charles says, bringing his knees up to his chest and folding his arms over them. He looks adorable, Erik thinks hopelessly. "Where did you go?"

"That's a secret," Erik says.

"A secret?" Charles says, laughing in surprise. "Did Lorna swear you to secrecy?"

"Nope."

"Very mysterious," Charles says, eyes sparkling.

"It was really good to see Lorna, though," Erik says, remembering how excited she'd been to see him.

"I'm sure," Charles says, smiling. "How are the twins?"

"Good, I think. They were actually both at a friend's house. Azazel's son."

"Really?" Charles says. "Wanda, too?"

"Yeah," Erik snorts, because he'd had the same reaction. "She seems to really be getting along with Kurt."

Charles hums thoughtfully, "Interesting."

Before Erik can ask what he means, there's a loud bang on Charles' end, and Charles jumps, looking to his right. "Christ, Warren," Charles laughs, holding a hand to his chest dramatically.

"We're going out on the boat to catch the sunset," a man with a faint New York accent—Warren, apparently—says. "You coming?"

Charles hesitates, glancing at Erik. "Oh, I might just stay in—"

"Oh, come on, Charlie," Warren says, and he comes into the frame, plopping onto the bed and slinging an arm around Charles affectionately. He's young and classically handsome, looking like he's walked right off the pages of a Harvard welcome brochure. "Come out with us. I'm sure your—whoa, I thought you were talking to a chick," he laughs loudly, slurring as he speaks. "Sorry, man," he says, barely looking at Erik before he turns back to Charles. "Is he like, your professor or something?"

"What? No," Charles says, cheeks turning red. "He's—actually, it's not your business. Get out of here," Charles adds, though there's no bite in it. He shoves at Warren halfheartedly, smiling.

"Can't even be nice to me on my birthday, for old time's sake?" Warren squeezes Charles' face affectionately. "Five minutes. We'll be waiting for you. Put something nice on," he says, looking distastefully down at Charles' clothes before heaving himself off the bed and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

"Sorry about that," Charles says, looking embarrassed. "That was Warren. He's not usually quite so… drunk."

"It's fine," Erik says, though there's a pit in his stomach, thinking about the way Warren had hung all over Charles, had said for old time's sake. "Did you two used to date, or something?"

"Not exactly," Charles says, finishing the last of his drink. "I mean, yes. Just sex, really. But it was never romantic, just… companionable, I guess." He hesitates, "Please don't—you can't tell anyone, but he's a mutant, too."

"Oh," Erik says, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes, but it's a very… sensitive topic. At one point he tried to… anyway," Charles shakes his head and offers Erik a smile. "My point is that he's a good person, underneath all the," he waves a hand vaguely, "you know. He was one of the first people I told about my telepathy, actually."

"Oh," Erik says, feeling wrongfooted. He's not entirely sure what to say. Gone is the easy, comfortable mood between them, something tense and halting in its place.

Charles looks like he wants to say more, but before he can, there's more banging on his door. "Cha-arles! We're leaving without you if you're not out here in the next five minutes!" a woman's voice calls out. Charles looks toward the door, then back at Erik.

"I don't have to—" Charles starts, at the same time that Erik says, "You should go."

"I… Okay," Charles says, after a long pause. "I have to get dressed, then. It was good to, um, talk to you. And the other thing."

"Thanks for calling," Erik says sincerely, "Charlie."

Charles laughs brightly, trying and failing to scowl convincingly. "Please, never say that again. I hate being called Charlie."

"I think it's kind of fitting," Erik teases, relieved.

"Mhm. Keep it up, and see where that gets you," Charles says sternly. He smiles at Erik, eyes fond. "Well… goodnight, then."

"Goodnight," Erik says, and he hangs up before he can do something embarrassing like ask Charles to stay on the phone with him.

Despite having had quite a busy and fulfilling day, he lays in bed that night, feeling wide-awake and unsettled, until his phone vibrates with a text. It's from Charles; a picture of a stunning sunset over the ocean, and a single red heart.

Chapter Text

Early the following week, Erik goes to Magda's to sit down and discuss finances. "I've been doing some research on schools," she says, spreading out various glossy brochures and opening her notebook to a page full of numbers. "Some of these schools are completely out of range, but some of them… well, I think we could make it work. But it won't be easy."

Erik runs his hand through his hair, staring at the numbers. "Fifteen thousand a year is the affordable option?"

"There's not that many private schools that emphasize supporting and protecting their mutant students." Magda sighs, "Frankly, we're lucky to have this many options. We're in a good area for it. And that's fifteen per kid."

"Jesus Christ," Erik says. He doesn't think he can manage another thirty thousand in annual expenses. And that's not including additional costs like uniforms or lunch programs. Still, this isn't optional for the kids. He'll just need to figure it out. "I'll talk to my boss about picking up extra work."

"Okay. I can see about picking up some hours, too. I'm basically off the schedule for now, until the kids go back to school, but—"

"No," Erik says quickly. "You don't have to do that. Just focus on your summer classes and the kids."

Magda purses her lips, "Well, I still need to pay you back for my tuition."

"Don't worry about that."

"I am going to pay you back, Erik," Magda says warningly.

"I know, but you can pay me back when it actually makes sense. The important thing is getting the twins to a safer school in the fall."

Magda exhales, "Right. So… I was thinking about getting a second mortgage on the house."

"What? Absolutely not," Erik says incredulously.

"Yes, Erik. I've thought about it a lot, and—"

"That's ridiculous. Why would you—"

"It's not your house or your choice," Magda snaps, eyes blazing. "You gave me the house when we got divorced, which makes it mine to do with as I please. In this case, that's—"

"But I'll just end up paying the new mortgage anyway!" Erik says, spreading his arms wide.

Magda's lips press into a thin line, nostrils flaring as she glares at him. "I never asked you to pay for any of this. You insisted on doing it because you need to be the big man taking care of your family, and I go along with it because I want what's best for the kids, but don't you think for one second that I need your money."

Erik stands up abruptly and snarls, "Real nice, Magda. You know, just because you want to separate our lives completely doesn't mean that we actually—"

"Daddy?" a small voice says from the doorway, and Erik's mouth snaps shut. Lorna closes the front door behind her and comes into the dining room, eyebrows knit together in concern. "Are you mad?"

Erik forces himself to relax some of the tension in his body. "No, I'm not mad."

"Everything's fine, Loo," Magda says, pasting on a smile.

"Okay," Lorna says, sounding not quite convinced. "What are you doing here, Daddy?"

Erik exchanges a look with Magda, then says, "We just had something to talk about, but we're done for now."

"Does that mean you're leaving?" Lorna says, sitting on the floor to tug her knee and elbow pads off; she'd been riding bikes with the neighbor's daughter when Erik had gotten here. She must have rushed inside when she saw his car parked out front.

Erik checks his watch—it's just after six thirty. Normally, Magda would be making dinner now, but the twins are hanging out with Kurt again. He looks at Magda and says quietly, "Are you okay if I take her for dinner?"

Magda nods, though she still doesn't look too happy. "Sure." She starts gathering her things. "We'll finish discussing this another time."

Erik watches her for a few seconds longer, then nods and turns to Lorna. "Loo, do you want to go out with me? We can go to Fran's, get some breakfast for dinner."

"Yeah!" Lorna agrees energetically, bouncing to her feet again. "Mama can come too, right?"

"Um, yeah," Erik says, "absolutely. If she wants to."

There's a pause, and then Magda says, "Loo, why don't you go change your clothes? You have grass stains on your shirt."

Lorna goes upstairs to her room, inspecting her shirt for stains, and Magda says to Erik, "I'll just eat something here. You two can go together."

"You should join us," Erik offers. "Really. I'm sorry for being a dick about the mortgage." He still doesn't agree with her, but he doesn't want to fight with her. They only have so much time to make up, these days. He's grateful that Lorna had interrupted before things escalated.

Apologizing seems to do the trick, because Magda gives him a small smile. "I'm sorry, too. I really appreciate everything you do for our family. I'm just stressed about the private school stuff. I hate thinking about our children getting punished for just… existing at school."

"Me too," Erik says grimly.

Magda gives him a searching look. "You really don't mind if I come along to dinner?"

"Not at all," Erik says honestly. "I think it'd be good for Lorna to spend time with us together."

"All right," Magda agrees. "Hey, I think I know who you're dating."

Erik feels the blood rush from his face. "What?"

Magda laughs, "Why do you look so freaked out? It's that woman from the farmer's market, right? Lorna said she gave you her number months ago."

"Oh," Erik says, dizzy with relief. "No. I mean—um, no. It's not."

"Calm down," Magda snorts. "I'm not going to go find her or anything."

"Really, it's not—"

"I'm ready to go!" Lorna announces, bounding down the stairs. She beams up at Magda and Erik. "Can I get pancakes?"

Erik talks to his boss the next day work. He's done the math, and if he can work an extra ten hours a week, he'll be able to cover the kids' tuition. Unfortunately, his boss is only willing to give him an extra five hours weekly for the duration of their next big project, and Erik gets the feeling he's pushing his luck as it is. Still, it's better than nothing. He'll just have to figure out the rest of the money another time. For now, he's looking forward to meeting up with Charles later, at his birthday celebration.

The bar they're meeting at is closer to Erik's workplace than his apartment, so he decides to get started on his overtime right away and head straight there afterwards. He leaves on time but gets caught up in traffic and then trying to find a parking spot, so he's nearly a half hour late when he finally arrives.

It doesn't take him long to find Charles, because the moment he steps foot in the place, Charles sidles into his mind and guides him to a large booth in the corner, accommodating a handful of people Erik doesn't recognize, and a few he does.

"Erik!" Charles shouts, wriggling out of the booth to greet him. He wraps his arms around Erik's neck and stands on his tiptoes to kiss him. "I'm so glad you've made it."

Blushing at the enthusiastic (and very public) reception, Erik kisses him back and says, "Of course I did. Happy birthday."

Charles beams at him, then makes introductions. "Everyone, this is Erik. Erik, please meet my lovely sister Raven, and my colleagues Alex and Armando. And of course, you've already met Moira and Warren."

"It's good to see you again," Moira says amiably.

"You too," Erik says, trying not to fidget under everyone's expectant looks. "It's nice to finally meet you, Raven. Charles talks about you all the time." Her blue hue is even more striking in person than the photo he'd seen at Charles' office.

Raven smiles at him, though her eyes are sharp. "Funny, I haven't heard much about you until very recently."

Erik falters, not entirely sure what to reply to that—to say nothing of the obvious hostility in her voice.

Looking cross, Charles opens his mouth to say something, but Warren beats him to it. "Damn, Ray, let the guy breathe." He slides out of the booth and offers Erik his hand to shake.

Warren's taller than he'd looked on the phone, and bulkier, too. Despite the comfortable temperature in the bar, he wears a heavy-looking bomber jacket that stretches over his broad shoulders. "Nice to officially meet you, Erik," he says cordially. "I'll go grab another round, now that you're here. We're doing birthday shots."

Charles finishes glaring at Raven, then smiles at Erik and tugs him into the booth. He's gorgeous and flushed red high on his cheeks, something Erik has come to recognize as a telltale sign he's been drinking.

"And how many birthday shots have I missed?" Erik asks, amused.

"Plenty," Moira laughs from where she sits on Charles' other side. "Don't worry, Charles took yours, too."

"You'll have to catch up," Charles says, batting his eyes at Erik.

"Hmm," Erik hums noncommittally, eliciting laughter from the two men sitting on the other side of the booth.

"Do not let him con you into playing catch-up," Armando says firmly. "He just wants an excuse to drink more."

Charles pouts, "I would never let someone drink alone. Am I meant to feel bad for being such an excellent host?"

Armando laughs, clearly having heard this before. Alex says, "Man, Raven and Mando are the only ones who can keep up with you, and they're cheating."

"I wouldn't say cheating," Armando mutters, looking slightly offended.

"To be fair, that's because you haven't drank with Warren before," Charles says.

"There's a special kind of alcohol tolerance you get when you're born into a family with the GDP of a small country," Raven says wryly.

"What about when you're just adopted into one?" Moira says innocently.

"Raven likes to exclude herself from the Xavier narrative when it suits her," Charles whispers loudly to Erik.

Raven's eyes narrow at Charles, "As opposed to cosplaying a poor college student?"

"I'm not cosplaying anything," Charles scoffs.

"You live in student housing," Raven says flatly.

"Well, you changed your entire bloody name so that you're not associated with the Xaviers anymore, but you still seemed to enjoy yourself all right in the Hamptons."

"Damn right, you did!" Warren hoots, arriving just then with an impressive number of shotglasses held in his hands. Even more impressively, the tension diffuses instantly. He passes the shots out and then raises one and says, "To Charlie!"

"To Charlie!" everyone except Erik and Charles say, drawing the name out with emphasis.

"I hate you all," Charles says, smiling indulgently, and then he clinks his shotglass to Erik's with a wink, and slams it back in one practiced motion.

Erik takes his shot dutifully, then thinks that he could use another drink; something to sip on while he loosens up and tries to ignore the way Raven is still glaring at him. And then there's Warren, who Erik hadn't even expected to be here tonight.

"I'm going to go get a drink, does anyone want anything?" Erik asks, though everyone has a half-full drink in front of them.

They all decline, except Charles who says, "I'll go with you."

"That's okay," Erik says quickly. "Stay here with your friends, I'll be right back." He's sure that if they go up to the bar together, Charles is going to kiss him again, and Erik won't be able to tell him no, and then they'll be making out in front of everyone and Raven will surely hate him.

"I'll take a whiskey sour, then," Charles says, smiling warmly at Erik like he's a second away from kissing him anyway.

Erik can breathe a little easier standing by the bar, waiting for their drinks. He's nervous. It's not like him to care about what people think, and yet it feels frustratingly important to make a good impression on Charles' sister. Even more frustrating, she's clearly already got her opinions on him, and he can't entirely blame her.

"Hey man," a friendly voice says behind him. It's Warren. He catches the bartender's eye and holds up his empty glass with a charming smile.

"Hey," Erik says awkwardly. The bartender comes by with his drinks, and when Erik tries to hand her his card, Warren waves him off.

"Put those on my tab," he says to the bartender, "and I'll take another."

"You don't have to do that," Erik says, wondering if this is some strange power play on Warren's part.

"It's the least I can do," Warren says. "Charles informed me several times that I made an ass of myself the other day when you were on the phone, so… consider this my apology."

"Oh," Erik says, taken aback. "Uh, don't worry about it. And happy belated birthday."

"Thanks, man," Warren says. "And don't mind Raven too much. She's like that until she warms up."

"Right. Thanks," Erik says uncertainly, then takes his drinks back to the table. Warren joins them a minute later, flashing Erik a quick smile before having a seat.

"Erik, I've been dying to ask," Moira says. "Charles is always talking about your powers. I'd love a demonstration."

"I'm not always talking about them," Charles protests.

"Yes, you are," Moira laughs. "You've told me, like, ten times the way he uses metal to keep track of—"

"I have not," Charles says shrilly. "I talk about his powers a reasonable amount, because they are exceptionally inter—you know what? Erik, please show them."

"I don't have like, a trick or anything lined up," Erik says.

"He's not a show horse," Armando laughs.

"He's hung like one," Charles says, under his breath.

"Does anyone have any spare change?" Erik asks, before anyone can process what Charles said, though based on the look Alex and Moira exchange, it's too late for that. "Or some paper clips or something."

"Yeah, let me just get my office supplies out," Raven says sarcastically.

"Here, man," Armando says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few coins. "Is this enough?"

Erik considers it. "Yeah, it should be." He holds his hand out and concentrates, and instantly the coins melt together in a shimmery, viscous-looking puddle. Erik knows from experience that it's cold and hard to the touch, yet perfectly malleable for him. In one smooth motion, he shapes the metal into a little duck; his go-to these days, as he's been working on the basics so he can try and teach Lorna soon. The duck sails smoothly over to Moira and settles in front of her, on the table. She looks at Erik in wonderment before picking it up to inspect.

"Damn," Armando says, looking impressed.

"This is adorable," Moira says. "Can I keep it?"

"Sure, unless he wants his change back," Erik shrugs.

"All yours," Armando says.

"Erik can do so much more than that," Charles says excitedly. "He actually controls electromagnetism, and the possibilities are astounding. He can feel metal to track it, or—or change its temperature, or manipulate it practically any way that you could imagine—"

"So, wait," Alex interjects, "does that mean you can sense piercings? Like if someone had their dick pierced, you'd be able to know."

"What an interesting question," Moira says, looking at Charles pointedly.

"Is your dick pierced!?" Alex says, loudly enough to attract the attention of the next table over.

"My dick is not pierced," Charles says, laughing. "Erik can attest to that."

Erik downs half his drink, knowing what information is almost certainly about to come out next.

"My nipples are," Charles supplies cheerfully, and the table erupts into hoots and hollers.

"That's my cue," Raven says, making a face. "I'm getting another drink."

"That… is some kinky shit," Armando says, when she's gone. Everyone laughs, and he says, "Really, though—that is one hell of a power, man."

"C'mon," Alex says gruffly. "You're one to talk."

"Nah," Armando waves the comment off.

"So modest." Charles turns to Erik and says, "Armando has one of the most wonderful mutations I've ever seen. He can adapt to literally anything. That's what Alex meant earlier, about him cheating with alcohol. His body adapts to alcohol as he drinks it, so he can't get sick or hungover from it."

"That's nothing," Alex smirks. "Anyone got a lighter?"

Armando snorts, "Or more change so Erik can make a lighter?"

