a WRECKING BALL in a summer dress

“Maybe you should read the article before you assassinate the editor in chief,” Emma said, sliding the paper over to him.

“It doesn’t matter what the content is,” Erik protested, crossing his arms. “It’s the principle of the matter. You don’t see anyone reaching out to me with interview requests.”

“Maybe it’s because you threatened to castrate Senator Kelly on your livejournal last week.” Azazel said, helpfully.

Emma sighed. “Just read it.” She flipped the paper open, “Trust me.”

Erik opened his mouth to object when the picture spanning the top half of the page caught his attention.

“Woah,” Azazel said, leaning forward, “is that - “

“Charles,” Erik cut in, nearly choking on the word.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that X-Alliance had chosen Charles to represent them. He was their most vocal and popular advocate, and really, the only one with enough brains to go toe-to-toe with the Brotherhood, or, if Erik was flattering himself, Homosuperior.

The sight of him, however, under a large banner headline that shouted “COME TOGETHER,” froze Erik’s prepared tirade in its tracks.

If he was being generous, he would call Charles a friendly opponent. They’d shouted at one-another through megaphones across protest barriers enough times, but it was always done with a certain sense of levity. The smile Charles graced him with the last time he’d called Erik a relentless, stubborn bastard was miles away from the absolutely brutal verbal takedown he’d unleashed on Sebastian Shaw the following day in a campus-sponsored debate on Mutant Rights.

He’d always thought of Charles as someone who, if he could be swayed to Erik’s line of thinking, would be an irreplaceable ally.

He’d never thought of Charles as...attractive.

At least, he hadn’t really thought about it until this moment. The Charles in newsprint was miles away from the rumpled, affable Charles in loose slacks he was used to. The Charles in newsprint gazed intensely into the distance in a way that emphasized the blue of his eyes. Had styled his hair so that it curled in just the right way. Was wearing a shirt that buttoned close to his neck in a way that should have been prim, but was instead beckoned the viewer to pull the buttons apart with his teeth.

This Charles was slouched against a crumbling concrete wall in tight jeans, his hands placed suggestively against spread thighs, the denim clinging to each curving muscle.

It was untenable.

“Erik…?”

He realized his fingers were crumpling the newspaper into an unreadable mess.

“I have to go,” he said, standing suddenly and bumping the table, nearly knocking over Emma’s drink. He ignored the angry telepathic spike in his brain and stalked out of the Starbucks, his mind whirling. He knew where he had to go and what he had to do.

***

Charles was nearly hidden behind a wall of paper when Erik burst into the TA office in the Science Centre. He looked up from the essay he was grading and smiled when he saw Erik straining to catch his breath, blinking guileless blue eyes at him from behind the heavy frame of his glasses.

“Erik! What a pleasant surprise -”

“I thought you were better than this,” Erik cut in, holding up the newspaper in a clenched fist and throwing it at Charles’ face. It snagged in the air and floated awkwardly onto the floor between them. Erik bent down and picked it up, slamming it onto the desk and sending one pile of essays sliding to the floor.

“Better than…?” Charles trailed off, smoothing the paper down and looking over the front page.

“Better than whoring yourself out to prop up the human agenda.”

Charles looked up at him in shock.

“What?”

Erik huffed and opened the paper to the page with the article, stabbing his finger down on the picture.

“Oh the article came out!” Charles exclaimed, delighted.

“Yes, Charles,” Erik said flatly, “the article came out.”

Charles winced. “Oh yes, I thought you might be upset about that. But listen, I think I was very fair and balanced - “

“Oh yes, balanced, as in, co-opting a chance for us to talk about the prejudice mutant students face at this school with your non-partisan bullshit - “

“They wanted to talk about integration and I used that opportunity to discuss the very issues you’re talking about!”

“Why talk about integration at all!? Why do we need to share our platform - “

“This is why they asked to interview me instead of you, Erik, because you refuse to bend, even a little bit - “

“They wanted to talk to you because you’re non-threatening and you look good in jeans - “

“Did you even read the article? I gave your blog an excellent plug - “

Charles froze.

