Chapter Text
"I'm beginning to wonder if you made up this phantom mutant," Erik remarks as they drive down the main street of Rayville, Ohio for the fourth time. "Are you sure you didn't lure me out here for a dirty weekend?"
"Drat, you caught me," Charles says into the crook of the map. "When I struck out in New York and Washington and Atlantic City, I thought it was time to splash out and show you Rayville. The sights, the sounds, the atmosphere... you know what they say: if you can't make it here, you can't make it anywhere."
Erik betrays himself with a slight smile, allowing Charles to see his amusement before he returns to the goal. "Aren't you tracking with your powers?" he asks. "How does the map figure into this?"
"I'm sensing him perhaps half a mile that way," Charles points with his elbow, his fingers still firmly pressed to his temple, "but according to the map, there are no roads in that direction."
"Show me," Erik says.
"Pull over up here--"
«Like this.» Glancing over, he sees Charles brightening a little, the way he always does when Erik projects thoughts to him; especially when it's unnecessary, just the two of them alone. Charles has taught all the recruits how to do it, but Erik is the only one who seems to communicate that way with him regularly.
He has no idea why they're squeamish. Charles will either respect their wishes and stay out of their minds unless invited, as he claims he does, or he won't. There's no way to know and nothing to be done about it, and communicating with him mind-to-mind won't change that; and in the meantime, it's too great an advantage to go unused.
Charles sends him the image of the map, along with his ineffable sense of the mutant they're looking for. That sense is as impossible to trap within the limits of ordinary human language as Erik's own magnetism, his feel for all the metal around them: the carapace of the car, the knife in his boot, the assortment of coins and metal trinkets that he suspects Charles carries in his pockets these days on purpose. Charles seems set on indulging in every imaginable provocation to make these trips lively. It does keep Erik on his toes.
Erik's had cause to follow a great many more remote paths than Charles has, and he solves this puzzle easily enough, following the mental map toward their destination. A street that appears to dead-end branches off to the right in a long stretch of gravel, unmarked. "There's our road."
"Capital. Well spotted," says Charles, letting the map fall in favor of concentrating, homing in. When he uses his power visibly like that, his fingers to his temple, his eyes cast toward the distance, Erik could almost... well. Charles certainly has his moments.
They've been on the road a while now, and Erik's been to bed with stunning women like the one whose tattoos shifted and turned into gorgeous gossamer wings, and attractive men like the one whose mutation caused him to develop armor plating when held down and fucked hard, and who became inhumanly flexible when he returned the favor-- whether anything more comes of it, he's pleased that both Angel and Armando decided to join up with them-- but it's been a little while since they found anyone with such gloriously evident mutations.
Really, he never expected that his biggest regret on this trip would be missing Hank and Raven, Hank's beautiful agile feet and Raven's gorgeous blue skin. But a few weeks sharing a bed with them while they worked out Cerebro's bugs and made up a list of potential recruits left Erik feeling very, very spoiled.
At times he thinks this entire interlude is a dangerous indulgence. He's not in the habit of succumbing to anything that sways him from his purpose. But Charles was right, when he challenged Erik that first night at the CIA compound. Shaw has friends; Erik will need allies to face him. He'll need Charles to counter Shaw's telepath, others to take out the storm-bringer and the teleporter. And Shaw could have more waiting in the wings, with his head start of years to gather them. Aligning with Charles and recruiting as many mutants as they can is Erik's best strategy right now.
The momentum of all this traveling satisfies his need to feel he's progressing toward Shaw's defeat. But it's also full of unavoidable waits and delays, and Charles seems set on exploiting every moment. If he isn't trading innuendo with Erik, he's flirting with the waiter, the stewardess, the night clerk, the passing businessman, and vanishing with whomever takes him up on his advances. And yet every evening, there he is back in the hotel room, sitting across the chessboard and joining Erik in laying out plans for the future, as serious and earnest as ever.
Charles, in other words, has a knack for finding opportunities to enjoy himself, which Erik has never had much interest in learning, til now. But this is part of what was taken from him too, and once he realized that, he stopped thinking of his sex drive as a distraction and began to exercise it freely-- and just in time to discover what it's like to finally be with his own kind.