"He could!" Charles says excitedly, grabbing Erik's arm. "Erik can make anything, essentially. You should see him assemble furniture—"

"Okay," Erik laughs, placing a hand over Charles' and squeezing it. "I think they get it."

"Well, could you make a lighter?" Moira prompts.

"In theory, yes. The trickiest part would be the ignition, but it's not hard to start a metal fire, as long as I have the right type of metal," Erik explains.

Warren clears his throat, "Well, I do actually have a lighter." He passes it to Armando, who wastes no time flicking it on and holding his hand directly in the fire.

Erik flinches, expecting him to yelp in pain, or even wince. Instead, his skin changes before their eyes into something that looks tough and leathery and presumably, impervious to fire.

"Wow," Erik says, impressed.

"If he's underwater, he grows gills," Charles says matter-of-factly. "It's miraculous, really."

"Says the telepath," Erik says, knocking their knees together. If anyone at the table is a miracle, it's Charles, Erik thinks. Charles' smile softens into something shy and pleased.

"More shots!" Raven announces, setting yet another round on the table. She looks more clear-headed than Erik feels, though she's been drinking more than him. Alex had said something about Raven "cheating" the same way Armando does when it comes to drinking, Erik remembers.

Raven's mutation is cellular manipulation, Charles says suddenly in Erik's head. She doesn't naturally adapt like Armando, but she has complete control over her cellular structure. Aside from changing her appearance at will, she can also physically strengthen her liver to better process alcohol.

Erik's not sure why they're not talking out loud, but he goes with it. Really? That's fascinating.

It is. Don't ask her about it though—she hates when I talk about her telepathically. Or to her, Charles adds, as an aside that Erik's not sure he's meant to hear.

They order appetizers for the table and continue to drink and chat, and Erik feels less out of place than he'd expected. It's a potent combination; alcohol and Charles' infectious happiness, the way he glances at Erik while he talks, like he can't believe Erik is still there. Erik's content to sling an arm around Charles' shoulders and listen. It's shocking, he thinks, that Charles had said he feels alone, because he's so clearly beloved by everyone at the table.

Aside from Erik, everyone drinks enthusiastically and abundantly, far more than he'd normally indulge on a weekend, let alone a week night when he has to work in the morning. It'll be a hell of a bill, Erik thinks. Then, a little hysterically, he realizes that's the kind of thing half the people at this table never, ever have to worry about.

"That's right, darling," Charles leans over to say, words slanting together. "You don't have to worry about it, either." Raven looks over at them when he says this, yellow eyes narrowed.

Erik gives him a stern look. "You are not buying your own drinks tonight. It's your birthday. Let me treat you."

Charles giggles and grabs Erik's face, turning it toward him to kiss. "You're such a gentleman," he murmurs into Erik's lips. At this point in the night, no one bats an eye.

Because that's the other thing: the more Charles drinks, the more affectionate he gets. Erik's still reeling from Charles' enthusiastic greeting earlier; up until now, the time that they've spent in public has been fairly restrained. Perhaps, he thinks ruefully, the other moviegoers or their cab driver would beg to differ.

Okay, sure, but he's not used to Charles looking at him like that or bragging about him in front of people they know. It's their first time out with friends as a couple, and Erik feels proud, and lucky, and tipsy enough to embarrass himself a little by giving into his urges to touch and look at Charles constantly.

We could take a cab home now, Charles speaks in his mind. Even the quality of his mental voice is dreamy, blurred with alcohol. I'm ready for the sex part of my birthday, now.

Erik chuckles and rubs Charles' cheekbone with his thumb. We can do whatever you want, but I think your friends are still going strong.

Charles tilts his head in thought, and then announces to the table, "Erik and I are going to the restroom."

Moira lets out a loud peal of laughter at this, her cheeks flushed prettily. "You two are insane."

"Don't be crass. I just have to take a piss," Charles says smoothly.

"And Erik's helping?" Armando says, and Moira laughs again, this time joined with Alex and Warren.

"Yes. It's my birthday," Charles says, and then pulls Erik to his feet.

The moment they're in the bathroom Charles is on him, pushing him against the wall and kissing him hungrily. Erik puts their location out of his mind and kisses Charles back, allows himself to be pushed against the wall and devoured, Charles' tongue plunging into his mouth.

Erik's head is spinning, and Charles feels so good in his arms, pressed against him, a facsimile of the time Charles got his nipples pierced and they'd abandoned all pretense of self-control, rutting against each other until they came in their pants.

Yes, Charles moans, his thoughts melting into Erik's, intoxicating and dizzying and hardly distinguishable.

It's disorienting enough that it gives Erik the wherewithal to break the kiss, holding Charles' face in his hands. If Charles is as intoxicated as he'd just unintentionally shared with Erik, what little appeal there was to having sex in a public restroom lessens to none. "Charles, we can't do this here."

"Sure we can," Charles says, snaking a hand between them to grope at Erik's erection. He turns his head and wraps his lips around Erik's thumb. He sucks it into his mouth, tracing the skin with his wet, warm tongue. You could be fucking me right now, he says, eyes molten on Erik's.

Erik could cry, he's so hard. "We're in public," he says, pleading.

"So?" Charles snorts, squeezing and rubbing Erik's cock through his pants.

Erik swears and kisses him until Charles is pliant in his arms, lazily rolling his hips with the certainty of someone who's about to get off. Regretfully, Erik has to break their kiss again. He's far from unaffected himself, but as the far more sober of them, he has to be the responsible one.

"Charles, we're done," he says gently.

Charles looks down at where their hips are pushed together. "I don't think so," he says, genuine puzzlement in his voice. He looks up, "I certainly didn't come. Did you?"

Erik laughs, "No, I'm saying we should be done. I'm not going to fuck you in the bathroom."

Charles grins saucily, "I get to fuck you then?"

"No," Erik says emphatically. "It's just—it's gross in here, Charles."

As if to prove his point, the door opens and someone walks in. They pass Erik and Charles without even sparing them a glance. Somehow, Erik just knows that it's Charles' doing, hiding them from view. He kisses Charles again, just once, because he can't help it. "You are crazy," he says, and even he can hear the adoration in his voice, "and you are gorgeous, and I would love to keep kissing you, but we can't. Your friends are out there, and you're having a really good time, and I think you'd be sad if we left early."

Charles pouts at him for a moment, but he nods. "Can I stay at your place tonight?"

"I was hoping you would."

Charles brightens considerably.

They return to the others, who are all talking over each other and laughing, noticeably louder and drunker than the other tables. Erik's the most sober of them aside from Raven, and that's because he's been nursing his third drink for some time now.

When the volume naturally decreases to something more manageable, Charles takes it upon himself to regale them with some truly terrible pick-up lines, including naming the specific genes that makes Erik's eyes their specific shade of gray (OCA2, as it turns out).

"Tell me he didn't use that lame shit on you," Moira says. "Do you remember what you said to me? Something-something, auburn hair, groovy mutation."

"Hey, it had a pretty good success rate," Charles defends.

"That sounds pretty respectable compared to what you did with me," Erik says. "You flat-out asked me to rub you off. Right there, in my kitchen."

"Charles, you slut!" Moira cackles, scandalized. "Was that before or after his mental breakdown where he pierced his nipples?"

"I was referring to my neck," Charles says, rolling his eyes. "Erik's a pervert."

"How did you two meet again?" Raven chimes in, eyes gleaming.

Though something tells him she knows the answer already, Erik says, "Charles tutors my son, Peter."

"You have kids?" Warren asks, looking up from the beer bottle he'd been blankly staring at.

"Erik has three kids," Charles says warmly. "Peter, Wanda, and Lorna. All wonderful. Actually—Lorna gave me this bracelet." He holds his wrist up to show the blue bracelet Erik had made months ago. "Erik was the one who made it, though, because it matches my eyes. He was horribly, embarrassingly besotted with me from the moment we met." Charles grins wickedly at Erik.

"Right," Warren says faintly. "I'm gonna… get another drink." He stands, wobbling on his way to the bar.

"Oh, I want one! I'll go, too. Do you want anything, darling?" Charles asks Moira, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

"No way," Moira laughs, "I'm already going to be stupidly hungover tomorrow."

"Suit yourself," Charles shrugs. He turns to Erik, "And what about my other darling?" The word slides off his tongue, a blur of affection. Erik feels a swell of happiness in his chest at the pet name, despite the fact that Charles is clearly drunk and has been generously doling out endearments to everyone all night.

"Yes," Charles says, "but you are so very dear to me, my dear." He plants a kiss on Erik's cheek and then he's off, catching up to Warren at the bar.

"He's definitely bringing a drink back for all of us," Moira snorts.

"Not us," Armando says, settling his arm around Alex's shoulder. "We're heading out. We both work tomorrow."

Alex pats Armando's thigh and they slide out of the booth. "It was nice to meet you," Armando says politely, shaking Erik's hand. They stop by the bar to say goodbye to Charles, who immediately gestures emphatically in what seems like a plea for them to stay for another drink, to no avail; the two leave together, hand in hand.

"So those two are… dating, then?" Erik asks. They had certainly seemed close, but he hadn't picked up on anything romantic. Though, he's been pretty preoccupied with Charles all night, if he's honest.

Moira eyes Erik, amused. "Yeah, they've been together for ages, so they're kind of over the PDA thing." The unlike you and Charles goes unsaid, but Erik's cheeks flush all the same. She goes on, "It's a bit sickening, honestly. Like, leave some soulmates for the rest of us, you know?"

"Yeah," Erik says, watching Charles charm everyone around him—the bartender, a random passerby, Warren. Everyone is so drawn to Charles, so taken by his boyish handsomeness, his sharp wit, his kindness.

"Jesus Christ. I'm getting out of here," Raven mutters, and ups and leaves, without even stopping to say goodbye to Charles on her way out.

"Don't worry about her," Moira shrugs. "Raven doesn't like anyone that Charles likes too much. Or anyone who likes Charles too much."

Erik frowns. He can't imagine feeling that way about someone you love.

"It's complicated with them," Moira says, sounding sad. "Raven's too hard on him, I think. Charles isn't perfect, but… he's really good, you know?"

An understatement, as it often is when it concerns Charles. He's so much all the time, in the best way possible. So warm, so funny, so unpredictable, and lively. "Yeah," Erik agrees, watching Charles again. He doesn't notice Moira staring at him.

"Wow, you are so done for, huh?"

Erik feels caught. "I'm not—I don't know what that means, really."

Moira shrugs and takes a sip of her very melted drink. "It's a good thing. I'll be honest, I wasn't too keen on the idea of you two dating, but… I've never seen Charles so happy with someone. So don't stress too much about Raven. She'll come around. Just keep being good to him."

"I'll do that," Erik agrees easily. He means it.

Charles and Warren come back to the table, laden with drinks. "Everyone's leaving," Charles frowns. He takes a seat next to Erik and hands him a beer. "Is it bad that I got you a German beer?" he wonders. "I didn't think so, but Warren said I was being culturally insensitive—"

"That is not what I said," Warren says firmly.

"German beer is fine," Erik laughs. "But I think I'm done drinking for the night, anyway. It's getting late."

Charles wilts. "You're leaving?"

"I thought you were coming with me," Erik reminds him.

"Oh, right, yes," Charles says, lighting up again. "For S-E-X."

"Why did you spell it?" Moira says, laughing hard.

"For propriety's sake," Charles says, throwing Erik a look of disbelief. "Raised in a barn, these two."

"A very expensive, uptight barn," Warren agrees gravely.

"And me in the next barn over," Charles admits. "Okay, fine. After this last round, Erik and I are going to go back to his place for really excellent, dirty sex. Is that better?"

"Much," Moira says. Warren doesn't say anything, instead opting to start on his drink.

Charles reaches for Erik's beer, "Can't let this go to waste."

"How about some water," Erik says, pushing his beer out of reach and replacing it with a glass of water.

"You really are like, the ultimate DILF," Moira giggles. "I didn't entirely believe Charles until that day you came to our office."

"Am I supposed to know what that is?" Erik says warily.

"Oh my god," Moira laughs. "You're so funny."

"DILF," Charles says grandly, "means Dad I'd Like to Fuck. It's reserved for very attractive older men, such as yourself."

"I see," Erik says slowly, and he holds the water out to Charles. "Drink."

"You know, I might call you Daddy in bed, but that doesn't mean you're actually my father," Charles says, reaching past it for the beer and laughing loudly. Moira laughs with him, and Warren coughs, looking a little embarrassed.

"Right. I think that's our cue to go home," Erik says, face burning. "I had to park a few blocks away. How about I go get the car and bring it out front?"

Charles smiles at him, eyes warm and hazy. "Okay, darling. And then we'll go home and have our really excellent, really filthy—"

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Erik says loudly.

He closes their tab on his way out, not sure why it feels like a point of contention for him, but maybe it has something to do with the way that Warren kept buying Charles' drinks all night. It's ridiculous to feel threatened, because even if they slept together in the past, Charles clearly has no problem keeping sex casual on his end—but that line of thought only makes Erik feel worse, and he quickly pushes it out of his mind.

He's grateful for the night breeze when he steps outside, cool enough to help clear his mind on the way to his car. In fact, he feels more sober with every step he takes—Charles' telepathy must be leaking his intoxication again, Erik realizes.

He's hardly down the block when he hears someone calling out to him. "Yo, Erik!" He stops and turns to see Warren jogging down the sidewalk toward him. "Thought I'd walk with you for a bit, stretch my legs."

"Sure," Erik says shortly, though he really doesn't want company, particularly from Warren. No offense meant to him—well, maybe a little—but Erik's had a long night of socializing and he's pretty tapped out.

Warren doesn't seem thrown off by Erik's standoffishness. Instead, he pulls a pack of cigarettes out from his jacket pocket and offers one to Erik, who declines. They walk in silence for a minute and Erik is beginning to wonder if Warren really did just want to stretch his legs, until he speaks.

"I'm glad you could make it out tonight," Warren says, glancing over at Erik. It rubs him the wrong way, as if it's Warren's place to thank him for coming.

"Charles wanted me there," Erik says pointedly.

"Of course," Warren says. "I just mean that Charles, uh, he seems to really like you. He can be kind of… hard to get to know. But he seems to trust you a lot. I've never really known him to… anyway, it's good, but just… you're not just wasting time with him, are you?"

Erik stops. "What?"

Warren stares back unflinchingly. "I'm just saying. If this is just you having fun, or trying to get money—"

"Go fuck yourself," Erik spits, and starts walking again.

"It's just—I'd rather be an asshole than let Charles get hurt, you know? If it's money you need, I'll give it to you. Just don't—"

"I don't want his money," Erik snarls. "I paid his tab tonight, for fucks sake. And he's—he's a goddamn telepath. Don't you think he'd know if I had bad intentions? And moreover—how the fuck is it your business, at all? I've never even heard him say your name until last week."

It's a low blow, and perhaps Erik's supposed to feel bad when Warren flinches, but he just feels smug instead.

"Charles is my friend," Warren says woodenly. It occurs to Erik that Warren hasn't called him Charlie once during this conversation. He only says it when he's talking to Charles, the way a schoolboy would tease his crush, and the picture becomes that much clearer. "I'm just looking out for him."

Erik speaks over the vitriol that rises in his throat. "You don't have to," he says firmly. "I'm not going to—I care about Charles. I'm not going to hurt him." Erik can't even stand the thought of it.

Warren stares at him for a moment longer, then nods. "Okay. Good." He ducks his head to light his cigarette, and when he looks up again, he jerks his head down the street in a clear dismissal.

Asshole.

Erik shakes his head and leaves for his car again. Did Warren really want to give him some bullshit shovel talk? Or was it his intention to make his feelings for Charles known, like he's trying to remind Erik that Charles has other options, as if he could forget it. Luckily, Erik thinks, it's not up to Warren.

When he pulls up in front of the bar a few minutes later, Charles is already standing outside with Warren, smoking. With a wave of his hand, Erik opens the passenger door for Charles, who lights up adorably. He hands the cigarette to Warren, then hugs Moira goodbye.

"Bye, Erik!" Moira shouts, bending over to wave cheerily at him.

"Do you need a ride?" Erik asks her, noting her rosy cheeks and the glassy sheen in her eyes. She doesn't look much more sober than Charles—who looks like he had indeed finished everyone's last round for them.

"I'm fine," Moira assures him. "My new place isn't too far from here."

Erik doesn't love the idea of letting her walk home alone, so he's about to insist when Warren says, "I'll walk with her."

"Thank you, darling," Charles says, hugging them both goodbye again, this time with a kiss on the cheek for good measure. Finally, he gets in the car and immediately leans over to kiss Erik. "And thank you," he says between kisses, "for caring about Moira getting home safe."

Knowing that Warren is likely seeing the display, Erik can't help but kiss Charles back thoroughly, until Charles lets out a breathy noise that makes Erik's dick interested enough to remind him that they're definitely blocking the street right now. Erik presses one last kiss to Charles' swollen mouth. "I have to focus on driving."

"So focus," Charles says, leaning over to nibble on his earlobe and rub at his burgeoning erection through his pants. "You can do two things at once, can't you?"

"Not these two things," Erik says, grabbing Charles' hand and setting it on the armrest.

"No fun," Charles says, leaning back in his seat with a dramatic sigh.

"We'll be at my place in like, thirty minutes. I have every confidence that you can behave yourself."

"Really?"

"No," Erik laughs. "Absolutely not." Between Erik's sense of metal and Charles' control over his telepathy they should be fine, but he is a little worried about Charles' intoxication bleeding through again.

Charles hums and falls silent. "Was nice of Warren to come out," he says after a little bit. "He's usually at his Hamptons house when he's not busy being all—you know," he waves his hand, "at school. Harvard."

