Cherik. Modern AU. Still have powers. Mutant Husbands on vacation. Silliness. This is pure silliness. I donât even know guys. đ€·đŒââïž
âItâs staring at me.â
âItâs not staring at you.â
âItâs staring at me.â
âItâs not staring at you.â
âIt is. Itâs staring at me.â
Charles put down his book and looked directly, for the first time, at the âstarerâ in question. Then, he looked sideways at the âstareeâ. âErik, itâs not staring at you.â He picked his book back up, eyes searching for the line heâd left off on.
âYouâre not taking this seriously. Itâs plotting. Itâs plotting our demise right at this very moment.â
Charles sighed, internally, and placed his bookmark securely in the crease, abandoning the adventures of wizards and elves for another time.
Erik was still talking. âItâs four beady little eyes are boring into my soul. Itâs waiting for us to go to sleep. Then we will meet our venomous ends.â He was dead serious.
âMore likely eight eyes. Most spiders have eight.â
This time it was Erik who looked sideways at him, voice dripping with sarcasm. âThank you for that, Professor Xavier. How does this help us?â
âIâm a geneticist, not an arachnologist.â
âOnly you would know that word.â
âEntomologist, then?â
âOnly you would know that word too.â
âRegardless of my qualifications or lack thereof, I hardly know what you expect me to do about it.â
Erikâs brow creased more deeply than it already was. Clearly, he didnât know either. The spider in question was large, at least the size of his palm, fuzzy. The sort youâd never find in the continental United States. Only tropical places, like this one, and maybe Australia. Not one you could easily smoosh under your shoe or place a cup over and release back into the wild.
âBesides, it means us no harm.â
Erik rolled his eyes. âYou never think anyone means us any harm no matter how many times humans prove otherwise.â
Charles thought about taking the bait. A political argument was likely to distract his husband from the spider idly hanging out in the top corner of the room. However⊠heâd also just learned that the famed agitator and rebel with a cause, otherwise known as Magneto, was afraid of spiders. There was no way he wasnât going to have fun with that. He adopted his most obnoxiously arrogant, professorial tone. âI know for a fact it means us no harm.â
Charles sighed deeply, as if being put upon by someone deeply stupid. âMy mutation isâŠâ
âTelepâ no, no. You are not suggesting that you can read that spiderâs mind.â
âThatâs precisely what Iâm suggesting.â
âI would think, in all the years weâve known each other, that I would have noticed if you could read animal minds.â
âArachnid mindsâ .â
â âAlso, heâs rather wondering why it is youâre staring so intently at him, if you must know.â
Erik pounced. On Charles, not the spider. His copy of Fellowship of the Ring skidded off the bed and onto the floor. Despite the loud bang it produced, the spider remained nonplussed and unmoving.
âYouâre not serious.â
âWhile youâve been falsely accusing him of murderous thoughts, heâs been contemplating a making a meal of the large frogs that have been hopping in and out of here anytime we open the door.â
The look of sheer horror on Erikâs face was a thing of beauty. âYou take that back.â
âI donât accept it. I will not be able to sleep tonight if I accept it. I will not be able to fuck you senseless in this bed tonight if I accept it.â
It was Charlesâ turn to look horrified.
âWell then. Itâs docile, it spins pretty webs to catch nothing larger than teeny flies and wishes us a very, very pleasant evening.â
Erik dropped his head and groaned. âIf there is anything I do know itâs that this spider does not care about our sex life, this is the most ridiculous conversation weâve ever had, and if you could read itâs mind, you could convince it to go away.â
The spider, who had not moved even one of its eight legs for more than 30 minutes, began scuttling in the direction of the door that opened to the ocean vista behind it.
âShall I let the little fellow out?â
Erik moved his head from where it was buried in Charlesâ shoulder and looked back.
âOh no. No no no. This is a coincidence. This is a fucking coincidence. You are absolutely not controlling that spider.â
Charles grinned, kissed Erikâs cheek, gently shoved him off and made his way to the door. He slid it open with a slight flourish and the spider skittered out. Charles stuck his head into the evening air and gave a little wave. âGoodbye Arnold.â
Charles closed the door behind him. âThere, darling, youâre safe now. No more big, scary spiders.â
âI really hate you.â Erik flopped back and buried his head under a pillow.
Charles slid back into the bed and proceeded to prove, in several different ways, why Erik did not hate him, not even a little.
At least, not until months later, vacation long over and securely back home in New York City, when a photo of a spider who looked very much like Arnold the Arachnid somehow found its way into Erikâs sock drawer.