“Did you just say - did you say I look good in jeans?”

Erik’s mind, running on high octane the way it always did when he got into a fight with Charles, suddenly ground to a halt.

“I - I only meant that...that you look baseline. So.” He cleared his throat.

“Oh,” Charles said and his mouth pulled down into frown. Erik had never noticed how red his mouth was, or the full curve of his lower lip...

“Anyways, I should go.”

Charles frowned harder as Erik stepped back and bumped into the door frame. “What, that’s it?”

“What’s it?” Erik asked, reached for the doorknob blindly behind him, honing in on it with his powers.

“No more tearing me apart? No more - “ he waved at the paper, “‘mutants are the homo-superior’ stuff?”

He licked his bottom lip and Erik watched his tongue slide slowly across the sweet, red skin, watched the long, pale column of his throat move as he swallowed, seemingly in slow-motion.

“Nope. I’m ah, I’m late.” He fumbled with the door, but couldn’t seem to get it open.

Charles stood and moved around the desk, pulling off his glasses and dropping them onto the remaining pile of essays. His brows were pulled together in concern above his eyes which, in the low lamplight of the room, were a deep sapphire, endless pools of starlit water -

Erik jerked back, rattling the door, and Charles stopped with his hands raised as though Erik was a frightened animal.

“Are you alright? I promise I’m not looking but I can feel your mind going berserk.” Erik tore his eyes away from the muscle of Charles’ forearm, flexing as it reached out to him. Charles noticed, and drew his arm back quickly.

“I’m sorry, Erik,” Charles said forlornly, “I didn’t realize the article would upset you this much. If I had known I never would have agreed to it - “

“It’s not the article,“ Erik blurted, unable to hear the self-loathing in Charles’ voice. And really, he’d alway been careful about hurting Charles. Certainly more than he cared about hurting anyone else. He always slept better after eviscerating most people, either on his blog or in person, but with Charles his words seemed to matter more. Maybe because...Charles mattered.

Shit.

“Then what is it?” Charles asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“It’s...that picture of you.” Charles looked back at the article still spread out on his desk. He turned back to Erik, baffled.

“What about it?”

“They - I don’t know,” he started to get angry again, “you can’t just look like that, okay? It’s not...representative. Of you. Of the movement. You look - Listen, they’re probably just using you because you look like that and they want people to be attracted to the mutant cause - “

Charles’ bewilderment suddenly cleared, like a lightbulb going off above his head.

“Erik, are you saying you find me attractive?”

Erik felt the blood rush from his face. He gaped for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he searched for an appropriate lie, but he had never shied away from the truth. He’d also never backed down from a fight and he didn’t intend to start now.

“Yeah, I am.” He stepped forward, leaning into Charles’ space. “So what if I am?”

Charles’ face and entire body lit up and he moved directly into Erik’s orbit. He was short, but broad and he managed to herd Erik back against the door again.

“If you are, then I’m going to kiss you, and then I’m going to ask you on a date, if that’s alright?”

Erik stared down at Charles’ beaming face. He wasn’t entirely sure when he lost the plot of this particular debate, but he’d always been quick on his feet, and he’d be damned if he let Charles win this one.

Before Charles could move he leaned down and kissed him first. It was a little too blunt and a little too forceful, and he could feel the hard outline of Charles’ teeth behind his lips. But Charles leaned into it eagerly, his hands coming to Erik’s waist to cling to his shirt as Erik’s fingers lifted to tilt his face just so.

Suddenly they were moving in sync, melting into one another and Charles was making gorgeous little noises that Erik could feel vibrating against his lips, his fingers tangled in Charles’ hair and against his pulse, feeling his heart race.

Charles pulled back eventually, breathless and laughing, and Erik felt like an idiot. How did it take him so long to see Charles?

“I guess that’s a yes to the date then?” Charles asked, leaning into him so that their bodies were flush.