Perhaps one of the least surprising things he's ever heard, Erik thinks ruefully. He's probably captain of the rowing team, too.

Charles lolls his head over to peer at Erik. "You don't like him."

Erik snorts. "I don't think he likes me."

"Sure he does," Charles shrugs. "Warren's just like that—defensive of himself and everyone he cares about. It's just… He's a mutant, you know. I think I told you that before, but what I didn't tell you is that—he's got these big, beautiful wings. He binds them most of the time, which's a shame, because he looks like an angel."

Erik swallows the surge of jealousy that rises at the words, but not quickly enough.

Charles snickers, "You're so jealous. How did I not know this before?"

"I don't think I am, normally," Erik mutters, more to himself than anything. He's not sure if it's a byproduct of the intensity of his feelings for Charles, or because he's never been with someone that's apparently slept with all of their friends. He realizes a second too late that Charles certainly heard that particular observation. "Sorry," he says, "I don't mean—"

"'s'fine," Charles says, waving his hand. "I'm choosing to be flattered." When Erik glances over at him, he's smiling back indulgently, gaze heavy-lidded.

Erik doesn't mean to be jealous; despite Charles' effortless charm and incorrigible flirting, Erik trusts him. He does. It's just… Warren that he might not trust so much. He'd tried to pay Erik off, like an overbearing dad in a movie.

Erik glances hurriedly at Charles, because this isn't how he wants to broach the subject, but Charles appears to have fallen asleep in the last five seconds. His eyes are closed and his chest is rising in slow, measured breaths. He looks untouchably serene and handsome, and perhaps the effect should be ruined when he lets out a loud, undignified snore, but it just makes Erik's heart squeeze.

Erik pulls into his apartment a little later. He walks around to the passenger side and opens the door, "Charles, wake up. We're here." Charles doesn't stir, and Erik's debating the logistics of carrying him inside when his eyes blink open, looking disoriented for a moment before he focuses on Erik's face.

"You should definitely carry me," he slurs, leering.

"If you want me to," Erik offers. He'll certainly try, at least.

Charles laughs and gets out of the car, stumbling a bit. "No, save your strength. You'll need it for the activities to come."

Erik doesn't have time to process that before he's pinned against the car, and Charles is kissing him. Immediately, Charles' telepathy presses into his mind from every angle, overwhelming and dizzying. The abrupt onslaught makes Erik gasp, and Charles pushes his tongue into his mouth sloppily. He tastes like liquor.

"Hey, Charles," Erik murmurs into the kiss. "Let's go inside."

"For my birthday present?" Charles says suggestively.

"Actually, yes," Erik says.

Charles accepts this, and he obediently follows Erik into his apartment. "I'm going to take a piss," he says, "and then I want my present." Charles emphasizes the last word with what's surely meant to be a sexy smirk as he walks backward into the bathroom. He thunks his shoulder into the doorframe and he gives the offending wall a look of utter betrayal that makes Erik laugh.

Erik takes the space away to suck in clean air and clear his head, his own thoughts spinning just from being in close proximity to Charles. Honestly, he doesn't know how Charles is still standing. He handles his alcohol alarmingly well. Erik certainly won't be having sex with him tonight.

When Charles emerges from the bathroom, there's a fresh change of clothing and a glass of water waiting for him. "I thought you might want to get into something more comfortable," Erik calls out. He peers into the fridge to see if there's anything quick he can whip together before they go to sleep. Charles could use some food in his stomach.

"You know, usually when people say that it's a euphemism for lingerie," Charles says, coming closer.

"I like when you're comfortable," Erik says, closing the fridge and turning to him. He stops; Charles' shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a tempting expanse of pale skin. He smirks expectantly at Erik, no doubt aware of the incredibly enticing image he presents. If Erik hadn't just been intimately exposed to Charles' blurry thoughts, he would be tempted.

"I'm not going to sleep with you tonight," Erik says.

Charles' smirk drops. "What? Why?"

"You're insanely drunk," Erik says incredulously. "I'll be surprised if you even remember this conversation tomorrow, let alone sex."

Charles laughs, "I don't have to remember sex to enjoy it."

Erik's expression flattens. "I'm not doing that."

"That sounded bad," Charles says apologetically. "I just mean that I'm fine, Erik. I have an—an advanced alcohol tolerance, if you will. It runs in the family, actually—"

"Charles, I'm not joking," Erik says firmly. "I'm not going to sleep with you tonight."

"You're serious?"

"I am."

Charles stares at him in abject disbelief for a moment, and then he scoffs, "No sex because I've been drinking? You do realize this wouldn't be the first time we've had sex while I'm drunk—"

"That's different. You weren't this drunk—"

"And suddenly you're the arbiter of drunkenness?"

"Look," Erik says, frustrated, "if you only came over for sex, I'm sorry to disappoint. I can—I can take you home, or call you a cab if you don't want to be here."

A flash of hurt crosses Charles' face before it hardens and he snaps, "Oh, fuck off." He snatches the clothes Erik had set out and goes back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him a little too hard.

Erik takes a few deep breaths, willing the surge of anger in his chest to die down. He doesn't want to disappoint Charles—which is why he ends up agreeing to most of the completely ludicrous things he suggests—and he's certainly not trying to shame Charles for indulging on a special occasion.

When he was younger, he would've kept up more. They'd probably have taken a cab home to have clumsy, sloppy sex, and they'd fall asleep, too drunk to care that they were going to have atrocious hangovers in the morning.

But he's not that young, anymore. The idea of getting completely wasted isn't even remotely appealing, not the way it was when he was in his twenties. He knows better now, that he's simply setting himself up for a day or two of feeling like shit after.

Still… it's Charles' birthday, and even though Erik's not going to budge on having sex tonight, he still wants Charles to have a fun time.

With a heavy sigh, Erik realizes what he has to do.

Erik's sat at the table when Charles returns, looking unfairly appealing in Erik's clothing—and still pissed off—he does a double-take at what's laid out in front of him. "What's all this?" he sniffs, crossing his arms and leveling Erik with a challenging look.

"Well," Erik says, picking up the glass of whiskey he'd poured, "thought I'd catch up."

Charles' face screws up in confusion. "What? What do you—"

Erik slams the whiskey back with a grimace, then pours another shots-worth into the glass.

"Christ, Erik!" Charles says, shocked out of his anger. "What are you doing?"

"Something I will probably regret in the morning," Erik says gravely, and takes another shot. This one goes down a fair bit rougher, instantly making his throat burn and eyes water.

"Erik," Charles laughs, rushing over, "you work tomorrow! What are you doing?"

"I'll go in late if I have to. One more," Erik says, pouring another shot and ignoring the part of him that desperately wants to protest the idea.

"Don't do this on my behalf," Charles says, looking at him like he's crazy. "My god, what's wrong with you? Erik, put that down. Erik—" Erik takes the shot, and the sternness in Charles' voice evaporates in a shriek of laughter. He bends down to kiss Erik feverishly, giggling between each kiss. "You're insane. And sexy."

Erik pulls him onto his lap, laughing. "I'm sorry for being a dick."

"You're not," Charles murmurs, eyes warm. "I'm just a drunk arsehole."

"Well, I wasn't drunk enough," Erik says. He can already feel the whiskey pleasantly burning down his chest.

"Something tells me that's going to change," Charles snickers.

"Only—" Erik hesitates, not wanting to bring down the mood, "I still don't think we should sleep together. Is that okay?"

"Depends," Charles says thoughtfully. "We can still sleep together, can't we? Big spoon, little spoon, all that nonsense."

Erik snorts, "I was hoping so, yeah."

"I think we're fine, then. Now, did you want to make us food before those shots hit?"

Erik doesn't manage to finish cooking before the whiskey hits him, but luckily, Charles is an easy customer. "Best grilled cheese sandwich I've ever had," he says approvingly.

"Why do you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Grilled cheese sandwich," Erik says, doing his best Charles impression.

"My accent?" Charles asks, puzzled.

"No, you sort of—I don't know," Erik shrugs. "It sounded significant."

Charles thinks about it for a moment. "It wasn't intentional, but I suppose I was just thinking—my mother is British, you know, so she'd call these sandwiches toasties, and—it's not that she'd make them, absolutely not," he laughs, "but my father would, and he always called them toasties because he thought it was cute when my mum said it."

"Ah," Erik says, understanding. "So this is the best grilled cheese but not the best toastie."

"Actually, no, my father made terrible toasties. He always—he always forgot that he was making them, and they'd end up all burnt on one side," Charles says, laughing. "Like, really burnt."

Erik blinks. "That's—"

"Terrible, I know," Charles giggles. "The worst part is that I learned to prefer burnt sandwiches."

Erik bursts out laughing, the concept of Charles' father consistently burning sandwiches until Charles internalized burnt as correct too cute and funny to verbalize. "That is terrible," he chokes out.

"I know!" Charles says, dropping his food to laugh into his hands. "And after he died, I'd ask the cook to make me a—a toastie, you know, when I was feeling sad. But she'd always make them too perfectly cooked, and I'd ask her to burn them on one side, but she seemed to think I was joking or something, because she never wanted to actually burn it. Eventually, I convinced her, but…" Charles' smile dims, "it wasn't the same."

Erik is hit with the abrupt and painful urge to hold Charles, or kiss him, or at the very least offer to burn his sandwich.

Charles laughs again, a bright, relieving sound. "You are absolutely lovely, do you know that?"

"You're the lovely one," Erik says, tongue feeling clumsy in his mouth. "I can't even look at you, sometimes."

"Really?" Charles smiles, "When? Because I'm fairly certain you're always staring at me."

"I'm not," Erik denies weakly.

"You are." Charles picks up his sandwich again and takes a large bite. "I like it, though," he says through a mouthful of bread.

That's good, Erik thinks, returning to his own food, because he doesn't think he can stop.

"Did you say you have a present for me?" Charles says sweetly, when they're done eating.

"I do!" Erik gasps, because he'd almost forgotten. He jumps up and goes to his room, calling out as he goes, "It's—it's nothing big, I just… you'll see. Don't read my mind, I want you to be surprised."

"Just don't think about it," Charles calls back, sounding amused.

"What do you mean, don't think about it?" Erik complains, returning to find Charles sitting on the couch expectantly. "Isn't that the worst way to get someone to not think about—" Erik stops at Charles' shit-eating grin. He thrusts the gift bag at him. "Here."

It's a comically large, bright pink gift bag, with equally bright green tissue paper. "Lorna picked out the wrapping," he says, "but the gift is from me, and it's just—it's something small, really. Not, um, physically small obviously, but… it's stupid. It's okay if you don't—"

"Blahaj!" Charles cries out, unceremoniously tossing aside the tissue paper and lifting the giant stuffed shark out of the bag. "You—you got me a Blahaj?" He looks up, eyes startlingly wet, "Erik."

Erik panics. "I can get you something else if you don't like it. I know it's stupid, I just thought—"

"Shut up," Charles sobs, hugging the shark tightly to his chest. "I love him."

"Oh," Erik says, relieved but no less alarmed. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Charles says tearfully, and then he leans back on the couch and buries his face in the shark's head, shoulders shaking as he cries.

"Oh my god," Erik says, rushing over to his side. "I'm sorry, baby, tell me what I can do." He reaches out uncertainly, wanting to comfort Charles but not entirely sure how, because he has absolutely no idea what's happening. Charles falls over into his arms, still clutching the shark.

"I'm good," Charles sniffs. "I'm so good. I love him."

"Are you—happy crying?"

"Obviously," Charles says. He looks up at Erik, eyes wet and vividly blue against the splotchy pink of his face.

Erik uses his thumb to wipe some tears. "That's not obvious, you nutcase," he says gently.

Charles laughs, "Of course it is. Look at him—he's so cute. And soft." He rubs the shark's face against Erik's cheek.

"Very soft," Erik admits. "Happy birthday."

Charles smiles, eyes filling with tears again.

"Don't cry," Erik whispers, laughing a little.

"I'm just—I'm really happy," Charles whispers back. "This is one of the nicest gifts I've ever received."

"No, it's not," Erik snorts.

"It really is," Charles insists.

"I just—you seemed like you wanted it, when we went to IKEA that time."

Charles leans up to kiss Erik. His lips taste like salt. "I did. Thank you, darling."

Darling, Erik thinks, enjoying the way it sounds in Charles' curling accent, softened with affection. He feels Charles smile against his lips, and he thinks it again. Darling.

Darling.

Chapter Text

Erik wakes up with the worst hangover he's had in recent memory. Last night, he'd harbored a ridiculous fantasy about waking up and going to work like usual, leaving Charles to sleep in as long as he liked. It'll be fine, he told himself. They didn't go to bed that late—he'll simply sleep off the booze and jump out of bed at his usual time. Maybe he'll even go for a run.

He's an idiot, he discovers in the morning.

When his alarm goes off approximately five minutes after he falls asleep—though his clock insists it's been six entire hours—his first thought is Ow. His second thought is Will someone please turn off that fucking sound? His third thought is No, seriously—

"Christ, Erik," Charles groans, kicking him. "Turn that bloody thing off."

Oh. Erik feels blindly around his nightstand for his phone. It's not there, and the alarm continues to go off, piercingly loud. Had he not plugged it in last night?

"Erik," Charles says again, curling into a ball next to him, "please."

"I don't know where it is," Erik replies dumbly, sitting with a wince. His head is killing him. "It's not—I didn't plug it in."

"Is it not made of goddamn metal?"

Right.

His phone, as it turns out, is somewhere in the pile of clothes he'd discarded on the floor before they went to sleep. It flies into Erik's hand, wrapped in a pair of underwear. Charles kicks him again before Erik manages to untangle it and turn off the alarm. There's blessed silence for a moment, and then Charles makes an honest-to-god whimper and curls into himself further.

Erik pats him sympathetically and drags himself out of bed, hoping he feels miraculously better in the next thirty seconds so he can go to work.

Thirty seconds was too ambitious, he decides, thirty seconds later. He'll give it five minutes. Erik goes to the bathroom, drinks an entire glass of water, and gets halfway through blearily preparing his coffee before his stomach lurches unpleasantly and he calls it quits.

The bed is empty and the bathroom door is closed when Erik returns to his bedroom, this time with a glass of water and a couple ibuprofen for Charles. He's just finished sending an email to his office manager when the door opens and Charles staggers back to bed.

"How are you feeling?" Erik asks, handing Charles the water. If he's feeling sick, Charles must be feeling absolutely terrible.

"Peachy," Charles mumbles after taking the medicine. He curls up in bed, eyes squeezed shut. "Are you going to work?"

"I'll go in later," Erik says, too tired to feel properly guilty. It's a bad look, asking for extra work one day and then showing up late the next, but he can worry about that when his head stops throbbing. Right now, nothing sounds better than laying down with Charles and getting a couple more hours of sleep.

Charles makes a soft, pleased noise. "C'mere," he says, reaching out to pat the space next to him. Erik doesn't need to be told twice.

Waking up is easier the second time. The pounding in his head has receded to a mere afterthought, and his stomach had settled at some point in the last hour. Charles is still sleeping, mouth agape and snoring softly. Erik carefully extracts himself from the bed, taking care not to jostle him too much.

Coffee is a godsend, and the remnants of Erik's headache dwindles away with each sip. He still feels hungover, that distinct equilibrium offness that follows a night of drinking. It makes him want to call in the rest of the day, eat something salty and greasy, and crawl back into bed. Erik drinks more coffee and wills the caffeine to chase the grogginess from his limbs.

A low groan of pain comes from his room. Erik quickly gets more water for Charles and hurries back. Charles is facedown in his pillow, hair sticking in every direction. "Hey," Erik says softly. "How are you feeling?"

Charles groans again and says something that sounds suspiciously like, "I want to die."

Erik's reminded of the time that Peter ate all of his Halloween candy in five minutes to 'test his powers' and then had a horrible stomachache for the rest of the night. Like then, Erik can't help but feel sympathetic, even though Charles' sickness is of his own doing. "That bad, huh?" he says gently. "Turn over, I have some water for you."

Charles stays where he is for a moment, then heaves a big sigh and turns over. He sits up long enough to drink some water and then burrows under the blankets again, holding them over his head. "You can go to work," he says, voice muffled. "I'll see myself out."

"Are you okay?" Erik says, frowning. "I already told the office I'd be in late. If you need me, I can—"

"No," Charles says loudly. He rips the blanket away from his face and glowers at Erik. "I'm hungover, but I'll live. I appreciate your concern, and I'm sorry for—for acting like such an arsehole last night."

"Is that what this is?" Erik says, laughing. "You're embarrassed about last night?"

"Don't kick a man while he's down," Charles complains. "Haven't I suffered enough?"

"I don't know about you, but I had a good night," Erik says lightly, nudging Charles over to get into bed. "I had fun meeting your friends."

"That wasn't the embarrassing part of the night."

"Really? I seem to remember you loudly announcing to everyone that your nipples are pierced," Erik snickers.

"I'm glad you think this is funny," Charles says miserably. He really does look embarrassed, facing away from Erik, keeping his limbs uncharacteristically to himself. It feels wrong, Charles being withdrawn. He even feels distant in Erik's mind.

Erik wraps his arm around Charles and pulls him back against his chest. He bends down to press a kiss to his cheek, then the corner of his lips. "I mean it. I had a good time," he murmurs, mouthing against Charles' jaw.

"What are you doing?" Charles says, breath hitching when Erik palms his chest, squeezing the soft flesh and brushing his nipple, tugging at the metal instinctively.

"I'm fairly certain I owe you birthday sex."

"You don't have to," Charles says, even as he arches into Erik's touch. "Let me suffer in peace."

