Hank almost enjoyed it when Charles came down to the lab for help with the serum. It meant the professor could hear the thoughts he couldn’t say out loud. He was scared of being honest about how he felt, and why he felt it. When the mutation was slowly coming back, it meant that the only thoughts Charles could hear at the moment were Hank’s. That meant that every little thing he was thinking was heard, if only for the brief time it took to inject another round of serum.
So Hank made the most of it.
Charles came shakily down the stairs for help with the serum, mostly sober for once. He could do it himself a lot of the time, but his hands shook more, and Hank was fine with helping. Encouraged it, even. If only so he could get his cry for help out.
Charles hefted himself onto the lab bench, holding out his forearm expectantly, watching Hank as he worked.
Hank brought his vials of serum, a syringe, and his biohazard bin over. As he prepared the syringe, he took a deep breath, and started desperately trying to project his thoughts towards the slowly returning mutant powers he was about to squash again.
He started off easy.
I feel guilty for doing this to you. I feel guilty enabling it.
Hank swabbed the pale skin of Charles’ wrist robotically, like he’d done a thousand times before, and clenched his jaw so hard he felt it pop. He felt terrible, like a bad person. It was his fault this serum existed, his own shame. And now it was his companion’s downfall, too.
Charles’ eyes were suddenly trained directly on him. His throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly, opening his mouth to say something before quickly closing it again as Hank kept going with a click.
I feel guilty for buying you alcohol when you run low, and I feel guilty when I say yes when you pull me to bed.
Hank couldn’t stop the brief but vivid memories from late nights. Charles looking at him with a secret little smile as he pulled Hank by the collar. Tasting scotch on his tongue, and feeling that familiar twinge of guilt. Kissing Charles against a wall, before the professor pulled him to the nearest bedroom just so one of them could get on their knees as soon as possible. Just so they could make each other fall apart in the best ways possible.
Charles was chewing on his lip, searching his face with big blue eyes and darting pin-point pupils under the bright lab lights.
I’m angry at Erik for leaving you like this. I’m angry at Raven for leaving us like this.
Hank pulled on a pair of disposable gloves casually, but there was a lump in his throat. He was angry at Erik for hurting Charles like this, up and leaving right afterwards, and then taking Raven with him. Leaving him and Charles alone, leaving him alone. Charles wasn’t the same after Raven left.
He swallowed the lump, and kept going.
I wish we weren’t lonely, I wish you actually wanted to kiss me.
“Hank-” Charles spoke for the first time since he originally asked for help. His voice was thick with some unrecognisable emotion.
“Shush,” Hank chided, picking up the syringe. His voice sounded too sad to his own ears.
He meant it, though. He wanted Charles to kiss him, and he wanted it not out of drunkenness, not out of boredom, not out of being pent up. He wanted Charles to kiss him because he was him. Because… because he wanted him.
Hank filled the syringe with the serum carefully, slowly pulling the plunger upwards. He sounded pathetic, begging someone to want him. He relaxed and clenched his jaw a few times.
I wish I wasn’t a coward, and I could say no to you, and I could stop taking the serum.
Hank flicked the syringe at its tip, working out any air bubbles. He wanted a world where they could both stop taking this serum, that Charles could cope with the voices, that Hank could be fine with what he saw in the mirror. That fur and claws wouldn’t change that he could still be proud of himself. That Charles wouldn’t feel contained by a wheelchair, that the thoughts could be seen as a blessing, not a curse. Hank let out a low sigh, and glanced at his companion.
The groove between Charles’ eyebrows deepened as he gnawed on the dead skin on his lips, watching Hank’s hands as they worked.
“Hank, it’s- it’s getting worse,” he told the doctor quietly, swallowing hard. He looked almost sad. But he couldn’t be. Charles had asked him, specifically asked him, to do this. They were in too deep now. They didn’t have time for questioning themselves anymore.
But most of all, I wish you’d listen to me. And everyone else who tried to pull you out before now.
Charles seemed to wince at the last fragment of thought Hank was trying to project at him.
Hank nodded. “I hear you,” he answered, quietly, approaching him. He took hold of Charles’ arm, warm skin against his. He could feel big blue eyes darting over his face.
Hank sank the syringe into the prepared spot, injecting the serum carefully.
Charles let out a long breath, relaxing. He hardly had any reaction to it anymore. Hank let out a short sigh. Charles’ head tipped forward, resting his forehead on Hank’s shoulder as he flexed his fingers in his lap, breathing harshly.
“All good?” Hank asked, trying to be casual as he dropped the syringe in the biohazard bin, and stripping off his gloves. His one hand came up to run through Charles’ hair, brushing through the long brown locks.
“Yeah,” Charles sighed softly, turning his head to look at Hank’s face.
His stomach dropped.
“I want you because you’re Hank,” Charles whispered. Lied.
“Because you’re the only one who stayed, who loved me back. The only one I have ever loved who hasn’t been ripped away so quickly I’m left reeling.”
Hank sighed, but he let Charles pull him closer by the belt loops. Let himself drape his arms over Charles’ shoulders while the professor held his waist with gentle hands.
It was a nice sentiment, a sweet speech. Carefully crafted for some placebo for an apology to make Hank fall back into him.
And even though Hank knew it was just some words Charles had quickly thought up to feel less guilty, they worked.
It worked, and Hank let Charles kiss him.
He leaned into it more, burying his hands in his companion’s hair, feeling a lump in his throat and his hands tightening in Charles’ hair.
Hank hated everything about this, and he still wanted it.