“Yes. That’s a definite yes.” He runs his thumb down the flushed curve of Charles’ cheek to the corner of his mouth. “Hey, thanks for pimping out my blog in your article.”

“Yes, well, I was hoping it would prompt you to be nicer to me,” Charles said, grinning. “Who knew all I had to do was wear an old pair of jeans from high school.”

Erik hummed, pulling him in for another kiss.

He fumbles for his phone but the screen is frustratingly blurred and blank. He tries to unlock it four times before it shuts down and he remembers that Raven had taken it and changed his password before she left with a stern warning about drunk texting that he can’t quite remember.

He leans his elbow on the bar and misses, slipping and stumbling into a warm body whose thoughts trumpet arousal as he turns and catches Charles’ arm.

“Hey there,” the body says, but he’s too short, and too blond, and his mind is a dull gold and all wrong. It turns Charles’ stomach and he lurches away into the throng of people surrounding the bar, their thoughts pressing on him like the thick crush of their bodies.

Before Charles is aware of what’s happening he’s outside. It’s raining hard, but the water does nothing to clear his brain, full of alcohol and the thoughts of the people inside and out and all along the boulevard. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off a headache, but it only serves to blur his vision further.

There’s a cab waiting at the curb, its light a beacon through the downpour, and Charles heads toward it. He barely has enough mental faculties to mumble an address before he falls asleep against the window, the glass cold enough to numb his thoughts, and the thoughts of the world, to a distant roar.

***

When he wakes up he’s in a bed that’s familiar, but not his own.

He knows in an instant where he is, even if he’s not sure how he got there. Erik’s mind is clear and distinct a room away, muffled with sleep and slowly picking through a crossword as he waits for his ancient coffee maker brew something that barely resembles coffee. For a moment Charles can pretend that everything is as it was – Erik up with the sun and making coffee while Charles dozes until Erik brings him a cup. He pretends that he’s only plotting to pull Erik into bed as he always did and persuade him to stay under the covers for a little longer.

It’s easier to pretend than it is to figure out why he woke up in his ex-boyfriend’s bed with only a hangover to keep him company.

He waits until he knows he can’t wait any longer and then hauls himself out of bed. The ceiling is spinning in a slow circle when he sits up and he pauses on the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress, until it settles. Someone has removed his socks and waistcoat, and his spare change, watch and belt are piled neatly on the dresser across the room. There’s a glass of water and 2 Advil waiting for him in the bathroom and he spares a moment to feel furious at Erik, at himself, at the whole messy situation before he swallows them down with a wince.

Erik is sitting at the cramped table by the window by the time Charles slinks into the kitchen. He’s painfully aware that he was unable to tame his hair or wipe the redness from his eyes while he was in the bathroom, and that his teeth are unwashed and his clothes rumpled from sleep. Erik looks better than the last time Charles saw him, the bastard. His beard is growing in, but he looks rugged instead of haggard, and he’s wearing the soft grey Henley that pulls away from his throat in a way that makes Charles want to hold him and put his mouth just there.

He fidgets for a moment, twisting the ends of his cuffs in his hands, before Erik takes pity on him.

“There’s coffee,” he says, and then after a moment’s pause, “and tea.”

Charles nods and heads over to the cupboard. Something sharp twists in his chest when he sees his stupid plastic tub full of Earl Grey sitting in the exact spot he left it two weeks ago.

Taking it down with shaking hands he jokes,

“I’d assumed you had dumped it all down the drain.” When he glances back over his shoulder Erik is staring pointedly down at his crossword puzzle, his pen gripped tightly in one hand. Charles turns away quickly and reaches for the kettle. He tries again as he slowly fills it with water from the tap.

“What happened last night?”

“Apparently you were so wasted you couldn’t remember your own address.”

The words are said so coldly Charles startles and sloshes water over his shirtfront. He swears loudly and drops the kettle in the sink where it clatters loudly against the metal basin. The noise is followed by silence and Charles puts a hand to his face, embarrassed and small and pathetic.

He takes a moment to breathe, and then turns away from the sink, his eyes fixed on the black and white linoleum of Erik’s floor.