Erik chuckles, "You're so dramatic. Do you want to get off or not?" He reaches down and slides his hand into Charles' underwear to cup his cock, which is filling out as they speak.

"I—I suppose I could."

"I'd like to," Erik says, pushing his hips forward. His own half-hard cock brushes against the soft, plump skin of Charles' ass. "But if you don't want to—"

"Okay," Charles says, breathless, "yes. Yes, I want to."

"What do you want?" Erik pumps Charles' cock and can't help but watch, enjoying how it plumps and grows in his hand.

"Anything, as long as I don't have to do any work," Charles says, huffing a laugh that turns into a moan when Erik squeezes him harder.

"Spoiled," Erik says, fondness spilling into his voice. "Turn around." He reaches back to get the lube from his nightstand and pours some in his hand.

Charles looks down speculatively. "And what are you doing with—oh," he gasps, when Erik wraps his hand around Charles' cock, spreading lube and pumping his hand firmly, until it's fully hard and glistening wet. Erik's body responds accordingly, his own cock springing eagerly out of his underwear when he pulls them down.

He lines up their cocks and wraps his hand around them, a moan slipping out of him at the sight alone. Charles' perfect, pink cock next to Erik's girth, shiny and slick with lube. Comparatively, Erik's cock looks huge and imposing. Erik can't believe he fits that inside Charles.

"Fuck," Charles utters, rolling his hips, staring at the way his cock pokes out of Erik's fist with each pass, leaking as if they need the extra lubrication. His foreskin catches and drags against the head of Erik's cock over and over, a maddening brush of velvet. Erik pumps his fist faster, until Charles stops thrusting and just braces himself against Erik's chest, moaning.

"You're so pretty," Erik groans. "I've been thinking about it."

"About me being pretty?" Charles huffs.

"About you fucking me," Erik admits, and Charles' cock kicks in his hand. "Do you like that idea?"

Charles gasps, "Oh, fuck, please, Erik—" He surges forward and presses against Erik, slotting their mouths together. He hitches up his leg and humps Erik's stomach, smearing lube and precome between them. Please let me fuck you, please, he says desperately in Erik's mind. It'll be good. I'll make it so good.

I know, Erik says, kissing him back frantically. I want you to fuck me. He slides his hand out from between them, wrapping his arm around Charles to pull him closer. Their skin feels electric where it meets, buzzing and hot and still not enough. He thinks about Charles touching him inside, opening him up with his fingers first, and then his pretty, perfect cock.

Charles pumps his hips like he's fucking him, rubbing his cock against the sensitive underside of Erik's, over and over until he comes, panting into Erik's mouth. The flood of hot come between them and the secondhand peak of pleasure pushes Erik over the edge too. He hurriedly grabs himself to stroke through his orgasm, cock coated with Charles' come as he shoots between them messily. Muscles lax and still ringing with his orgasm, Erik falls to his back. He lazily wipes up their mess with the sheet. They're going to have to shower, anyway.

"Please tell me that wasn't just dirty talk," Charles says, propping himself up on Erik's chest. He looks down at him imploringly, "Please."

"You're feeling better," Erik observes lightly. Sex seems to have cured both Charles' shame and his hangover. Admittedly, Erik's feeling better too.

"Yes, well, orgasms are actually very good for hangovers, you know. It's the flood of hormones—dopamine and oxytocin and such. All the things your body is lacking after a night out, and we have a natural, fun way to replenish it."

Erik snorts, "How many times has that gotten you laid?"

"Enough," Charles says with a grin. "So, was it? Dirty talk, I mean. It's okay if it was, really, I just want to know."

"It's okay if it was just dirty talk?" Erik teases. "Are you sure?" He runs a hand down the smooth, soft skin of Charles' back to the plump skin on his ass. Charles really does have an incredible ass.

"Yes," Charles says, biting his lip. "It would be an excellent birthday present, though."

Erik's smile falls without his permission. He doesn't mean to; Charles didn't say anything wrong. It's just that getting fucked feels… intimate, not like a thirty dollar shark he could buy at the store, unsure if Charles will even like it. Maybe he's being too sensitive; he's not a teenage girl in an eighties movie giving away her virginity like a precious flower. He's a grown man who is most certainly not a virgin, nor does he have any reason to feel like one.

Charles' eyes clear with understanding. "No, Erik—it is special. I'm sorry, I was just—" he kisses Erik quickly and apologetically, "I was just excited."

"I know," Erik says, embarrassed. Sometimes being around a telepath feels like being flayed open, whether you like it or not. "I'm just being stupid."

"Not stupid," Charles says firmly. "If we're talking embarrassing, I was the one crying over a stuffed shark, last night. Sobbing, really."

Erik can't help but smile, remembering Charles bursting into tears and clutching the shark to his chest. After the initial alarm faded, it really had been incredibly cute.

"So… please don't feel embarrassed," Charles says, eyes soft with sincerity. "It's a big deal. I didn't mean to—to cheapen it."

"You didn't," Erik says seriously. And then he frowns, "But the shark has a name, you know."

"Blahaj," Charles supplies, punctuating it with a kiss. "Thank you, again."

Erik brushes Charles' messy hair to the side, running his fingers through the soft, dark waves. "I'd like to take you out on an actual date next weekend, for your birthday. I know it's late, but I have the kids this weekend, so…"

"Oh, that's—that's okay. We already went out last night, and you nailed the gift, really. You don't have to get me anything else."

"I want to," Erik insists. "I like going out with you." Meeting Charles' friends had certainly been a lot, but Erik likes doing things with him. Any thing, it seems.

Charles hums thoughtfully, running his finger along Erik's chest. "Could I pick the restaurant?"

"Of course."

"Could I pay?"

Erik gives him a flat look. "It's for your birthday."

"Yes," Charles says slowly, "and again, you already paid for my drinks last night, and you got me a wonderful gift."

Erik frowns.

Charles pouts, "Come on. Please? I want to go to a really expensive place and I won't be able to enjoy myself if I know you're buying every eighty-dollar glass of wine."

Eighty dollars? Erik thinks with dismay before he can stop himself, and Charles smirks, like he's already won.

Erik sighs. "Fine."

"And… will you let me pick out what you wear? You're so fit, it will be like having my own Ken doll."

"You want to pick my outfit? I mean… sure, I guess," Erik says. It's not like it makes a difference to him. And in all fairness, he had felt quite underdressed the last time they went to a nice restaurant. Though, he's not sure he even owns clothing that would—

Charles' smile is gleeful.

"No," Erik says. "You're not buying me clothes."

"Please, Erik," Charles says, leaning down to press kisses to Erik's jaw, "pretty please? I have just the suit in mind. You'd look so good in a nice suit. It would be the best birthday gift."

"I thought I already got you the best birthday gift," Erik says wryly. He feels Charles' lips curl against the sensitive skin of his throat.

"I'll keep begging," Charles says, voice dipping. "But you'd probably like that, wouldn't you?"

Erik groans and pushes at him ineffectually, "Fine, but nothing too expensive, okay?"

"Of course not," Charles says agreeably. "It will be very tasteful."

Erik rolls his eyes, but truthfully he's not too upset. He can tell Charles wouldn't let it go, and if he's going to use the birthday card… well, there's not much Erik can do about that. If Charles wants to take him out and pick his outfit, so be it. Charles deserves to be celebrated, and Erik's not the only one who thinks so.

"Lorna was hoping you could come over this weekend," he says. "She wanted to see your reaction to your present, so I'll have to rewrap it. If you want to come over, I mean."

"I'll put on a very convincing performance when I open it," Charles vows. "I um, I don't think I've had anyone care about my birthday this much since, um, ever."

Erik doesn't think that's true; he'd been there last night at the bar, surrounded by Charles' friends and his sister, however complicated their relationship may be. And then there's Warren, who had put his obvious distaste for Erik aside long enough to give Charles a fun night out.

"Stop it," Charles snickers, poking Erik in the forehead. "Warren doesn't dislike you. It's not personal."

"I think his feelings for you are personal," Erik counters. Charles has to know already, right?

Charles scoffs lightly, "It's nothing, honestly. Warren's just… His parents have been—his mutation was very difficult for him, growing up. It still is. I've always accepted him as he is, wings and all, and he's simply conflating that with romantic feelings. That's all it is."

That's certainly not nothing, Erik thinks. There's a lot to be said for feeling wholly known. "His big, beautiful wings that make him look like an angel?" he says dryly.

Charles purses his lips to keep from smiling. "Those are the ones, yes."

"I'm surprised he didn't fly up on the balcony last night to whisk you away."

"Don't be ridiculous," Charles dismisses. "He'd have come to the front door."

The rest of Erik's work week is grueling. It's only two days, but Erik doesn't bounce back from his hangovers with the same elasticity as Charles, orgasms notwithstanding. Still very much in need of overtime, Erik works every possible moment until he picks up the kids, and at that point, he's in dire need of a pick-me-up.

Fortunately, he's got Lorna.

"Olivia was so jealous we went to IPEA," she tells him on the way to his apartment.

"IKEA," Erik says automatically.

"No, pretty sure it's IPEA," Peter says helpfully.

Lorna sounds it out, "Eye-Pee-Uh."

"Yep," Peter says.

"Olivia said her sister got to go when she went to college and they spent a thousand dollars."

"Guess I better start saving now," Erik says, though his first thought, horribly, is That's not that bad, not when he's looking at a cool fifteen-thousand dollar tuition next year. Per kid.

At least Lorna's fine in her school for now; the school district has much better accommodations for its smaller, cuter elementary students than it does for the high schoolers. Maybe by the time Lorna starts high school, the mutant children will be better protected.

Or maybe the private school will raise its tuition to twenty thousand, Erik thinks glumly.

"Don't worry Dad, I'm not going to college," Peter says cheerfully.

"Don't start," Erik warns.

"Hey Dad," Wanda says, popping her ear phone out, "for Charles' birth—I mean, um, Lorna said that his birthday was this week, and he might come over for cake or something."

"Yeah, maybe," Erik says, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. "Is that okay with you? If you want it to be just us—"

"No," Wanda says quickly. "I mean—I don't care. He can come over if he wants." She says it with a dismissive indifference, and for the first time in too long, Erik lets himself think about Wanda's crush on Charles.

She's hardly seen him all summer; surely her infatuation has faded, right? He wishes Emma was around to tell him. He would ask Magda, if the thought of talking to her about Charles didn't instantly make him feel nauseous.

"Is it okay if Kurt comes over tomorrow?" Peter asks, looking up from his game. "He said he'd help me with my school project."

"Oh," Erik says, surprised. "Sure. Of course. As long as it's okay with his parents."

"His dad said he can come over whenever."

"He's at his dad's this weekend?" Erik isn't crazy about the idea of taking time with his son away from Azazel.

"Yeah. He's like, living with his dad for the summer."

Erik looks at Peter, who is staring intently at his game again, fingers moving in a blur. Should the kids be living with him? Should he have asked them? Is it terrible that he hadn't thought to do it already?

"So can he?" Peter says, interrupting Erik's self-reproach.

"Can he what?"

"Come over. He has a crazy sweet tooth, he won't want to miss out on the cake. Or I can take some over—"

"No," Erik says. "I mean, yes, he can come over. You don't have to take him cake."

"What kind of cake did you get?" Lorna says, kicking the back of Erik's seat excitedly. He reaches behind and grabs her foot, squeezing as she shrieks in delight, "Dad!"

Erik gives her another squeeze before dropping her foot. "I didn't get one yet. I need your help deciding. We can go to the bakery in the morning, unless you want to make one." Truthfully, he just hadn't had the time to go to the store to pick anything up, cake mix or otherwise.

"Hmm," Lorna says thoughtfully. "Let's make one! Chocolate with chocolate frosting."

Erik considers this. It's hard to go wrong with chocolate, and Charles hasn't seemed particularly… discerning with sweets. "Sure," he says.

They end up stopping at a grocery store close to Erik's place. The twins pick out some snacks for the weekend—they're both into pickle-flavored chips right now, courtesy of Kurt—and Lorna peruses the cake decorations while Erik compares various mixes.

"Daddy, can we get the sparkler candles?"

"I think Charles will just want regular candles, Loo." Erik says, finally deciding on a brand and grabbing the chocolate flavor.

Lorna makes a disappointed noise before she catches sight of something that makes her light up. "Wait! Can we make strawberry cake instead? It's pink!"

Erik's about to tell her no, that they should stick to chocolate, when he remembers eating chocolate-covered strawberries with Charles. He promptly banishes that thought. "Good idea," he says. Lorna manages to talk him into some sprinkles, but he draws the line at adding chocolate chips to the cake. "I think that's enough sugar."

After dinner, Erik and Lorna bake the cake. He measures everything out while she mixes, and when the it's done he sets it in the fridge to chill overnight. "We're not gonna frost it?" Lorna says, disappointed.

"Tomorrow," Erik says. "I read online that it's easiest to frost a cake when it's cold." He's not confident in his cake-decorating abilities, but at least the baking directions on the box were simple enough. Maybe they should have gotten more sprinkles; enough to cover up a potentially botched frosting job.

Erik's exhausted, and he finds himself nodding off watching TV with Lorna and Peter. He plans to wake up early tomorrow morning to get some work done, and maybe even squeeze in a run. As it turns out, getting drunk on a weeknight was a lot more fun when he could just skip class instead of having it fuck up the rest of his week.

"Daddy fell asleep," he hears Lorna whisper loudly to Peter.

"Should we draw on his face?" Peter asks her.

""m not," Erik grumbles. "I'm just resting my eyes."

"You were snoring," Lorna giggles. Erik forces himself to lift his head and squint at her.

"Lorna wanted to draw on your face," Peter says.

"No I didn't!" Lorna gasps, shocked. "Petey wanted that!"

"I told her we shouldn't," Peter says gravely.

"Thanks kid," Erik says, standing up and clapping his son on the shoulder, while Lorna sputters in outrage. "I'm going to bed. Loo, why don't you get ready for sleep too? I'll tuck you in. Peter, don't stay up too late."

While Lorna brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas, Erik stops at Wanda's room and knocks on the door. "Can I come in?"

There's a long pause, and then the door opens politely. Wanda's sitting on her bed, arms shielding her notebook. She looks up at Erik. "Hi, Dad."

"Hey, Red," Erik says, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm going to sleep, just wanted to say goodnight."

"Goodnight," Wanda says.

Erik watches her for a moment. She looks so much like Magda, more every day. "I'm, um, I'm glad you're here. I've missed you," he says.

Wanda smiles at him tightly. "Thanks."

"How's your summer been? Having fun hanging out with Kurt?"

"Yeah, he's… nice," Wanda says.

Erik waits a beat longer, but she doesn't say anything else. "Okay. Night then. Love you."

"Love you too. And, um… thanks for the bookshelf. I like it," Wanda says shyly.

"No problem," Erik says. "Maybe we can go to the bookstore on Sunday, grab a coffee."

Wanda's smile goes soft. "Okay, yeah."

"Can we call Mr. Charles? We have to invite him over," Lorna says to Erik early next morning, when they're frosting the cake. She'd been too excited to sleep in, so Erik hadn't actually been able to work or go for a run.

Erik pauses, because Charles is already planning to come over around two; they'd texted about it last night. But Lorna, of course, wouldn't know that. "Sure," Erik says, thinking about the best way to do this. He hands Lorna the spatula he'd been using to spread the frosting and quickly grabs his phone to call Charles.

"I wanna talk to him!" Lorna says immediately, holding her hand out.

"Okay," Erik agrees, keeping the phone pressed firmly to his ear.

Charles picks up the phone only a moment later. "Hi, you," he says sweetly. He makes a noise like he's stretching, "I was just having the most interesting—"

Erik clears his throat, "Hey, Charles—"

"Dad!" Lorna whines.

"—Lorna wanted to ask you something," Erik says, giving her a stern look. "If she can be patient, you can talk to her." Lorna quiets, looking wounded.

"I see," Charles says carefully, sounding far more awake.

"Putting you on speaker now," Erik says, then holds the phone out to Lorna. "Say hi, Loo."

"Hi, Mr. Charles!" Lorna chirps, sullenness immediately forgotten.

"Good morning, Lorna," Charles says warmly. "How are you today?"

"I'm good," Lorna says. "Me and Daddy are frosting a cake."

"A cake? Why, whatever for?" Charles muses.

Lorna looks up at Erik, eyes wide. He shrugs at her and holds a finger up to his lips. She giggles, "It's a surprise. Can you come over today?"

"Hmm, perhaps. I'll have to check my schedule. Oh, it appears I'm free," Charles says, without skipping a beat. "How's two o'clock work?"

"You should come over now!" Lorna says excitedly. "We can have breakfast cake!"

"Two works great," Erik says.

"Wonderful. I'll see you then, Lorna," Charles says cheerfully.

"Bye!"

Erik takes the phone off speaker and holds it to his ear, "Sorry if we woke you."

"Am I off the speaker?"

"Mhm," Erik hums, glancing at Lorna, who is completely engrossed once again with frosting the cake.

"Well then, you should be sorry. I was having a dream about you. Would you like to hear what it was about?"

Erik clears his throat. "No, that's okay. You don't have to bring anything."

"Aw," Charles tuts, disappointed. "Well, it involved handcuffs. How have I never considered metal bondage before? That's a lie, of course I've—"

"I'll see you at two," Erik says quickly.

Charles laughs attractively in his ear, "Don't worry. I'll be on my best behavior. I'll see you later."

"See you then," Erik says, smiling to himself as he hangs up.

"Alright, let's finish this cake," he says, turning back to Lorna. She looks up at him guiltily, mouth smeared with frosting.

