“Are you sure you don’t mind me being open with it?” Charles asks for what must be the fifth time today. “It’s just a little effort for me to block you out, nothing I can’t deal with if it upsets you.”
Erik has made up his mind today that Charles isn’t used to someone welcoming his mutation or even putting up with it; as they’ve planned their roadtrip for the recruitment Charles has frequently questioned his acceptance of it. But Erik gets it, as much as he can. For someone to ask him to block the presence of the metal in every room he enters would be exhausting. So he’s made peace with Charles’ telepathy roaming freely. He should probably be at least a little wary of his thoughts, leaving the heavier stuff in the background so Charles, his reach only skating by in his relaxation, won’t get to it. It’s just a pleasent feeling for Erik, that small presence, that warmth, filling the hole of years of isolation.
As the two of them sort out the contents of their suitcases ready to leave the hotel in the morning his mind starts to wander, as one’s mind often does while engaged in a menial task. This time, however, Erik lands on the one subject he swore to forget in the telepath’s presence. And he doesn’t realise until he happens to glance up and sees a softly stunned Charles sitting on the bed at the opposite side of the room.
Erik fixes his countenance into a serious, almost vacant look, not meeting Charles’ eyes, but this is after a few seconds of undeniable panic crossed his face. He can feel the heat rising beneath his skin as he busies himself with his case, despite having just finished with it. Although he feels it’s pointless, he mentally begs Charles to just let it slide.
“Erik, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“Just forget it.” His tone is harsh, slightly sharper than intended. He isn’t angry with Charles really, he knows it’s his own fault. Both for letting his mind wander and for the truth itself.
“Erik.” He winces at the saddened voice of his friend, his partner, his something, whatever they are. Erik desperately doesn’t want Charles’ pity. He’d rather deal with his disgust than his pity. God help the poor little orphaned wretch, his head isn’t screwed on right. It’s not his fault, the devil has possessed him, he’s just a victim really.
Erik is tired of being pitied. Tired of being the victim.
Charles lets out a little snort then, pulling Erik’s attention back to him.
“The last thing I’d do is pity you, Erik. If I did that then I suppose I’d have to spend a great deal of time pitying myself as well, and I have barely enough hours in the day spare as it is.”
Charles waits for it to click, and it does, Erik finally looking at him properly, a spark of hope ignited in the grey eyes.
“I’ve never told anyone this before,” Charles says quietly, bracing his hands against the mattress as if scared he’ll fall off. “But I trust you more wholly than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my life. And I sort of owe you one now,” he says, grinning sheepishly.
“Told anyone what?” Erik knows, he knows exactly. But he just wants, needs, to hear him say it aloud.
“Okay,” Charles says, both answering Erik’s unspoken plea and asserting himself. “I’m queer.”
Erik doesn’t speak for a moment, but neither break the eye contact between them. In his periphery he can see Charles’ hands shaking. The telepath is fighting to stay composed, Erik can feel gentle ripples of emotion conveying through their connection.
Unable to stay on opposite sides of the room, Erik gets up. Their eyes are still locked, although the blue ones are glazed over with unshed tears. Erik crouches before him, placing both his hands over Charles’, which are trembling in his lap.
“Charles,” Erik says, his voice little more than a whisper, as he reaches up and fingers a strand of Charles’ hair, pushing it back to sit neatly behind his ear. He lets his hand linger, cradling the left side of Charles’ jaw lightly. “I’m queer.”
Charles smiles, he smiles and Erik’s heart flips, he smiles and everything is okay again.
“I managed to convince myself I was making things up,” Charles says after a moment, the silence stretching but not uncomfortably. “It’s easy to do when your head is full of other lives. Easy to pretend what’s yours is actually someone else’s. But it’s…” he pauses, breathes, continues, “it’s different with you Erik. You’re too real. I couldn’t ignore you if I tried.”
He moves over and Erik rises to sit beside him on the bed. Their faces are close, Charles’ hot breath tickling Erik’s neck faintly. Charles’ eyes are on his knees but he’s leaning closer, just a fraction, probably not even aware he’s doing it. Erik can’t tear his eyes away, he feels the pang so clearly, the unyielding desire to just be. Be exactly how he really is, be exactly what he wants to be. Be exactly what Charles wants him to be, and what he wants to be for Charles.
Their bodies are beacons, each honing in on the other. Charles finally meets his eyes again, looking up at him, his beautiful blue eyes and their oceanic depths that Erik is still unable to get out of. Their current dragged him under, took him prisoner weeks ago, and his head has yet to break the surface.
He’s never been so happy to be drowning.