Though for all that Charles is one of the most powerful mutants Erik can imagine, apparently the spark isn't there for either of them. No matter; Charles is a terrible flirt, and Erik's never enjoyed anyone's company so much. Charles delights in coaxing Erik to express the sort of things he's used to keeping to himself, and Erik's been surprising himself with his own sense of humor, his willingness to engage in conversation not just to further an objective but for its own sake, and his urge to compete a bit with Charles when it comes time to compare notes. They certainly have kept themselves busy enough, and sharing all the details with Charles has been an entertaining way to pass hours of monotonous driving.
"Ah, here we are," Charles says. This area is less developed than the town proper, but there are a few houses among the sparse woods and plowed fields. "I believe it'll be the white house with the green shutters, there."
Erik parks on the flattened grass running up to a shed alongside the house and gets out, stretching. Charles appropriates the rearview mirror to look himself over before exiting the car, and then consults the side mirror as well. Erik shakes his head, more at himself than anything; he even finds Charles's vanity amusing. He never imagined he'd have the patience to endure another person's foibles for any longer than he absolutely had to, but he finds he doesn't mind waiting for Charles to brush himself off and order his clothes and run his hands once more through his hair.
"Shall we?" he asks once Charles seems ready at last.
Charles gives him a smile and starts toward the house. "We shall."
-
The Rayville mutant's name is Freddie. His mutations aren't obvious, to Erik's disappointment. He looks like a human, dark-haired and attractive in a broad-shouldered, forthright, boring sort of way, though he is, incongruously, wearing a sturdy brown apron when he answers the door, and he keeps it on throughout the introductions, even as he's offering them coffee and letting them sit down.
He's soft-spoken, with a mild slide of a Midwestern accent when he says, "It sure is nice to meet you."
Freddie seems receptive to Charles's opening spiel. But when Charles gently inquires after Freddie's abilities, the young man colors and looks down as if ashamed.
"You should hold your head up high," Erik tells him. "You represent an advancement over the current human species. A step beyond the rest of mankind."
It seems to have the opposite of the intended effect, though, as Freddie gives him a look of frank alarm and stops responding with anything but nods and shrugs.
«I think I might make a bit more headway on my own,» Charles sends. «He's terribly intimidated by you.»
«I can't say I think much of his backbone, then. I only said a few words.»
«You are awfully imposing, though. You look forbidding just sitting there.»
«If you say so.»
«You can head back to town without me. Freddie here can drive me back, he has to work tonight at Montoni's Restaurant.» Charles supplies the location, helpfully superimposed on the image of the map, along with a second spot: «There's a friendly pub just a little further down the street from Montoni's, called the Pullman Car. I could meet you there. Shouldn't be more than an hour or so.»
«How friendly?»
Charles glances his way with a canted eyebrow and a coy smile. «I should imagine it'll be very friendly, for you.»
-
The Pullman Car's name turns out to be an unsubtle indication of just how friendly the bar really is. Erik only has to exchange glances with the bartender, Angelo, before he's being guided to sit on the far side of the bar, which divides the back area from the front of the room with its sad sack afternoon punters. Back here it's a bit darker and much more discreet, the bar blocking the view from the front windows and door.
The two men lingering over their drinks on this side of the bar size Erik up openly as he lets Angelo bring him a martini, delivered with a hopeful look that Erik lets pass for now. New blood in a small town; Erik's been here many times before. He nods in a friendly but reserved manner at the two other men. There's nothing the matter with either of them, he'd take company from one or both in a pinch, but he's in no hurry for it. One of them is roughly his age, the other a few years younger-- both on the plain side, not that Erik's always been picky about such things.
He has, though, been a little more selective since meeting Charles... not because of Charles precisely, but with the company they're keeping now, there's something inherently satisfying about being with people who are like him. People who understand what it feels like to be an outsider, to be different. People with whom he can share a sense of growing past fear, shame, all the little things the world would have liked them to feel because of their differences. Or failing that, people whose smaller differences remind him of the promise of change to come.