The cake doesn't look all that bad, Erik thinks, when it's all said and done. The sprinkles go a long way in making up for what they lack in decorating prowess. He's just telling Lorna that they'll put the candles in later when Peter comes out of his room, surprisingly already dressed for the day.

"Can I walk down to the front gates to meet Kurt? His dad is dropping him off there."

"Isn't Kurt a teleporter?" Erik asks, confused.

"Yeah, but it's not—he can't like, teleport anywhere. He has to be able to see it."

"Huh." Erik wonders if his powers will develop more as he gets older, or if they're entirely distinct from Azazel's. He wonders if Lorna's powers differ from his, in some not-yet-known way.

"And I was thinking we might walk to the park, grab a hot dog or something," Peter says nonchalantly. "If that's cool." Erik's making lunch for everyone in just a couple hours, but a hot dog or two won't make a dent in Peter's bottomless appetite.

"Sure. Just uh, be careful," Erik says, more as a compulsory urge than anything else. Magda tells him that Peter has taken to his job delivering newspapers with gusto, waking up on time to ride his bike into work every day without complaint. Their son seems to be growing up before their very eyes.

It's not until after Peter leaves that Erik wonders if Wanda might have wanted to go, but he figures it's a moot point when she sleeps in and then beelines to the bathroom to take a lengthy shower. When she finally emerges, she's wearing thick eyeliner and a shirt that looks several inches too small.

"Is that Lorna's?" Erik asks before he can stop himself.

"No," Wanda scowls. She looks up at him defiantly. "Aunt Emma bought it for me."

"I see," Erik says, deciding that he and Emma might need to have a discussion about how much midriff is appropriate for a fifteen-year-old girl to show (ideally, none). "Do you have a—a sweater you can wear, or something?"

"It's like, a million degrees out," Wanda scoffs, and that's that.

Erik's still deciding if he wants to take a stand on the Shirt Issue when Kurt and Peter return, and Wanda looks so happy to see them that Erik decides to let it go. It's nice to see her so excited about a friend. Erik can't help but wonder if it's more than that, especially when Wanda and Kurt disappear to her room before joining Lorna and Peter outside.

"Mr. Lehnsherr," Kurt says nervously, when he comes into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and finds Erik preparing lunch. "I wanted to thank you for having me over."

"Oh," Erik says, surprised. He doesn't think any friend of his kids' has ever thanked him for something so trivial. "No problem. How's your dad doing?"

"He's good. He's working on his garden today."

"Peter said you're staying with him all summer, huh?"

Kurt bobs his head, tail swishing restlessly behind him. He looks like he's regretting starting this conversation, Erik notes with amusement.

"Well, I won't keep you. I'll be out soon with the kebabs."

"Okay," Kurt says, and turns toward the door.

"Wait, Kurt," Erik says.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say… keep the door open if you're going to be spending time in Wanda's room with her."

Kurt blanches. "What? I—um, yes sir. Sorry."

"No harm done," Erik says lightly. "Just doing my dad duties."

"Okay," Kurt squeaks. "Can I go?"

Erik's barely nodded before Kurt disappears in a puff of blue smoke. He feels bad about embarrassing the kid, but before he can linger on it too long, some very familiar metal enters the building.

"You're early," Erik says when he opens the door.

"Only fifteen minutes," Charles pouts, checking his watch. "I was just waiting around to come over, anyway. Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I am," Erik says, and kisses him.

Fifteen well-spent minutes later they discover that it is not, as Wanda had put it, a million degrees out. It's actually very pleasant for the middle of July, perfect grilling temperature. A couple other families are taking advantage of the weather too, using the little metal grills and picnic tables provided by the apartment complex. Nearby, there's a small play area; a swing set occupied by some giggling kids, and a tall metal slide that is decidedly unoccupied, likely scalding hot even in the breezy weather.

"Mr. Charles!" Lorna screeches happily, when she sees them approaching. She runs up to them and throws her arms around Charles' waist.

"Oh," Charles laughs, staggering back a step to keep his balance. "Hello, Lorna. You always know how to make me feel special."

"Happy birthday!" she says, beaming.

"Now who told you it was my birthday?" Charles wonders.

"Daddy did," Lorna says right away.

"I googled it," Erik deadpans.

"Of course," Charles says, smirking. "Well, technically my birthday was Wednesday, but thank you very much."

"How old are you now?" Lorna asks.

"I am twenty-three years old."

"That's so old," Lorna says, eyes wide.

"Isn't it? I'm nearly as old as your father now," Charles says, wearing a grin that's entirely too pleased with himself.

Erik snorts and gestures toward a table near them. "Loo, I want to move this picnic table into the shade, but it's really heavy. Can you help me?"

"Yes!" Lorna says, rushing over, little hands outstretched. Together, they levitate the table by its metal bolts and move it under a large tree nearby. Erik could have done it himself, but he's pleasantly surprised to feel the noticeable difference it makes, having Lorna's help. She's getting stronger all the time.

Predictably, the floating table attracts the stares of a nearby group of women, watching them with pinched faces. They look away hastily when they notice Erik glaring daggers at them. He makes some metal bracelets for Lorna before he gets started on the kebabs.

"I was told by a reliable source there's cake somewhere," Charles says when he returns from greeting the twins. They're off with Kurt by a small pond, watching the resident fish swim around. Lorna's joined them now, telling what appears to be a very animated story to Kurt, who's probably never been held hostage by an eight-year-old girl before.

"How reliable was your source?" Erik says, heating up the grill with an outstretched hand.

"Very reliable, and very cute." Charles reaches into the cooler they'd brought and pulls out a beer.

"The cake's inside," Erik admits. "I'll bring it out later, so Lorna eats some real food first."

"Does that rule apply to the birthday-ee as well?"

"Yes," Erik says, "though it's not really your birthday." Sizzling erupts as he waves the prepared skewers onto the grill.

"Well, I hope that's not the attitude you have for our fancy birthday dinner next weekend. I'm quite counting on you to make up for the uncomfortable dinner I'll be having with my mum this week."

"Really?" Erik looks up from the kebabs. "Your mom?"

"Did you think I just popped out of the ground?"

Erik ignores him. "It's just—you don't talk about her much. I wasn't aware that you two saw each other often."

"Not often," Charles says, taking a long sip of his beer before continuing. "She's quite preoccupied with—well, we see each other once in a while. For special occasions."

"Like birthdays."

"When she feels like it, yes," Charles says lightly. "But I've convinced Raven to come as well, since she's in town. It'll be fun. We do this thing where we see who can get Sharon the most worked up. Like… Oh, this is a good one—last time I mentioned that I wished she'd sent me to Rosenberg instead of Eton, which is—you don't know her, but trust me, it's one of the most insulting things I could have said, and she ranted for no less than twenty minutes about how Swiss boarding schools coddle their students. Raven and I took a drink every time she said legacy."

Erik doesn't understand entirely understand the relevance, but he has personal experience with Charles saying ridiculous things for a reaction. He snorts, "I'm glad Raven will be there, then." He can't help but think about Raven's blatant dislike toward him, the suspicion with which she'd watched him. "She seems… protective."

"Oh, don't take it personally," Charles shrugs, careless. "Raven hardly likes anyone. She's held a vendetta against our Latin tutor for years, just because he refused to call her Mystique."

"You had a Latin tutor?"

"Well, yes," Charles says, nonplussed. "It's part of the Eton entrance exams."

Erik stares. "You and I have led very different lives."

Charles shrugs, grinning over the neck of his beer. "That's part of what makes this so fun, right? You and me."

Fun. Is that what they're doing? Charles is fun, there's no doubt about that. Truthfully, Erik's never had so much fun in his life, but it's more than that. Erik looks at the kebabs, like they'll give him the answer. In the background, he can hear the kids talking and laughing. He's just overthinking it, he decides. He nods, "I guess so, yeah."

"Among other things," Charles says, nudging him with a smirk.

Wanda walks up to them a minute later, piling her hair high on top of her head and fanning herself. She heads straight to the cooler and grabs a chilled bottle of water. "Lunch smells good. When's it gonna be done?"

"Right now," Erik says. "Can you go get everyone else?" He expects her to walk over to them, or perhaps even shout, but instead, she presses two fingers to her temple and closes her eyes. Telepathy, Erik realizes with no small amount of wonder. Filled with an overwhelming sense of pride and love, Erik briefly wishes Magda were here to witness this. Instead, he looks at Charles, who's already looking back, beaming.

Peter appears a second later in a rush of wind. "Dad, Loo wants to poof over here with Kurt, but he said I have to ask you first."

"Uh," Erik automatically looks at Charles, who shrugs and gives him a bewildered look, like What do you want me to do? "That's probably safe, right?"

"Totally," Peter says confidently. "I told Kurt it was fine, but he's like, scared of you or something."

"Good," Erik says shortly, thinking of Kurt in Wanda's room earlier. "Uh, sure, that's fine. Just get back over here before—"

BAMF.

In an instant and a cloud of smoke, Lorna appears, clinging onto Kurt and screaming in joy. Erik watches her carefully, looking out for any sign that she feels sick, but she seems completely fine, bouncing on her toes and giggling. "Again! Can we go again?"

"I beat you!" Kurt crows to Peter.

"No you didn't," Peter says. "I was totally faster, wasn't I, Dad?"

"Uh," says Erik, who hadn't noticed Peter had even left. "How about we eat lunch now?" The kebabs float neatly in the air, distributing themselves among the kids. He passes out paper plates, "There's plenty more if you're still hungry after this."

"Save room for cake!" Lorna says imperiously.

"Your mutation is marvelous," Charles says brightly to Kurt. "I'd love to hear all about it."

"Oh!" Kurt says, surprised, and his tail wiggles in the air behind him. Erik wonders how much of that is intentional or instinctive, like a cat.

Shyly, Kurt starts to tell Charles about his teleportation, slowly getting more confident as Charles prompts him with question after question. Wanda watches them raptly, and Erik sits down with Lorna and Peter at the table to eat.

"How's your—Lorna, slow down," Erik scolds. "We're not going to have cake until everyone is done eating." Pouting as best she can with her cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's, Lorna sets her half-eaten kebab on the plate. Erik turns to Peter again, "How's your assignment going?"

Truthfully, Erik assumes that Peter hasn't actually been working on it; the kids seemed to be having too much fun to be doing schoolwork. To his surprise, Peter nods and says, "Good! Kurt has some really… interesting ideas about how to use super-speed for practical uses. I'm definitely gonna use them in my paper."

Kurt looks over. “Hey, you asked—"

"No, no, I mean it! You're right, I could totally get a gig as a real-life Santa Claus, delivering presents," Peter says, grinning.

"But we're Jewish," Erik frowns.

"See, that's what I told him. But he said it should be fine since we're not—"

"I was joking—"

"—real Jews—"

"Pete!" Kurt screeches, looking horrified. He starts to stammer an apology of sorts, but it's easily drowned out by the twins' laughter.

"You're fine, Kurt," Erik says mildly. "You're not wrong, we're not really practicing. Peter, don't embarrass your friend. Hey, I have an idea for your paper. You could use your powers to run to the store without pants—"

"Dad!" Peter stops laughing abruptly, betrayed.

Erik grins at Kurt, who is still looking mortified. "Did he tell you about the time he did that?"

"No," Kurt laughs, "tell me more!"

"I was ten!" Peter defends.

Wanda cackles and takes over for Erik, retelling the story with glee. Even Lorna occasionally chimes in, much to Peter's distress. "You weren't even alive then," he complains.

"Yes, I was!" Lorna shouts, always upset at the notion that their family existed before her. "Dad, tell him I was!"

"You were three, but yes, you were certainly alive," Erik says diplomatically, "and a very important part of our family."

"Okay, but she definitely doesn't remember," Peter insists. "I barely remember."

"That's because you were so embarrassed you blocked it out," Wanda chimes in, and Kurt laughs into his hand beside her. Charles is smiling down at his plate, trying not to laugh overtly. He looks up and catches Erik's eye, and they exchange an amused look. It's nice, having everyone together, laughing like this. Erik could get used to this.

"Thank you for cooking, Mr. Lehnsherr," Kurt says politely, when everyone is done eating except for Peter, who has gone back for seconds.

"You're welcome, Kurt," Erik says. "You should come around more, teach my kids some manners."

"What? You cook all the time," Peter says. "Am I supposed to thank you every time?"

"Yes, actually."

"Sounds like a scam. Pretty sure it's your job to feed us," Peter shoots back.

"Well, it's your job to clean this up while I go get the cake," Erik says, much to Lorna's delight.

Kurt says, "How fast can you—"

The table shudders with the speed it's cleared, and Charles laughs, delighted. "Perhaps you should add clearing tables to your list," he says.

"Somehow it still takes him two hours to clean his room," Erik says dryly.

"Maybe if Kurt asked him," Wanda says sweetly.

"Shut up," Peter groans.

Lorna claps her hands, "Cake!"

"Okay, okay," Erik concedes. "I'll go get it."

"I'll go with you, help you carry the food back in," Charles says quickly, banging his knee on the table in his haste to get up.

Smooth, Erik thinks, and Charles coughs to hide his laugh. "Watch your sister. We'll be right back," he tells the kids.

"Don't forget the present!" Lorna shouts, as they head inside with the leftovers and trash.

"That's your friend Azazel's son?" Charles asks, as they walk into the building. "His power is incredible."

"Az can teleport even further. I don't know if he even has limitations."

"Az. That's so cute."

"His name?" Erik says, frowning.

"No," Charles snorts. "The fact that you have a nickname for him. It's sweet."

"I don't know why everyone is surprised when I have friends," Erik grumbles, holding the door open for Charles. "I can be friendly. I made friends with you, didn't I?"

"I don't know if that's what I'd call it," Charles smirks, heading to the kitchen to throw away the paper plates and used napkins. "I certainly hope you're not doing the things we do with your other friends."

"Just the hand stuff," Erik says, and laughs at Charles' exaggerated dismay.

"Well, as long as you're not baking them all birthday cakes," Charles sighs, sliding the cake plate closer and looking at it fondly.

"Definitely not," Erik says, walking up to him and putting his arm around Charles' shoulders. The cake does look pretty decent, with the sprinkles. "You know, I thought about getting you a coconut cream pie," Erik admits, "but I didn't want you to think I was getting at something."

Charles looks confused for a long moment, and then he laughs, "Oh my god, I'd almost forgotten!"

"How could you forget?" Erik says, genuinely offended. "Not memorable enough for you?"

"No, no," Charles puts his arms around Erik's neck and pulls him into a kiss, as much as he can manage while giggling. "You're very, very memorable. The most, really."

Erik hums skeptically against his mouth.

"No, really," Charles insists. "We've just had so much good sex. I don't know if the pie sex cracks my top five, to be honest."

"Maybe I should have gotten the coconut pie," Erik says dryly, because he knows it will make Charles laugh more.

"No, the cake is perfect," Charles manages eventually. "The sprinkles are a nice touch."

"All Lorna."

"Naturally."

"She really wanted to celebrate your birthday."

"Sounds like a scheme for birthday cake," Charles muses.

"Maybe that too," Erik admits, "but you know she loves you. We all do."

His heart jumps into his throat the moment he realizes what he's said. "I mean, the kids do, in a—a familial way. And I—I love a lot of things about you, like—like your brain and—and you're so nice, and funny, and ridiculously attractive." Erik loves so much about Charles—everything he learns about him is just another thing to love.

Charles is staring at him with wide eyes, something uncertain and perhaps even fearful in them—and then he pulls Erik into a kiss. He kisses him again and again, until Erik's not sure if his head is spinning from a lack of oxygen or the dizzying exhilaration of realizing he really does love everything about Charles.

He doesn't know what that means. He doesn't know when loving individual qualities crosses the line into loving that person, and he doesn't know when loving someone means that you're in love with someone. After all, with Magda—

A bloodcurdling, girlish scream wrenches Erik back to reality.

"Lorna," he gasps, and bolts before he can even register the wide-eyed panic in Charles' eyes. Heart thundering painfully, Erik slams the balcony door open and promptly jumps over the railing, ignoring Charles' panicked cry behind him. He lands hard on his feet, barely breaking his fall with his magnetism, but he doesn't feel anything beyond blind terror, taking in the sight before him.

"Lorna!" Erik bellows, scanning the wreckage. The picnic table they'd been sitting is completely crushed under a large branch that looks like it's been cleanly severed from the tree above. Next to it stands Wanda, holding her hands over her mouth in horror.

She's fine, Charles says loudly in his head, and it's intensely disorienting. Erik can hardly hear him over the sound of his blood rushing. Erik, listen to me. Lorna's fine.

"Dad!" Peter calls out from somewhere above him, and Erik whirls around, finally having the wherewithal to feel for Lorna's metal. There, on a nearby balcony, stands Peter, Kurt, and terrified, sobbing Lorna.

Erik's not even begun to process them up there before they disappear in a cloud of smoke, and reappear a moment later in front of Erik. Lorna runs to him and he and sinks to his knees, clutching her tightly to his chest. Loud, hysterical sobs shake her tiny shoulders, and Erik can't do anything but focus on her hummingbird heartbeat thrumming against her necklace, scared and too-fast but most importantly there.

"You're okay, Loo," he says, almost as much for his benefit as for hers. He kisses her head and shushes her gently, petting her hair over and over. "What happened?" Erik says, looking up at Peter, Lorna still safe in his arms.

Peter glances over at Wanda. "We were, um—"

"Christ, Erik, you jumped out the window!" Charles says, running up to them, breathing heavily. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah," Peter says quickly. "Everyone's fine."

It's true, Erik realizes with tremendous relief. Kurt looks shaken but fine, Lorna's sobs are slowly quieting, and Wanda—

"Where did Wanda go?" Erik asks suddenly, heart dropping again.