“I should go.”

Before he can make it past the counter Erik is blocking his way, his hands hovering in the air between them.

“Wait. I – I’m – “

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Charles cuts in. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” He finally chances a glance at Erik’s face and finds he can’t hold his gaze. His mind is radiating confusion and hurt and memories of the last time they stood in the kitchen and hurled cruel words at one another. It makes Charles want to cry and he bites down hard on his lower lip.

“I’m an idiot,” he says instead. “I’m a drunk.” Just like my mother his brain shouts without his permission and Erik’s face grows hard.

“Hey,” he says when Charles tries to gently push past him, “hey, stop for a second.” He grips Charles by the shoulders and propels him over to the living room where his favourite couch is crammed up next to the window.

“What’s going on with you?” Erik asks once they’re both seated, their knees touching. “Did something happen last night?” He’s genuinely concerned now, his mind already turning toward vengeance, his worry stamped down under his intense desire to protect Charles.

“I missed you,” Charles blurts out. He means it as an answer to Erik’s question, but also as the purest, truest thing he can think of to say in this moment, sitting on the couch he forced Erik to keep even though it’s a monstrosity, feeling Erik’s leg pressed against his just as Erik’s mind fills his whole world, familiar and lovely and so, so missed.

He feels that mind recoil at his words, Erik’s shields raising defensively. Charles can see him scrambling for words and waits him out.

“You ended it,” is what he finally lands on, the words laced with hurt and confusion. Charles can’t blame him. He feels the same way, but more than anything he feels exhausted. He leans back against the couch and closes his eyes, his hand reaching out for Erik’s.

“I thought you’d call my bluff.” Erik’s mind is incredulous and turning toward frustration, so Charles tries again.

“I was scared.” He opens his eyes and finds Erik’s gaze, holding it this time. “And when you gave me an out I took it.”

He can still remember Erik’s anger, incandescent and filling the room as always. And when Charles had said, “I know it’s not easy to be with me,” offering up that primal fear, how sharp and quick Erik’s response had come: “That’s the first thing you’ve been right about.”

Erik is turning their fight over and over in his own head, and Charles can sense his regret. He can also sense the moment he shoves it aside in favour of anger.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking Charles. I can’t tell when it’s a test.” He finally reaches out and takes Charles hand, and some of the anger deflates.

“You are hard to be with,” he says, and before the pang of hurt can settle in Charles’ chest he continues, “so am I. So is everybody. But you can’t just bail when it gets hard.”

Charles feels a bit like crying again and he leans into Erik the same way he always does when he wants a hug. Erik doesn’t let him down, pulling him in all the way and squeezing him tight.

“I’m sorry,” Charles whispers against his throat. Erik runs a hand down his spine soothingly.

“So am I.”

They sit like that for a while before Erik says, “Really, you should be apologizing to the cabbie from last night. He’s the one who had to wake me up at 3am.”

Charles snorts, his laugh muffed against Erik’s shoulder.

“Poor man.”

He’s suddenly aware that he’s sitting on a crumpled up blanket, and when he looks, a pillow stolen from the bed.

“Did you sleep here last night?”

Erik gives him an incredulous look.

“Yes Charles. Where else was I supposed to sleep?”

“I could have slept on the couch!”

Erik rolls his eyes. “You were very emphatic about sleeping in our bed.”

His use of the word ‘our’ makes them both pause, and before another serious conversation can begin, Charles stands and tugs Erik to his feet.

“Come on, I need a shower.”

Erik allows himself to be propelled down the hallway. “And why do I need to come?”

Charles wafts a catalogue of thoughts over to him that include wet, naked skin, his mouth around Erik’s cock, fingers slippery with lube. And then, tentatively, a question mark.

Erik bumps into the doorframe.

“Okay, yes, shower.”

Charles grins and peels his rumpled shirt off, feeling lighter than he has in weeks despite the sticky sweat on his chest and his lingering hangover.

“Shower, and then a nap. In our bed.”