As Erik finishes his martini, a fourth man walks into this section of the bar, glancing around at the other men, at Erik. He doesn't waste any time; maybe he approaches Erik because Erik's the best of the lot, or maybe it's because Erik's alone with an empty glass in front of him. Either way, he sits down next to Erik and says, "Would you like another?" He nods at Erik's glass.
Erik looks him over carefully. Older, perhaps fifty, and with a slightly receding hairline... but he's trim, and has an intriguing cleft chin, and the confidence in his expression is certainly appealing. And Erik has nothing against balding men; quite the opposite. "Not just yet," he says, though, pushing the martini glass away slightly. "What's your name?"
"Tim. And yours?"
"Erik."
"I'm not in town for long."
"Neither am I."
"Well." Tim gives him a long, appraising look, more for effect than anything, Erik supposes-- it isn't as though Erik didn't see Tim looking him over when he first came in. "I could use some company."
If he were more inclined to banter, Erik might offer a riposte: aren't we already keeping one another company? But that sort of thing has always seemed like a waste of time-- except when it's with Charles, a nagging little voice pipes up to tell him, and yes, that's true, but he's not... not thinking about Charles just now, he tells himself forcefully, and he settles his attention back on Tim.
"I'm not averse to company," he says. "Here or elsewhere?"
Tim glances back behind Erik's shoulder; Erik follows his gaze to the door of the men's room. It's not the first time he's been propositioned like this, and probably won't be the last, especially if he keeps frequenting places like this... and he really has no reason not to go along with it, so he nods. "Fine," he says. "Have a drink if you like." He sends his ability out, gets a sense for the particular metal on Tim's person. A slim band of nickel-plated brass on his belt buckle. The zipper on his trousers, of course. A steel watch. A pocketful of change--three dollars and thirteen cents' worth of it. Good enough; he won't have to worry about mistaking Tim for anyone else. "I'll be waiting."
He heads for the men's room first, and Tim lingers at the bar just long enough to be discreet. In a mere few minutes, though, he's piling into the stall with Erik, hands everywhere, mouth greedy, whispering out what do you do, what do you like, tell me, and Erik turns around, faces the stall wall, pushes his trousers down around his thighs. He's delighted to find that Tim had the foresight to bring a bit of Vaseline along with him, won't that make things easier, though he'll have to be careful of the cleanup after... and then Tim's making very, very sure that Erik isn't thinking about after or the cleanup, or really anything other than keeping as quiet as he can, while Tim does his level best to see that it takes no small effort.
-
When it's all over, Tim puts his clothes quickly back in order and edges past Erik, out of the stall. Erik half expects Tim to bolt, he did say he wasn't going to be in town long, but despite the length of time it takes Erik to clean up and square himself away, Tim's waiting outside the stall for Erik when Erik's done. Erik squares his shoulders-- does not limp, though certainly Tim did as much as he could to ensure Erik would-- and steps back out into the men's, smiling lazily at Tim. "What a pleasant diversion. It's almost a pity neither one of us is staying here in Rayville longer."
"Almost," Tim says with a laugh. "Busy tonight, then, I take it?"
"I'm afraid so. I've a friend who should be showing up at--" Erik glances at his watch, "any moment, really, though punctuality is not usually his strong suit."
"Will this friend of yours mind if I buy you a drink before I head off?"
"I can't imagine that he would," Erik says. "He's not that sort of friend, to mind."
"Too bad for him." Tim grins, showing dimples; dimples and cleft chins and a receding hairline might be the tiniest of mutations, but Erik smiles as he sees them. "Come on, then, let's have that drink."
At the bar, Erik takes a careful seat, and Tim's eyes flick over him, watching the care with a hint of smugness. The bartender-- Angelo, the same one as before, and looking every bit as friendly-- comes over, and when he sees Erik and Tim together, Erik can see a faint light of understanding come over Angelo's face.
It's probably the wrong sort of understanding-- for all Erik knows, Angelo thinks Erik went off with Tim because he's an older man-- but that answer's as good as any other, so far as Erik's concerned. It's not that Angelo isn't attractive, he's quite good-looking, but he lacks that something extra that tends to move Erik from languid, calculating interest to actual activity.