Charles immediately presses his fingers to his temple. "She's inside." He winces, "She's very upset."

"What happened?" Erik asks again. Lorna's still holding tightly onto him, face buried in his shoulder. He strokes her back, trying to calm down himself, for Lorna's sake.

Peter runs his hands through his hair, looking around anxiously. Only now does Erik realize that there are people staring at them; mothers holding their children protectively, glaring at them with anger and—and fear in their eyes, all waiting to see what happens next.

Shit.

"I'll handle it," Charles says, briefly touching Erik's back before striding over to the others, already smiling cordially. Erik doesn't know exactly what Charles plans to do, but he trusts him to take care of the situation.

"Well?" Erik says to Peter expectantly.

"We were—we've been talking about our powers and racing and stuff, you know? And you were inside for a minute so we wanted to include Wanda, because she never uses her powers, really. I mean, I don't even really know what her powers are. I know she can make these, like, energy blasts or something, and I know they can be dangerous but—"

"Get to the point," Erik says to Peter, a touch too roughly.

Peter winces, and then blurts, "We dared her to shoot the plates out of the air. So Kurt teleported into the air and then dropped them, and then she lost control and hit the tree, but Lorna was sitting there and—"

"What? Peter!"

"I know, Dad! It was an accident! I got her out of the way, and then Kurt—"

"She could have died!" Erik yells, which sets Lorna off into a fresh bout of tears.

"I KNOW!" Peter shouts, and the pain in his voice makes Erik's chest hurt. "I know, Dad, I'm so sorry—"

"All right. That's taken care of," Charles announces, back from dealing with the upset parents, who seem to be dispersing from the area. He scans everyone's expressions, then says, "Why don't I take Lorna inside?"

Erik pulls back to cup Lorna's face, wiping her cheeks with his hands. "Are you okay, Schätzchen?"

Her face is blotchy and tear-streaked, but she nods.

"Okay. Can you go inside with Mr. Charles? There's still cake to be eaten," Erik says, poking her belly.

"Yeah," she hiccups, smiling despite herself. She takes Charles' outstretched hand and goes with him.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Lehnsherr," Kurt says, wrings his hands and looking like he's fighting the urge to teleport away.

Erik stands up and rubs at his face, trying to collect himself. He doesn't want this to go how it'd gone last time, with him yelling at Peter and making everything worse. "Yeah, I know. It's okay. Kurt, can you give us a minute? I just want to talk to Peter."

Kurt glances apologetically at Peter and heads inside. Erik takes another deep breath, staring at where the tree branch had landed on the table, right where Lorna had been sitting.

"I saved her," Peter says wretchedly, into the silence. He looks close to tears, and Erik has to pull himself together so he can be there for his son.

"I know," Erik says, and hugs him tightly. "Thank you, Peter. You did good."

Peter's frozen for a moment, until he hugs Erik back, exhaling shakily. He pulls back, "I'm so sorry, Dad. I really am. I didn't think that would happen with Wanda. I thought she'd be able to—she's been using her telepathy so much lately, and I know she's been working with Charles, and… I thought it'd be okay. I guess Wanda like, lost control and she kind of swung her arm over, and… hit the tree." He glances over at the picnic table, swallowing roughly.

"Look," Erik says, squeezing Peter's shoulder, "obviously what happened was really scary, and it's not… ideal, to put it lightly. I'm sorry for yelling. I know it was an accident, and I know—I know Lorna's safe with you. It probably wasn't even close, was it? You got her out of there before the branch even started falling."

"I did, yeah," Peter says, nodding. "And then Kurt just kinda panicked and took us far away."

Erik huffs a laugh, "Jesus. Kurt's powers are crazy. His dad's, too."

"I know," Peter laughs weakly, rubbing at his eye.

"I'm honestly just worried about Wanda," Erik admits. "She must be freaking out. I haven't seen her use her powers like that since…" the time she'd blown a hole in her bedroom wall, and wore that same look of horror she had today.

"Yeah," Peter says somberly.

Erik sighs, wondering how he's even going to start with her. He puts that thought away for now. "Are you okay, though?"

Peter nods. "Yeah, I'm fine, Dad." He looks it, too. The heaviness he'd had just minutes ago has lessened considerably. It seems like Erik's done okay this time, after all.

"All right. Let's head inside, so I can check on your sisters," Erik says. "And Kurt—God, I don't know how I'm going to explain this to his dad."

"It'll be fine," Peter shrugs, heading inside with Erik. "His dad loves me."

"Does he?"

"Well, yeah. What's not to love?"

"Good point," Erik laughs, patting Peter on the back again.

Back in his apartment, Lorna and Charles are on the couch, eating cake and watching television. She's curled into his side and her eyes are a little swollen, but otherwise looks no worse for wear. Kurt's sitting on the floor with an empty plate, squatting in a way that looks like it'd be very uncomfortable for anyone else, but he seems content. In a flash, his plate suddenly refills with another piece of cake, and Kurt jumps, looking down at it in delight. Erik blinks again, and then Peter's sat next to Kurt with his own piece this time, grinning.

"Hey guys. How are we doing?" Erik asks, glancing around in hopes that Wanda is miraculously out here, too.

"Just fine," Charles says. "We're watching Frozen."

"Ah." That had been Lorna's comfort movie for years. Erik can still sing Let It Go by heart, and now he'll probably have it stuck in his head for the next two days. Still, he'll let Lorna watch it all night and eat the entire cake, if it makes her feel better.

Charles smiles at him, then turns to Lorna and nudges her so he can stand up. "Excuse me. Can you hold onto my friend for me?" He hands her Blahaj and says apologetically to Erik, "I had to open my present early. I simply could not wait."

Lorna curls up around the shark happily. "Mr. Charles said he can stay the night!"

"Uh, what?" Erik says, shocked.

"The shark," Charles says quickly. "I said Blahaj can stay the night with Lorna."

"Right," Erik says. "That's nice of you."

Charles follows him into the kitchen, speaking lowly. "Wanda's in her room. She's utilizing the shielding techniques I've taught her very well, so… I can't quite get a read on her mental state without intruding beyond what I'm comfortable with."

"That's okay," Erik says. "I'll try in a minute, but… she'll probably want to be alone for the rest of the night."

Charles nods, looking worried. "I hope she's okay. We've talked a bit about her other powers, but we've mostly been working on getting her comfortable with telepathy. Maybe I should have—"

"Are you kidding? None of this is on you, Charles." Erik takes his hand in the privacy of the kitchen. "Wanda's seemed happier lately, and I'm sure that's because she's learning not to fear her powers so much. Today might be a setback, but… what you've done for her up until now has been great. For all my kids, really. Thank you for calming Lorna down today, and handling those parents outside."

A complicated look flickers across Charles' face. "It's nothing," he says.

Erik watches him carefully. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," Charles waves his free hand dismissively. "Are you?"

Erik squeezes Charles' hand in his. "I am, yeah. And I think Peter and Lorna are, too."

Charles smiles softly. "Good job, Dad. Crisis handled."

"Yeah," Erik says, allowing that to sink in for a moment. Something awful and scary had happened, and two of his kids are in the other room, watching a movie and eating cake. Now he can focus on Wanda. "I hate to say it, but you should probably go."

"Of course," Charles says. "I'll, um… see you next weekend, then?"

"I have to work late next week, but you could come over Thursday, maybe," Erik offers.

"Thursday I'm getting dinner with Sharon," Charles says. He hesitates, "Friday, then?"

"Yeah. Stay all weekend," Erik says, far too eagerly. "We'll do dinner Saturday."

"Great," Charles says, pleased. He looks around quickly before stepping close and brushing a kiss to the corner of Erik's mouth. "I'll say goodbye to the kids, and then be on my way."

As expected, Wanda desperately wants to be alone. In fact, when Erik tries to knock on her door, his hand is physically repelled away, as if there's an invisible barrier.

"Wanda," Erik calls loudly, hoping the barrier doesn't prevent sound from traveling through, "can I come in?" Predictably, there's no answer. Erik tries the door again to no avail. He can feel the metal in the doorknob, but he can tell that the door itself is held closed with such force that the wood would splinter before it opens.

"No one's upset with you, Wanda. Lorna's okay. I just—I want to make sure you're okay." When there's still no response, Erik leans against the wall and slides down to the floor. He can't stop thinking about their trip to the cafe months ago, when she'd looked at him and asked if he'd ever been afraid of his powers. "I know you must be scared. We'll figure it out, okay? It's completely normal to be—to have growing pains with your powers."

Erik can't help but feel woefully inadequate, when his powers have always felt like an easy extension of his own body, save for a couple accidental magnetizing incidents. Maybe he should have asked Charles to talk to her. He sits there for ten minutes, hoping she'll open the door, or at least allow him to open it, but it remains decidedly shut, still emanating that strange, off-putting pressure.

From the living room, he can hear Lorna singing along to the movie. He still needs to check on Kurt, and give Azazel a call to let him know what's happened. He has to figure out what to do about the tree and the table outside, and hope that he's not going to be evicted. He never disclosed his children's mutations; something like this is certainly a breach of his lease.

He needs to call Magda and tell her what happened, and the thought sits in his stomach like a rock.

He waits for another ten minutes, and then he reluctantly stands up. "Okay, Red. I'm gonna go for now, but… let me know if there's anything I can do, okay? I can make chicken caesar salad wraps for dinner, or…" the words sound pathetic coming out of his mouth. He feels so helpless. "Just let me know. I love you, kid."

Chapter Text

Wanda stays locked in her room all night. Around nine o'clock, Erik manages a stern enough, "You have to eat, Wanda, or I'm going to find a way to open the door myself," that she does actually crack open the door to accept the plate he'd prepared for her. He counts that as a win—particularly because he's not sure that he could force open the door.

After today's incident, it's obvious that her powers are both much stronger and much less manageable than they'd thought. In any case, he's not too keen to push the subject until he and Magda can discuss it in person. Their phone call had been brief, cut short by Lorna asking Erik if they could build a blanket fort for the night. "We'll talk tomorrow," Magda had said. "Good luck sleeping on the floor."

As expected, the floor isn't all that accommodating, but Lorna ropes Peter in to the fort as well—all pleas to Wanda gone predictably unanswered, much to her despair.

"Wanda's mad at me," Lorna worries that night, clutching the comically large stuffed shark to her chest. They're laying in the fort they've constructed, watching Frozen II while Peter plays his Switch, mouthing along with the words to the movie.

"No, she's not," Erik says firmly.

"She won't even talk to me."

Peter sets his game down and pushes himself up to his elbows to look at Lorna. "Hey, I know Wanda better than anyone in the whole world, right?"

Lorna nods.

"So trust me when I say she's not mad at you. She's just cranky. You know how she gets. Remember that time Mom wouldn't let her watch that rated-R movie and she went on a hunger strike until we got her favorite pineapple pizza?"

Lorna giggles, "Yeah. Should we get pineapple pizza again?"

"I think we should just give her some time," Erik says, shooting Peter a grateful look.

"Okay," Lorna agrees sadly. "Do you think she'll feel better tomorrow?"

"Probably," Erik says. He certainly hopes so, though he's not sure what to expect. It's true that Wanda has a penchant for dramatic displays of protest for even minor inconveniences, and this is far from that. Erik hasn't seen her this upset, well, ever. His poor girl. He's never been scared of his power, but he does know what it's like to feel it thrumming under his skin, knowing it would be terrifyingly effortless to hurt someone. He knows what it's like to have people scared of him.

"Do you think Mr. Charles would let me name his shark?" Lorna asks, bringing him back to earth.

"He already has a name," Erik says, feeling strangely protective of Charles' shark. Then he remembers that he's talking to his eight-year-old, and that Charles would find his concern hysterical. "Maybe a nickname, though."

Lorna screws up her face thoughtfully. "Strawberry?" she says after a moment. "Because we had strawberry cake today."

"That's perfect. Mr. Charles will love it."

"Mr. Charles told me something funny today," Lorna says, smiling mischievously. "He said that you kind of look like Strawberry when you smile big."

"Strawberry the shark?" Erik says, struggling to keep his face straight. Lorna nods seriously, and Erik bares his teeth in the biggest smile he can muster. "What do you think?" he asks through his teeth, and Lorna erupts into giggles.

"Wait, wait," Peter says, sitting up and grinning widely. "Do I look like a shark too?"

"Not—as much as—Daddy!" Lorna says, laughing so hard she can hardly get it out. Erik snaps his teeth at her playfully and she shrieks, flailing around and kicking her legs in glee. Laughing, Peter snaps his teeth too, which sets Lorna off even harder.

"Are you sure you don't want to sleep in my bed tonight, Loo?" Erik says, when they finally calm down. "You can bring Strawberry."

Lorna looks shocked. "No way! 'Cause then Petey won't be able to sleep with us!"

"Yeah, Dad," Peter snickers. "Family sleepover in the fort!"

"Yeah!" Lorna shouts.

"Okay, okay," Erik says. "No yelling, Loo. It's late, people are trying to sleep." And the last thing he needs is a noise complaint, he thinks. He'd managed to clean up the scene a bit—lifting the branch and melding the table back together—but he's still half-expecting an eviction notice to show up sometime next week. Hopefully Charles was extra charming.

Parenting by himself is certainly much lonelier, particularly when Incidents occur, and it's his job to keep it together for the kids. He wishes he'd gotten to speak to Magda more earlier, if only to talk to someone who understands. He wishes Wanda was with them, laughing and sleeping in the living room, but at least Lorna is extra snuggly tonight, and Erik falls asleep with her pressed against his chest.

"I don't know what she's so upset about," Peter grumbles to Erik the next day, when they're waiting in the car for Wanda to join them. She'd shouted she'd be down ten minutes ago, and Erik's giving her another five before he goes to get her. "You didn't even yell at her, and Lorna's totally fine."

"I don't think it's about what did happen, it's about what could have happened," Erik says tiredly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He's getting a headache. "And I shouldn't have yelled at you, either."

Privately, he agrees with Peter, in the sense that he really wishes Wanda would calm down. She's always felt things so strongly, and this is as worthy a cause as any, but it's not the end of the world. They'll figure it out, get her the help she needs. She just has to let them.

He says as much to Magda when they get to her house nearly an hour later, after stopping at a coffee place on the way in a fruitless attempt to cheer Wanda up.

"I can't imagine how she must be feeling," Magda says, after the kids disperse and they step into the kitchen to chat privately. "It sounds like it was really scary."

"It was, but… that's just how things are with our powers. Everything has high stakes."

"With great power comes great responsibility," Magda says sagely, removing the foil from the paper plate Lorna had thrust into her hands the moment they arrived to reveal a generously sliced piece of cake.

"Okay, Uncle Ben," Erik snorts, muscle memory taking over as he waves a hand to summon a couple forks from the silverware drawer. Magda's hovers politely in the air until she takes it, and she shoots him a fond smile.

She takes a bite and makes a noise of pleasant surprise as she chews. "This is good. You made this?"

"It was just from a box," Erik says quickly. "Lorna wanted to, so…"

"Yeah, she mentioned that she really wanted to celebrate Charles' birthday. I guess the kids are really attached to him, huh?"

Erik shrugs, keeping his expression carefully neutral. "I guess so, yeah."

A treacherous part of him wants to blurt out the truth, tell her that he and Charles are seeing each other, that he knows it's crazy but it's starting to feel unexpectedly serious. He tries to imagine a world in which she reacts well to this news, and he simply can't. With time, she'd accept it. Magda is wonderfully pragmatic and kind, she wants the best for their family and that includes Erik, too. But he's not under the impression that she would be happy about it, and right now they need to focus on Wanda.

"Charles was really helpful. There were a couple families around who looked really upset, and he calmed them down and got them to leave. And I'll have you know I barely yelled at anyone," he adds, pulling the plate toward him and taking a bite.

"Even-tempered and a good baker," Magda says approvingly, stealing the plate back. "Do you think those parents will be a problem?"

"Maybe," Erik says honestly. "I'm half-expecting to get evicted. But I'll deal with that if it happens. It's the least of my worries right now. Wanda's so… she's devastated, Mags. She's been making such good progress this year, and now…" His chest aches, remembering the look on Wanda's face as she took in the destruction. Looking down at her hands like they'd betrayed her.

"You know, I've been doing some research since we talked last night," Magda says carefully, using her fork to scrape excess frosting off the plate. "There's a bunch of online forums, sort of a support group for parents of mutant children. Psychic powers are pretty rare compared to, like, external powers, like being really strong or, y'know—controlling metal. Excuse me—electromagnetism. But my point is that learning to control that kind of power can be really hard on the kid and their families."

Erik nods, remembering Charles saying something similar once. That's the entire reason Charles has been trying to help Wanda, after all.

Magda goes on, "Some parents have found success with—with using medication to… to make it easier temporarily, until their child is a bit older, and can control—"

"What? Are you talking about suppressants?" Erik says, staring at her in disbelief.

"It would be only temporary, while Wanda figures out—"

"Absolutely not," Erik snaps, and the fork in his hand bends with his clenched fist. He drops it to the counter and stands, taking a few steps away. "Are you crazy?"

"No, I'm desperate. She needs help, Erik," Magda pleads, not looking surprised in the slightest by his reaction. She knows how he feels about this, has heard him ranting about suppressants when they first entered the market.

