#toiveikkain

Riona places a kiss on Charles’ cheek. “You mean a lot to me, you know that?”

For the first time, there’s a flash of fear in Erik’s mind. Let you, he thinks. What does Charles plan on doing to stop him? “Yes,” he says, flatly. “This is necessary, Charles. What did you think would happen? That we would just let mutants do whatever they wanted, unchallenged, indefinitely? Tell me, Charles, if you did hurt me, if you killed me, right here and right now, on camera - “ and he flicks his eyes up towards the security cameras on the walls - “would anyone be able to arrest you? To try you? To keep you imprisoned? Or would you just put your fingers to your temple and waltz out of custody?” He leans in. “What about that step-brother of yours? How could we possibly stop him without killing or sedating him - if that’s even possible! What if you’re not there to stop the next Apocalypse, or the next Sinister, or the next Shaw? You’re so dead-set against taking a single life, Charles - I would have thought you’d understand the need to nonlethally incapacitate a mutant’s powers.”

Charles always uses up all of the hot water when he showers in the morning. Since he doesn’t have hair, Max is deeply confused about what could possibly take that long.

Erik’s face reddens slightly and he doesn’t know why. Because he’s being mocked, likely. “I can’t speak to the quality of the science,” Erik says coolly, “But your writing skills are decent enough. The political parts, however, were pure claptrap.”

Erik hrrmphs, shifting himself like a ruffled cat. “Know thy enemy, Professor. We humans have reasons to be interested in the science of mutation as well. How else to combat it?” It’s disconcerting to be here facing Xavier. The other man’s laugh is bright and warm, his eyes are kind, and he looks more like a young Bob Dylan than like a mutant mastermind. Xavier certainly doesn’t lack for charisma, he thinks. No doubt he doesn’t lack for female attention. 

Erik catches himself returning the smile. The fear is still there - but it’s faded to a low background hum. He knows that if Charles wanted to hurt him, he’d be dead already. “An optimist to the bitter end, eh, Professor?” he says. He picks up his side of the blanket and tugs it slightly over his shoulder. “Better bad company than no company.” It occurs to him that, if he were alone, he would likely be driving himself insane with his own circular thoughts. Better by far to have an opponent to play with. 

“No pressure, just dinner. We can go from there. If you’d like, of course.” 

“Well I do like the prettiest of pleases. And that was quite pretty. So yes, I will.” He was wearing the smuggest of expressions, “Thanks for asking.” What a douche. (Well, a douche up until he was actually kissing Charles.) The fact that he was a fantastic kisser and knew it hopefully made up for the fact he was a total fucker.