He's nice enough, though, bringing out beers for both of them and settling Tim's tab, and after Tim takes his leave, Angelo makes a bit of a show of swiping out a glass with a bar towel and raising his eyebrows. "I don't suppose you'll be interested in anything else tonight..."
Erik grins at him. "No, at this point I'm just waiting for a friend."
"Another friend! New in town and already popular."
Laughing, Erik shakes his head, and when he hears the door open, he glances over. Happily, it's Charles, who looks as though he's had a pleasant afternoon himself. He's got a faint flush about him, and his lips are even more red than usual, certainly swollen, and he licks carefully at the corner of his mouth as he catches sight of Erik and heads over to the bar.
"Hello there," Erik says, lifting an eyebrow. "How did the rest of your chat go?"
Charles cuts him a smile and hops easily up onto the bar stool next to Erik's. "Nicely. We're to check back with him tomorrow before we leave town, but I don't think he's likely to sign on." He props his elbow on the bar and brushes his fingers against his temple. «Pity, it's an interesting mutation. Your hair's a bit out of place, did you know?»
Erik sweeps a hand through his hair, settling the strands back in order. «Better?»
«Yes. What did you get up to while I was gone?»
«A bit of this, a bit of that...» Erik smirks. "You never know. If we're seeing him again tomorrow, perhaps we can be persuasive." «Or did you try your best with persuasion already? How 'interesting' was that mutation?»
Charles rolls his eyes a bit. «I suppose even you would have taken a second look at him if you'd known what he had under his apron. The mutation itself is terribly fascinating. It's an awful pity he wasn't keen to test it, because as he puts it, he can 'make wishes' that come true. From the sound of what he's actually done, he can change people's bodies, even himself… » And Charles's smirk meets and surpasses Erik's. «Three guesses what he's 'wished' for himself, and the first two don't count. I don't suppose the food here is any good? I'm rather famished after all that.»
Signaling Angelo back over, Erik orders a pint for Charles; he will never get used to beer in the United States, never, but in the Midwest there do seem to be a few less-vile varieties. "Thanks," Erik says, Charles echoing him, and Angelo's gaze slides over Charles appreciatively before he reassures them that anything you boys need, anything at all, he'll provide. Then he's off again, leaving a menu behind for Charles.
«You didn't,» Charles sends, looking Angelo over critically. «Did you?»
«Not with him, no,» Erik sends back. «I'm much more interested in our Freddie's wish for himself. Be as salacious as you like with the details, I've had mine for the afternoon. What did our dear young Freddie have under that apron?»
Charles is glancing around the bar, though, apparently distracted by Erik's confirmation that he has been up to something, just not with the bartender. «He left,» Erik offers. «Back to the topic at hand, Charles...»
«Not just at hand,» Charles says, grin returning. «It's probably a good thing we're conducting our wrap-up mind-to-mind, I daresay I'll croak a bit if I really try to talk.»
«Will you, now.» Erik takes a long, lingering glance over Charles's body. «It doesn't look as though he's wished you any frog parts...»
Charles draws himself up straight with mock offense. "Certainly not," he says, and although his voice is a bit hoarse, he's not really croaking after all. "As it happens, he was entirely pleased with the encounter as-was, no alterations necessary."
"I withdraw the suggestion."
"You should."
«But that wish...?»
With the return to the subject, or perhaps just Erik's switch back to mental communication, Charles's expression shifts into a sunny smile. «Yes, that. He's wished himself to positively Brobdingnagian proportions. I thought I might sprain something.»
Erik chuckles out loud. "Then so much for a sandwich." He waves Angelo back over, nodding at Charles. "I believe my friend might like a bowl of soup."
"Yes, thank you, the minestrone sounds lovely," Charles confirms.
"Coming right up," Angelo says, disappearing again.
Erik looks Charles over fondly, taking in the redness of his mouth once again. It's not that he hasn't noticed Charles's mouth before, at times he's idly wondered if the lurid color has its basis in a secondary mutation of some sort... but thinking of the purpose Charles has just put it to makes Erik lick his own lips, imagining what it would have been like to lick and suck at a man whose mutation had manifested in that particular way.