"Exactly. She needs help, not someone to take away her powers like she's a wild animal—"

"It's not permanent, it's only a temporary solution—"

"That's literally what they use in those mutant trafficking rings, and you want us to use them on our daughter—"

"Jesus Christ," Magda snaps, losing her patience. "You're ridiculous. Just because there are bad uses for them doesn't mean there's not good ones, too. You sound just like people who think that dangerous mutations are inherently evil—"

"Don't even go there, Magda. Tell me, was your forum for mutant parents, or human parents?" Erik spits. Magda's hesitation says it all, and he barks a laugh. "I'm not going to listen to a bunch of humans who are scared of their own children. We're not giving her suppressants. End of story."

"God, you can be such an asshole."

"Because I refuse to treat our daughter's gifts like a disease that needs to be treated? Fine, I guess that makes me an asshole."

"What do you suggest, then? Surely you must have a much better plan if you're going to shut mine down."

"I do," Erik shoots back. "We'll—we'll do mutation counseling. This time we'll make her go."

"Isn't that basically what she's already been doing with Charles?"

"He's not a professional though. An older, more experienced telepath with specific training will be able to help Wanda. I'm sure of it," Erik says. Truthfully, he hasn't thought the idea over at all, but there's no way in hell he's going to put Wanda on suppressants. He's not going to teach her that she needs to be cured.

"Fine," Magda says, sounding exhausted. "We'll try it your way. But if the counselor suggests suppressants, I need you to at least consider it."

"Fine," Erik agrees, confident that no counselor worth their salt would ever suggest that. There's a minute of uncomfortable silence, and because Magda still looks unhappy, he clears his throat and says, "I talked to my boss, by the way. I can get five hours of overtime a week."

"That's great," Magda says flatly. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and looking down. When she looks up again, she's wearing a tight smile. "Thanks for doing that. Does that start this week?"

With all of the drama this weekend, Erik hasn't actually been able to make up his work the way he'd wanted to. He'll probably go in early tomorrow, but right now he feels worn and heavy. "Yeah, pretty much."

Magda nods, looking like she's not listening to him much. "Great. Look, I have to get started on dinner for the kids, so…"

"Right. I'll get going." Erik tugs on Lorna's necklace from across the house, and feels her answering tug on his watch a moment later. "Bye, kids!" he calls out, in case the twins are listening, too.

"Wait, Erik," Magda says when he's at the door. He looks at her expectantly. "My dad has a doctor appointment on Friday. I told him I could take him. I was planning on taking Lorna with me, but maybe you could pick her up instead? It's at two, so you'll have to leave early from work. I don't know if you can make that work with your overtime, but…"

"Absolutely," Erik says, eager to make up for their dispute. "I'll make it work. We'll go to the zoo, or something."

Magda smiles, tension lifting from her features. "She'll love that. Thanks."

"No problem. Anything you or the kids need," he assures her. "Always."

Azazel seeks him out before Erik can get the chance to stop by his office. He knocks once, and teleports into the room before Erik's finished telling him to come in. "Good morning," he says brightly, looking far less upset than Erik expected.

"Hey," Erik says nervously. "I was going to find you later today. I wanted to apologize—"

"No need," Azazel says before Erik can get it out. He takes a seat by Erik's desk.

"But Kurt could have gotten—"

"Bah," Azazel waves a dismissive hand. "Kurt is like a cat. His reflexes are faster than his thoughts. Actually, he has better reflexes than a cat. One time, he accidentally poofed Lucky to the roof with him."

"That seems to be his go-to move," Erik says, smiling weakly. "Really, though. I hope you know I'm looking out for Kurt when he's at my place like he's my kid. I understand if you don't feel comfortable letting him come over again, but—"

"My friend," Azazel interrupts again, "it is fine. Really. See, it is a good thing I came to you this morning, hm? Or you'd be here all day beating yourself up."

"Yeah," Erik huffs a laugh, feeling significantly lighter. While it wasn't the first thing on his mind, he'd be lying if he said a part of him wasn't worried about Azazel being mad at him. "Thanks. I don't know how calm I'd be in your shoes."

Azazel shrugs, tail waving lazily behind him. "I wasn't at first, but then I thought about it some more. You would do the same, I am sure of it."

Erik doubts it, but then he's reminded of how he'd initially yelled at Peter, only to calm down and apologize moments later. "Maybe," he allows.

"Is Wanda okay?"

"Yeah. Kind of," Erik corrects. "She'll be okay, but she's pretty freaked out for now. We're going to get her into counseling."

Magda had texted him this morning, saying Wanda had ventured out of her room for some breakfast before quickly locking herself away again. He's going to stop by on Wednesday so they can talk to her together about counseling.

"You'll figure it out. She's in good hands," Azazel says gently.

"Thanks. I hope Kurt wasn't too upset about what happened."

"He's tougher than he looks," Azazel says proudly. Then his pride turns smug, "I heard that your boyfriend was there this weekend."

At this point, Erik doesn't even correct him. "Uh, yeah. Not as my—he was there as the kid's tutor. Or, uh, a family friend, I guess. Is that okay?" He doesn't know if he was supposed to ask beforehand. If being divorced has been an adjustment, dating while being divorced is even stranger. Erik doesn't know the rules anymore.

"It's not a problem," Azazel says kindly. "If I had a problem with it I would have talked to you beforehand. You worry so much, my friend."

"I'm just trying not to fuck everything up," Erik admits.

"Well… maybe you should tell your ex-wife about your relationship, hm?"

Erik grimaces. "I know. It's just a—"

"Sensitive situation, yes? I know. But it seems like it's not getting less sensitive as time goes on."

Erik doesn't reply. He knows Azazel is right, that the longer this goes on the worse it will be, when the truth comes out. Everything has just been happening so fast—his friendship with Azazel, working things about with Magda, Peter's problems at school, and now Wanda—and somehow, among all of it, he's fallen in this bizarre and wonderful relationship with someone twenty years his junior. He feels like he needs to pause time and process things for a week, but life keeps going, and he can't quite catch his breath.

Azazel seems to read his silence for what it is. "Just my two cents, hm?"

"Yeah," Erik says. "I appreciate it."

Erik spends the next couple of days working late and looking up mutation counselors in the area. With any luck, Wanda will appreciate getting to pick her counselor more than she'll be furious about not having a choice in attending counseling to begin with. Knowing how stubborn his daughter is, Erik's sure they're in for a fight, but this time he won't budge.

On Wednesday, when everyone else is gone for the day and a tension headache is blooming at his temples—the result of staring at his computer screen for far too long today—Charles calls him and asks if he'd like to grab a cup of coffee.

"A coffee?" Erik asks, perking up at the idea of seeing Charles. His looming battle with Wanda hangs at the forefront of his mind—he's meant to head over to Magda's tonight with dinner, so they can talk to Wanda about her counseling options.

"I know it's last minute, but I'm waiting on some lab tests that won't be available until late tonight, and well… I'd like to see you." There's something uncertain in Charles' voice that makes Erik's decision for him.

"Okay. I only have about an hour, though," Erik says, glancing at his watch. Truthfully, he should spend that time working, but he could use the pick-me-up and it sounds like Charles could, too.

"That's fine," Charles says quickly. "I know you said you have to work late, so I found a place not too far from your work. I'll text you the address."

Erik smiles at the thought of Charles picking out a nearby coffee shop before calling him. "I'll see you there."

Charles is waiting outside when Erik arrives fifteen minutes later, staring down at his phone with a furrowed expression. "Hey," Erik says, touching his elbow gently.

"Jesus," Charles says, starting hard. He huffs an embarrassed laugh, "Sorry. Hello."

"Everything okay?" Erik asks, amused. He drinks in the sight of Charles, who looks as effortlessly handsome as always, though he does look tired.

"Oh, yes. It's just—Raven texted me. She's trying to get out of dinner tomorrow."

"Really? For your birthday?"

"You'd understand if you knew my mother," Charles mutters, then he pockets his phone with a shrug. "No matter, I'll handle that later. It's good to see you. I'm glad you could tear yourself away from the office." He steps close enough for Erik to kiss him, so he does.

"I don't have long," Erik says regretfully, when they separate. He'd been looking forward to dinner with his family all day, but now he'd like to keep kissing Charles, to take him to dinner, and then home.

Charles smirks, looking pleased. He leads them into the cafe, turning to talk to Erik. "I don't either, unfortunately. I have to get back to the lab by eight."

"That's late."

"It is," Charles agrees. "I set up a gel before I called you, and when that's done I'll have to digest—to cut the DNA, and move to ligation, and—I see I've lost you," he laughs at what must be a blank expression on Erik's face.

"I'm listening," Erik assures him. "I'm hearing that you're very smart."

Charles shoots him an amused look, then steps forward to order his drink—an espresso drink with two extra shots, something that perhaps shouldn't surprise Erik as much as it does, considering his upcoming late evening. Erik's just not used to seeing him caffeinate with anything other than tea.

"Certainly not my preference," Charles concedes, gesturing for Erik to order. "I can pay for myself, you know. God forbid, I could even pay for you," he says, exasperated when Erik hands the cashier his card after ordering a small decaf coffee.

"I think I owe you thirty or forty coffees, if we're trying to break even for dinner."

"Trust me, you do not want to break even," Charles says, smirking at Erik's flat look.

"So what are you working on, exactly?" Erik asks, as they take a seat at a nearby table.

"I don't think you want me to explain what I'm working on exactly, but I can put it in layman's terms."

"You're sexy when you're talking down to me," Erik says, and Charles laughs loudly.

"I have to stay in the proper mindset if I'm going to be working all night," Charles smiles, nudging his foot between Erik's ankles, just for the sake of touching. "Essentially, I've been working with mutant DNA samples to see how the X-gene expresses itself under various conditions. For now, I'm just laying the groundwork for future experiments. It's tedious work. Hank and I are combining forces for this step, and later we'll split off into our individual theses."

"Are you still thinking about studying—you said it was mutations in adolescents, right?" Surprise flickers across Charles' face, and Erik says smugly, "I listen to you."

Right then, an employee drops off their drinks and leaves. Charles quickly takes a drink, then sets his coffee down, looking more collected. "Well, don't get too big a head. We're talking bare minimum, here."

"Tell me more, then," Erik says easily.

"Fine. I will," Charles sniffs. He clears his throat, "I, um—well, I'm still figuring out exactly what I'd like to do with it, but yes, I am interested in mutations in adolescents. Recent studies are finding a trend of mutations presenting themselves earlier and earlier. Certainly some of that is due to leaps in detection technology—we're simply testing more than we ever have before, so there's an undeniable bias. But still, it's worth considering that mutations are becoming more prevalent at younger ages. And that can be—well, we both know from experience how difficult it can be to wield a great power at a young age.

"Last weekend with Wanda actually inspired me a bit; if I can isolate the X-gene and preserve it in a way that doesn't damage it, but more—puts it in a stasis to halt its growing expression for a limited time, children like Wanda would be able to live without fear of their own power—"

"Are you talking about suppressants?" Erik interrupts, shocked.

"In a way," Charles says, seeming not to notice his dismay. "Our current understanding of the X-gene only allows for a blanket suppression—it's a clumsy, universal solution for a highly variable problem—"

"It's not a problem," Erik says, a touch too loud.

Charles looks at him in surprise. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I just…" Erik doesn't understand why everyone seems to think that mutations should just be swept under the rug, something to be ashamed of. He thinks about Wanda, hiding away and withdrawing into herself, like she doesn't want to exist.

"Oh, Erik, no," Charles says, reaching forward to grab his hand. "Of course Wanda isn't a problem, that's not what I meant, at all. It's just… I've been in her shoes before. It's impossible to overstate how scary it can be. I mean… I don't have to tell you. You saw how shaken she was on Sunday. With time and research, better suppression tools could be developed—something personalized for each mutant's needs, so that children can learn how to use their powers in a safe, constructive way. Imagine if Wanda still had access to her powers, but there was some sort of emotional feedback clause, or a way to damper them so she's less likely to hurt someone on accident. It's not a permanent solution, but it's a way to simply help her understand her powers on her own terms. Wouldn't that be nice?"

That does sound like a better alternative, Erik thinks begrudgingly. He's uncomfortable with the idea of Wanda's powers being shut down with suppressants for a given amount of time, but something that could simply dampen them, or allow her to tuck them away when she's emotional… that might help her. Still, for every scientist who wants to help mutants, there's one who wants to hurt them, too. "Aren't you worried about the research being used against mutants?" Erik asks.

Charles smiles patiently at him. "I understand your reservations, but ignorance only benefits those who wish us harm. Researching the X-gene provides countless benefits for our kind, and medical treatment is only the beginning. The more information we have about our genetics the more we can combat misinformation and fearmongering, or propose legislation to protect mutant rights and privacy.

"Beyond that, our genes could be the pathway to life-changing medical advances—for example, a healing factor could be reverse-engineered to cure degenerative diseases we currently consider incurable. Or mutants who age slower than others could pave the way for groundbreaking anti-aging therapies. My sister, for example, her cellular structure is uniquely—well, you understand what I mean, by now. I think I've rambled quite enough." Charles takes a long drink of coffee, looking embarrassed.

Mutants are lucky to have someone as brilliant and compassionate as Charles on their side, Erik thinks. In fact, not just mutants—all of humanity. Charles makes the world a better place by simply existing.

"You flatter me," Charles murmurs, cheeks scarlet as he looks across the table at Erik.

"Not really," Erik says honestly, stroking Charles' hand with his thumb. It's so blatantly obvious to him—Charles deserves every bit of praise that Erik has for him.

"I, um… I confess, I have a bit of an ulterior motive for asking you here, tonight," Charles says, staring down at their interlocked hands.

I'm not going to have sex with you in the bathroom, Erik projects right away, keeping his face straight.

Charles laughs, startled. "No, that wasn't my—"

"Wouldn't be the first time you've tried," Erik points out, which makes Charles take his hand back to laugh into it. Grinning, Erik goes on, "Seriously, no matter how much you beg, I'm not going to—"

"Shut up," Charles says, kicking him lightly in the shin. "You're a terrible deviant. No, what I was saying was—well, I know a tailor a few blocks away. I was hoping we could stop by and pick out a suit."

"A suit?"

"Yes. You told me you'd let me buy you a suit for our date this weekend. You're not getting out of it." Charles smirks, "Out of letting me pay for it, that is. You'll certainly be getting out of the suit itself, when the time calls for it."

"I thought I was the deviant," Erik says wryly. He checks his watch, "Yeah, we can do that if you think we'll be done in time. I have to get going in forty minutes."

Triumphant, Charles grins. "We'll be quick."

True to Charles' word, the tailor is expecting them, clearly prepared. "Mr. Xavier," she says briskly, leading them to a luxurious private fitting room in the back of the store. "I set aside the pieces we discussed earlier on the phone. You have good taste," she says, eyeing Erik appreciatively. "I'll go get the suits from the back. Please, make yourself at home."

"She better keep her hands to herself," Charles says darkly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Isn't it her job to measure me?"

"To measure you, not to—" Charles cuts himself off as the woman sweeps back into the room, arms draped with alarming number of suits. He clicks his tongue, "We only have twenty minutes."

"Mr. Xavier, these things take time—"

"Twenty minutes," Charles says firmly. "I'm certainly paying you enough to get this done within my time frame. Let's start with the single-breasted Tom Ford in charcoal, and the Armani in dove gray, and… navy."

The tailor purses her lips. "And the pinstripe Brioni?"

"Yes," Charles says, after a moment's consideration. "Good eye."

She pulls out the requested suits and leaves again, this time closing the door behind her. Erik turns to Charles and says, "One suit."

"Yes, darling," Charles says mockingly, then takes a seat on the couch, leaning back leisurely. "Well? Take your clothes off."

"Do I want to know how much these cost?" Erik says, unbuttoning and shrugging out of his shirt. He tries to ignore the way he can feel Charles' eyes linger as he undresses, tracking his movements like a predator lying in wait.

"Not as much as they could cost," Charles says, standing to look through an array of dress shirts hanging on a nearby rack. He selects a white one and brings it to Erik. "This, too. Don't look at me like that—you need a proper shirt for your new suit."

"You're unreasonable," Erik mutters, pulling on the navy trousers and then reaching for the shirt. The fabric is smooth and silky on his skin, a noticeable difference from his typical work clothing.

Charles steps forward and pushes Erik's hands away from the buttons, electing to do it himself. "I'm very reasonable," he murmurs, fingers working deftly. He smooths the shirt over Erik's shoulders, hands leaving a searing trail as they go. "And you are very handsome."

Erik grabs Charles' face and kisses him, thrilled at the surprised squeak it elicits. I want to kiss you when you're being a rich bastard, Erik tells him.

"All the time, then?" Charles gasps in the fleeting space between their mouths. He tastes bitter, like the coffee he'd been drinking.

"Precisely," Erik says, pulling back to smirk at the dazed expression on Charles' face.

"Are you sure you only have half an hour?" Charles asks. He's gorgeous, looking up at Erik with those blue eyes, plush lips bitten-red.

"I am. I have to—"

"Mr. Xavier," the tailor calls from outside the room, knocking briskly.

Hastily stepping back from Charles, Erik straightens his shirt. "Come in—I really do have to leave soon," he adds regretfully to Charles.

"Oh, the Armani. Good choice." She looks him up and down shrewdly, making him feel undressed. "What sort of fit do you prefer? A tapered silhouette would suit your physique well, but a straight one is best for professional needs."

"Certainly not straight," Charles says, leering at Erik pointedly in the mirror. "A slim fit, I think."

She hums approvingly, pinching the fabric at Erik's waist. "I'll bring it in here, and a bit around the hips and knee-down. Let's get your measurements, and then we'll go through the other suits." She pulls out a soft measuring tape and nudges Erik's arms up.

"Well, I don't know if—I'm only getting one suit," Erik says, glancing over his shoulder at Charles for confirmation.