«Overachiever,» Erik sends with affection. «My afternoon wasn't nearly that interesting.»
Charles raises an eyebrow, giving another glance around the bar. «I suppose not, if he took off so quickly. But do tell. I'm sure your afternoon had its charms.»
Erik traces his fingertip around the rim of his glass and looks pointedly at the men's room. Charles blinks at him, and Erik shrugs, smiling, licking his lips. «An older man, someone just passing through as well. He did buy me a drink, after.»
«How positively courtly of him.» Erik pushes an image of Tim to Charles, who closes his eyes for a moment to take in the mental picture. Charles opens his eyes again and looks up at Erik with a smile. «Balding, cleft chin... were you interested based on his mutations? How completely brilliant. I'm so glad someone read my thesis and got something out of it. It always puts Raven to sleep.»
Erik doesn't even try to pretend innocence. Charles has seen Erik go off with far too many people for Erik's type to go unnoticed, and Erik's not going to let himself feel any sort of reproach for spending his spare time reading Charles's thesis... and applying some of its findings in a deeply personal way. He did, of course, get far more out of the thesis than an excuse to spend afternoon trysts with balding men, or women with dimples; not many people are digging deeply into the concept of human mutation, not like Charles, and Erik likes the idea of staying as informed as possible. It's fascinating watching his own species develop. Even the smallest mutations represent progress toward something better.
At any rate... «The cleft chin was delightful-- and felt even better when he had it tucked over my shoulder-- and there is something about bald or balding men, isn't there?» "Ah, there's your soup," he points out, as Angelo comes over with a bowl. "Thank you, Angelo."
"Thank you, yes," Charles adds aloud, tucking in. «If you say so. I favor MC1R myself, auburn hair.» He meets Erik's eyes in the mirror behind the bar, his gaze easy to trace as he glances at Erik's reddish-brown hair. «And more study's needed, but there's every indication blue eyes may well be a mutation, a quite widespread one, good old OCA2...»
There are times when Charles's flirtation is so blatant Erik can't possibly believe Charles means what he's saying. He flicks his eyes over Charles in an equally-mocking manner, grinning ear-to-ear. «Auburn hair and blue eyes. Really, you haven't had enough for one day?»
Charles purses his lips, blowing on a spoonful of soup as he meets Erik's eyes. He's showy about it as he takes the spoon into his mouth-- well, showy to Erik, perhaps, all too aware of Charles's lips wrapped around metal now. The spoon slips out of his mouth, Charles's lips still tight against the stainless steel, and Erik shifts in his seat.
«Scandalous, isn't it?» Charles asks, lacing his thoughts with unconvincing innocence. «Especially considering those proportions. Almost unmanageable, really. But I'm afraid I was left a little wanting.»
Erik reaches over and squeezes Charles's shoulder. "Well, I think we can do something about that."
"Oh? What did you have--" Erik's already lifting his other hand, beckoning Angelo over once more. "--in mind, ah," Charles says softly, looking from Erik to Angelo. "Hello again."
Erik gives Angelo his second-best smile and nods down at Charles. "My friend's had a trying day. Maybe you could recommend a little something off the menu for him."
Eyeing Charles, smiling, Angelo nods with enthusiasm. "What's your pleasure?"
It takes a split-second for Charles's usual flirtatious grin to come into full force, which seems odd to Erik; Charles doesn't really have a type per se, but he's never seemed averse to tall, dark, and handsome, which Angelo suits to a T. Auburn hair and blue eyes aside-- auburn hair and blue eyes, Charles, honestly, if I didn't know better-- Angelo's dark Italian good looks would surely do the trick for anyone, particularly Charles.
And there is something satisfying about imagining Charles with someone Erik steered him toward. The two of them might not have much chemistry to speak of between them, but it doesn't mean Erik can't entertain fantasies now and then.
Charles is grinning at Angelo now, sending Erik a quick, «Is there a single straight person inside city limits? I love this town.» To Angelo, he says, "Try me. I have very catholic tastes."
Erik digs into his wallet and leaves some cash on the table; if things go well, Charles might be too distracted to remember, later on. "I've just remembered I left something important back in the room." He rests a hand on Charles's back, and smiles at Angelo. "Do make sure he gets back to me in one piece, will you." He sends to Charles, «No need to make promises on your end. I'll see you when you're all done here. By the way, agreeable as this afternoon was, I really cannot recommend the men's room. Perhaps the supply closet...»
«You're so good to me,» Charles sends back. As Erik turns to go, he can feel Angelo's eyes on him, and-- oddly, Charles's too.
"Man," Angelo says, sotto voce but still easily within Erik's range of hearing, "too bad he's got a thing for older guys, huh?"
"Too bad for him," Charles says gaily.
"Definitely his loss. So you two aren't...?"
As Erik falls out of earshot, he hears Charles say, "Let's focus on we two, for a while."
-
Charles turns up at their motel room an hour later looking sleek and replete. His lovely mouth, even more absurdly red than before, spreads in a smile when he takes in the chess board already set up on the rickety table. Erik climbs off one of the two single beds and heads for the table, but Charles shakes his head, stopping him.
"I'd love a game, but do you mind if we go to dinner first? I know it's early, but I'm afraid Angelo's many talents didn't really extend to the kitchen. I hardly had a chance to eat, though it's just as well; I enjoyed the spoon more than the soup." He raises his eyebrow and smirks; to think Erik had almost forgotten the way Charles's lips curved around that steel. Not that Charles means anything by it, Erik assumes. Charles's flirtation is as universal and indiscriminate as sunshine. "Anyway, given the choice between uncooked pasta versus the much more attractive distractions of the supply room... I'm starving."
Erik's already shrugging into his coat. "Where to?"
"I was thinking we could visit Montoni's. I thought of another tack to take with Freddie that might sway him to come back with us after all."
"Does this new tack involve going under his apron again?"
"As if you wouldn't volunteer," Charles teases. "No, it's only that I think I could emphasize a bit more that the others are younger and not quite so imperious as you."
Erik raises an eyebrow at that, though secretly he finds it rather satisfying. Back out to the parking lot, then, closing and locking the door with a lazy wave of his hand while Charles gestures up at Erik's face.
"There, you see? That look," says Charles.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Erik answers, slipping behind the wheel and starting the car.
At Montoni's, Charles makes a point of opening the door for Erik, going so far as to give a little bow. "I'm given to understand that chivalrous gestures go a long way with you."
"You let one man buy you a drink and suddenly everyone's opening doors and pulling out chairs," Erik deadpans. "Next thing I know you'll be expecting me to save you all the polkas on my ballspende."
"The what on your--" Charles flicks his gaze down Erik's front.
"Dance card," Erik translates quickly.
"Ah. No, as long as I get the last dance, you can polka, waltz, Lindy, and twist with whoever else you'd like. I might be cross if I don't get at least one of your shags in, though."
Erik almost trips over the little sign telling them to seat themselves. Small town; even here, in seemingly one of the nicer restaurants around, there seems to be little concept of a host or hostess. "If you don't-- what was that?"
"Carolina shag," Charles elaborates, smiling angelically. "Or there's a St. Louis variety, and one called the Collegiate shag. They're all variations on swing dancing, although it's speculated that the earliest version actually had its roots in the foxtrot--"
"There's an open booth over here," Erik says, reaching back and putting a hand on Charles's shoulder. It snaps him neatly out of his digression on dance history, and Erik guides him to a booth with a view of all the exits. He throws an arm across the back of the seat, glancing around for Freddie.
Only for Charles to slide in right next to Erik, fitting against him under the curve of his arm and flashing a grin at him. "Or should I sit all the way over on the other side?"
«You're incorrigible,» Erik sends with amusement, though he sinks down slightly in the booth to make that much more contact with Charles, spreading his legs slightly so his thigh is pressed against Charles's from hip to knee. "Stay here if you want, I don't think I could stop you even if I wanted to."