"I believe it's my choice, though. You might as well try them all on, and I'll decide later," Charles says, eyes gleaming.

Unreasonable, Erik thinks loudly, and Charles laughs.

Seemingly discarding his possessiveness in lieu of teaming up with the tailor against Erik, Charles makes use of every minute he has, dressing Erik up until he feels more like a doll than a person. "It's good to have your measurements on hand," Charles says with a roguish grin, as they walk back to their cars. "You never know when I'll manage to talk to you into another nice dinner."

"I don't need a new suit for every date," Erik points out needlessly.

"Oh, darling, we don't repeat outfits in my circles," Charles says, eyes wide and too-innocent.

"I have no idea how I thought you were a poor college student," Erik mutters.

"I believe it was because of my charming, down-to-earth personality. Or, perhaps, you were too busy staring at my arse to think properly."

"One of the two," Erik agrees, taking Charles' hand as they approach their cars.

"And now the secret's out," Charles sighs dramatically. "Though, I'm told I'm very kissable when I'm being a rich bastard."

Erik glances askance at him, helplessly charmed. "Are you heading back to school now?"

Charles nods. "How late will you be working tonight? Maybe I could call you while I'm waiting around in the lab."

"I'm done for the day. I'm headed to Magda's now, actually. We're having dinner with the kids, and then talking to Wanda about counseling."

"Oh," Charles says, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. "I thought—you said you were working late this week?"

"I am, just not tonight. Or—I was, until you called. But I'm glad I got see you." It's the truth, though Erik will have to go in early tomorrow and stay late, since he's taking Lorna to the zoo on Friday.

"You know," Charles says carefully, "my money is good for more than just indulgent dates. I know you don't like to talk about it, but you think about the twins' schooling quite a bit. I'm sure private school isn't cheap, and—"

"What? No." Erik pulls away from Charles to look at him in disbelief. "You're not suggesting you pay for their school," he says flatly.

"Well, why not? I mean—I know you like to pay for things yourself, but let's be realistic—"

"No. You're not—"

"Just think about it—"

"Charles," Erik says incredulously, "absolutely not. That's just… not even remotely on the table. Magda and I will handle it. End of story."

Charles stares at him for a long moment. "Fine. Understood," he grits out finally, all levity gone from his demeanor.

"I mean… thanks for the offer," Erik says, too late. He doesn't want to upset Charles, but there's no getting around that his knee-jerk reaction to his offer is a blatant No. Accepting a nice suit from him is one thing—allowing him to pay tens of thousands in tuition for Erik's children is another.

"Don't mention it," Charles says, tone clipped.

Erik sighs unhappily, "Charles—"

"I should get back to the lab."

And Erik should get going, too. He hates the idea of leaving things so tense with Charles, but he's already running late for dinner, as it is. There's nothing to be done for now. "I'll see you this weekend, though. Friday, right? I'm, uh, taking Lorna to the zoo in the afternoon, but I'll be free that night."

At least, he should be. If Lorna asks to stay the night, he's not sure how he could say no. He wants to be a full-time parent to his kids, wants them to feel loved and prioritized, the same way they had before the divorce—as much as that's possible, at least. Lately, he's getting pulled in two directions—it's getting harder and harder to keep his parenting life and his personal life separate.

Charles softens. "It's okay. We'll figure it out," he says, and he kisses Erik gently, so achingly sweet that Erik misses him before it's even over.

Armed with enough Chinese food to feed a soccer team, Erik readies himself for the first true family dinner they've had in years. Nervous energy zings though his body, though that could well be the strange note on which he'd left things with Charles. He takes a deep breath and knocks.

"Hey," he says to Magda when she opens the door. "Sorry I'm late. They were out of dumplings, but I got extra eggrolls."

Magda makes a face and steps back to let him in. "Did you at least get the sweet and sour sauce?"

"No shit, Lehnsherr," Erik snorts, and then he freezes. It just slipped out, something they used to say all the time, but hasn't come out of his mouth in years. Not even a minute in, and he's making things awkward. "Sorry," he says, unsure if apologizing makes it better or worse.

"It's fine," Magda laughs, sounding strained. She walks to the kitchen, yelling out on the way, "Kids, your dad's here!"

Erik heads to the dining room, where he starts setting the food out, which is where Lorna finds him. "Hi, Daddy!" she says happily, bouncing over to give him a hug.

"Hey, Loo," Erik says, leaning down to kiss her head. "Where's your sister?"

"In her room," Lorna pouts. "She's been in her room all week."

Erik had heard as much from Magda, when they confirmed their plans earlier today. Thankfully, she'd also reported that Wanda was generally in better spirits, joining them for meals regularly and talking more. "Do you want to go get her or should I?" he asks.

"I'll help Mama get drinks," Lorna says decisively.

"Okay. Water for me, please," Erik tells her, and goes upstairs to fetch the twins. Peter's door is open, and he's sat in front of his computer, wearing headphones and engrossed in some video game. Erik raps his knuckles on the door frame, "Peter. Dinner time."

"Whoa," Peter jumps and twists to look at Erik, eyes wide. "Jumpscare. Okay, I'll be—No, I'm not talking to you, shut up—No, sorry, Dad. Not you. I'll be down in a minute, 'kay?" He turns back to his game without waiting for a response, laughing at something Erik can't hear.

Erik goes across the hall to Wanda's and knocks on her door, pleasantly surprised when he can actually make contact with the wood, instead of hitting that strange invisible wall she'd had up at his place last weekend. "Food's here. Chinese."

The door opens only a moment later, revealing a grim-faced Wanda. "Fine. Let's get this over with," she sighs, and follows Erik downstairs to the dining room.

"Chinese food night!" Lorna cheers when she sees them. "Where's Petey?"

"Talking to Kurt like usual," Wanda mutters, taking a seat next to Lorna and grabbing the lo mein to pile onto her plate. Magda grabs the sesame chicken and Erik starts making a plate for Lorna, adding a little bit of everything.

"Lorna, did your mom tell you about Friday?" Erik asks, finally filling his own plate. "I thought we could go to the zoo. I'll leave work early and come get you, how does that sound?"

Lorna's mouth drops open, revealing an unappetizing bite of half-chewed food.

"Hey, table manners," Magda admonishes, and Lorna's mouth snaps shut as she nods frantically at Erik.

"Don't choke," Erik chides, smiling at Lorna's enthusiasm. "Wanda, I'd love if you joined us. Your brother's welcome, too."

"Welcome to what?" Peter says, appearing in the seat next to Erik with nothing more than a small puff of wind and a shudder of the table. Erik jumps, but everyone else takes it in stride.

"The zoo," Wanda says blandly, pushing the egg rolls at him. "Dad and Lorna are going Friday."

"Kurt's coming over Friday," Peter says apologetically. "We're going to have a Fast and Furious marathon."

"God," Wanda says, nose wrinkling. "That sounds terrible."

"So you're in?"

Wanda rolls her eyes but doesn't deny it, so Erik supposes that's his answer. "Well, if either of you change your mind, I'll be here around two."

"I'll be leaving a little sooner, so I'll need you two to keep an eye on Lorna until your dad gets here," Magda says. "Can you handle that?"

"Duh," Peter says, and then reaches for the nearest carton of food. Somehow, he's already emptied two of them, Erik realizes. Peter really is getting faster.

"Don't duh your mom," Erik says, a little belatedly. Magda shoots him an amused glance.

"My bad," Peter shrugs. "Is there fried rice?"

Erik passes him another carton. "Did you work today? How's that going?"

"This is so weird," Wanda groans. "What is this? Are we playing happy family now?"

"Wanda," Magda scolds.

"It's just dinner," Erik says. "You know we have something to talk to you about—"

"Sure, but let's be honest. This," Wanda gestures between Erik and Magda, "isn't normal anymore. You guys wanted to get divorced, so we had to deal with that. And now you want to pretend everything's back to normal and we have to deal with that, too?"

At a loss for words, Erik looks at Magda for help, but she avoids his gaze. Next to her, Lorna's gone quiet, staring down at her plate.

"Wanda," Peter says quietly, "don't do this."

"Do what?" Wanda says, narrowing her eyes at him. "Tell the truth? I'm just saying, for two years we barely saw them in a room together. And now he's here for dinner like nothing ever happened. We don't even know if they're getting back together because they don't tell us anything. It's bullshit."

"Okay, that's enough," Erik chastises. "You can go to your room."

Wanda scoffs, "You're not the boss of me. You don't even live here anymore."

"Hey, that is not how you speak to your father," Magda says sharply. "He absolutely is the boss of you, and he's right. Go to your room."

"Gladly," Wanda sneers, and she shoves her chair back roughly from the table before storming off, leaving a tense silence in her wake.

"I missed this," Peter says cheerfully, and Erik can't help the laughter that bubbles out of his chest.

"It's not funny," Lorna says tearfully, and she jumps up and runs out of the room, toward the stairs.

"Jesus," Magda mutters under her breath, dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter.

"I'll get her," Erik says quickly. "You two keep eating." He gives Peter a quick squeeze on the shoulder and then heads to Lorna's room.

She's curled up on her bed, sniffling, and Erik's heart sinks. "Hey Loo," he says gently, taking a seat next to her. He touches her hesitantly, unsure if she wants the comfort, but she immediately pulls herself up and shoves her face against his chest.

"I hate that everyone is mad at each other all the time," she mumbles.

Erik puts his arm around her, rubbing her back in slow circles. "We're not mad at each other all the time. I know it might seem like that sometimes, but I promise we're not. Your mom and I still care about each other, and we love you, and Peter, and Wanda more than anything in the whole world."

Lorna sniffs, "I just want everything to go back to normal."

Erik sighs. For so long, he'd felt the same; had spent his days longing to be back home with his family, comparing everything to his old life and coming up short. Now, the thought of going back is unimaginable. He doesn't want to, and he's still trying to figure how to feel about that.

"I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but change is normal, Loo. You're getting older, the twins will be graduating high school in a couple years…" Erik exhales loudly, feeling winded by that statement alone. "I know it feels scary, but it's a good thing. Think about all of the new things we've done in the last couple years—your powers are getting stronger, and we found the park with all those ducks, and…"

"And Mr. Charles too, right?"

"And Mr. Charles," Erik agrees. "And Kurt, and—and your mom's back in school now, so she can get a job she really loves."

"But you don't live with us anymore," Lorna says, looking up at Erik with huge, watery eyes.

Erik swallows around the lump in his throat. "I know, and I miss you every day. But it makes the time that we do have together even more special to me. And you get a lot of ice cream out of it."

Lorna giggles, "Yeah. Hey, Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"Are you and Mama getting back together?"

Erik sighs, wishing Wanda would think more about how her outbursts affect Lorna, who's too young to understand that Wanda's simply lashing out. "No, Loo. We're not getting back together."

"Oh. That's okay."

Erik hesitates. "In fact… one day, your mom and I might even start dating other people. Would that… would that be okay too, do you think?"

Lorna considers this carefully. "Yeah, I think so. Olivia's dad has a new girlfriend, and she said she's really nice."

Cool relief rushes through Erik, though he knows Lorna doesn't truly have much say in his personal life. It's nice to know that she might approve—even more so when she learns that it's her beloved Mr. Charles. It's not the right time now, and maybe it won't be anytime soon, but… he thinks about kissing Charles goodbye earlier, wishing he could have just another few minutes with him.

"Can we go back to dinner, before Peter eats everything?" Lorna asks, considerably cheered.

"You go ahead. I'm gonna check on your sister."

"Is she okay?" Lorna asks, concerned.

Erik squeezes her tightly, feeling overwhelmed with love for his sweet, thoughtful little girl. "She will be. Your mom and I are going to make sure of it, okay?"

After Lorna heads back to the kitchen, Erik knocks on Wanda's door for the second time that evening. This time, she doesn't open the door. "Wanda, open up," he calls, trying to keep the patience in his voice. When she still doesn't answer, he tries the handle but it's locked. Feeling inside her room for what feels like a pair of headphones, he wiggles them for warning and then unlocks the door and opens it.

Wanda's reaction is immediate. "Dad!" she squawks, glaring at him from her bed. Her headphones are blaring so loudly he can hear them from across the room. She scrambles to grab them when he floats them off her head. "Stop it! I hate when you do that," she snaps.

"Well, I hate when you throw a fit during dinner, so it looks like we're a pair today," Erik shrugs. "Are you ready to come back downstairs yet?"

"Why should I? So you and Mom can team up on me and force me to go to therapy?" Wanda says coolly.

Erik throws his arms up in frustration. "Honestly, yeah. We want to help you, Wanda. I know you're not having a good time here, either. And that sucks. Your high school years should be about having fun with your friends and figuring out what you want to do for college, not… being scared of your own powers."

Wanda shrugs, staring down at her lap and picking at her nail. "I don't have any friends."

"That's not true. What about Kurt? And Peter."

She laughs humorlessly, "Yeah, my brother and his b—his best friend. That's my friend group all right."

Chest aching, Erik takes a seat at the edge of Wanda's bed. He looks around her room; it looks drastically different than the last time he'd been in here, years ago. Her walls are lined with band posters and art—some of which are prints, and some of which look hand-painted. "Did you make that?" Erik asks, pointing at a landscape painting of a treeline, the sunset blood-red and vibrant behind it. "That's beautiful."

Wanda pulls her knees to her chest and lays her head down, staring at the painting. "Thanks."

"Seriously. You could put that in an art show."

"It was," Wanda says quietly.

"What?" Erik turns to look at her. "When?"

"There's an art show at the end of every year for all the schools in the district. Only like, twenty five pieces of art get picked per school." There's a note of pride in her voice.

"Really? That's amazing. Why didn't—why didn't you tell me about it?" Erik asks, trying not to sound as hurt as he feels. "I would have loved to go."

Wanda shrugs. "I didn't tell anyone about it. Mom's busy with school, and you're… busy with your new life, or whatever."

Erik struggles to keep his voice steady. "Wanda, I always want to know what's going on with you. My new life is just—you're still the most important thing in it. It's been hard for everyone to—"

"No, you know what?" Wanda says, voice flooding with anger. "The worst part is that it's not hard for you and Mom. You're both so much happier now, and that's fucked up. Divorce isn't supposed to make you happy."

Erik could argue that divorce is explicitly meant to make people happier, but he can see her point. Instead, he opts for, "That doesn't mean I'm happier than I'd be if I was with you guys all the time."

"Yeah, right," Wanda grumbles. "All I do is come over and mess shit up and stress you out."

"Well, it's your job as a kid to mess shit up, and it's my job as a parent to stress out about it. That's just how it goes," Erik shrugs, chancing a smile at her.

"Sounds like a bad deal."

Erik snorts. "It's not. It's pretty great, actually."

She looks at him doubtfully.

"It is," he insists. "And taking care of you is my job too, so let me. I know it's been a tough couple years, with your mom and I getting divorced, and now you're dealing with new powers that are very strong."

"You don't get it," Wanda says glumly. "You've always loved your powers, just like Lorna."

"I have always loved my powers," Erik admits. "But things were different when I was younger—the world was different. I dealt with a lot of shit in my town for being a mutant, and more than once things got violent. I'm not proud of it, but I have hurt people with my powers."

Wanda's eyebrows furrow. "Really?"

Erik nods uncomfortably. It's not something he likes to linger on; he's no longer that angry, defiant boy who wielded his power like a sword more than a shield against prejudiced humans. Sure, it had technically been self-defense, but he'd never been in actual danger, even if it felt like it at the time. He thinks of the way the twins' principal had cowered before his show of strength and he swallows roughly. "I know having the power to hurt people is scary, but I also know you. You're strong, and smart, but most of all, you're kind. You're a good sister and a wonderful daughter, and you're not any more dangerous than any other kid."

"But I can't control it," Wanda says, voice cracking with a sob. "I've—I could have killed Lorna."

"Oh, babe," Erik says, leaning over to wrap his arms around her. She falls into him, still curled into herself. She cries in his arms, sounding heartbreakingly young. When she quiets, he says, "I know it was scary, but everything ended up okay. Lorna's fine. Your brother was so on top of it, he could have gone and gotten another hot dog and then grabbed Lorna."

Wanda laughs wetly, and it's a balm to Erik's heart. He squeezes her. "And even though it doesn't seem like it right now, one day you'll be comfortable with your powers. In the meantime, that's what your mom and I are here for. We just want to help you in any way that we can, and I think… I think now that means seeing a counselor. Just try it, okay? And if it helps… keep this to yourself for now, but your mom and I are looking into private schools for you and your brother. Somewhere that cares more about mutant students."

"Really?" Wanda says, sitting up with interest. "Like, for this year?"

"Yeah, really. But I need you to take counseling seriously, okay? I really think it could help you."

Wanda bites her lip, then nods. "Okay."

Erik smiles, "And if you get into any more art shows, you have to promise to tell me and your mom. I would have loved to go, and I know she would have, too."

"Okay," Wanda agrees. She wipes her eyes, then looks at Erik guiltily. "I'm sorry I upset Lorna earlier."

"She bounces back quickly," Erik says, patting Wanda's knee. "But your mom might appreciate an apology, too. Are you ready to get back to dinner?" He starts to stand up, but Wanda lunges forward and wraps her arms around his neck.

I'm sorry, she says, and for a moment, Erik's too stunned to speak. He could cry with relief, knowing that she's still using her powers in any capacity, that she's not regressed completely.

"You said that in my head," he says dumbly, hugging her back.

"Sometimes it's easier," she mumbles, tucking her head into his shoulder.

"I bet," he says roughly. "And it's okay, Red." He knows what it's like, lashing out when his feelings get too big, too hard to process in any way but anger. He kisses the side of her head. "It's always okay."