Charles taps a finger against his temple and sighs. «I suppose we'd better not. Wouldn't want to frighten the horses.»
«I'd like to see anyone try to make a scene, between the two of us.»
Popping up, Charles switches to the other side of the booth, pausing before he sits to give a little wave. «Ah, there's Freddie.»
Erik sits upright and makes a bit less of a slouching spectacle of himself, turning to see Freddie; he lifts his hand in a wave as well, watching with an impassive expression as Freddie's expression goes flat.
Charles's smile fades as Freddie turns and stomps back into the kitchen. «I don't know why he's so sour, he had his out of me.» Erik snorts at that; Charles brings his fingers to his temple again. «Ah. He's not best pleased seeing me cozying up to you. I'll have to keep tabs on him to stop him spitting in the soup.» He glances at the menu. «Best bet's probably the lasagna, the chicken's not so fresh.»
The waiter saunters by. Erik passes an unimpressed eye over the wine list and orders crisply, "We'll both have the lasagna, and a bottle of the sangiovese." To Charles he resumes, «That is strange. Surely he wasn't expecting more? You said yourself he wasn't planning on joining us.»
«Some people seem to think it's bad taste to jump from one man to another on the same day.» Charles huffs a little laugh. «Little does he know.»
«It's too bad he thought I was intimidating, I'd love to see... certain aspects of his mutation. You've talked it up enough.»
«There's no talking that up 'enough', believe me. I'll never see the like again, and I think my jaw at least will be glad of that,» Charles grins, cheeky and guileless. "After all that, I'm looking forward to an evening in. I owe you for our last chess game. You came out of nowhere with that last advance."
"Oh, it's never out of nowhere, Charles. It's just a matter of timing." Erik smiles, glancing back over to the door to the kitchen; Freddie's coming out with an empty basin and a towel over his shoulder. «And speaking of, maybe now would be a good time to say hello. If he's going to be this distraught tomorrow anyway, maybe we can get it all over with tonight.»
A notion that seems better and better as Freddie clears a nearby table with unnecessary force and stomps back to the kitchen again.
"You're right, I'd better speak to him." Charles stands, his hand light on Erik's shoulder as he passes him. "Back in a tick."
Erik's thoughts turn to more serious matters on his own; he occupies himself with rehearsals for what might happen if the CIA compound back in Virginia came under attack, resolving to harden their defenses after they return from this trip. They can't rely on all those humans for protection when the battle lines are liable to be redrawn at any moment to a struggle of human against mutant.
Not that he expects Charles to agree to that, with his strange faith that humans will accept them in time. Erik is mystified that someone who can read minds can be so naive, when Erik himself doesn't need telepathy to see the glint of acquisition in the division head's eyes.
Suddenly Charles sends to him, «Could you settle the bill and come out to the car please? Quick as you can?»
«Of course. Is something the matter?» Erik signals the waiter and cancels their order, and the waiter gives him no trouble over it. Erik replies to Charles with a bit of a smirk, «Are your trousers ruined? ...Again?»
«After a fashion.» Charles seems to be trying to send the words untainted by any emotion, but there's a wrapper of panic around his reply.
Much more intent now, Erik heads for the car, projecting, «Did he hurt you? How did he hurt you? I will--» fucking kill him, he struggles not to send. Charles is capable of protecting himself, and Erik knows it, but the thought of anyone putting hands on Charles that weren't invited-- the fury must be bleeding over in his thoughts, and he does his best to moderate it. He finishes that sentence with, «make him regret it, what happened? Tell me.»
«It was an accident. I read his mind, he didn't mean to do anything. Just come out, please? I need to get back to the hotel and I think you ought to drive.»
Erik yanks open the car door, gets in and looks toward Charles. "What? What hap--" He stops short, reaching out without even thinking about it, because... there's something on Charles's head. A hat of some kind... some odd triangular lumps causing his hair to stand up... but no, it's clear that the two unfamiliar objects on Charles's head are a part of him, twitching with his discomfort. Erik does his best to take one in hand, but it only brushes softly against his palm, rotating away, flattening down against its base.
"Careful, careful," Charles ducks from under the touch with an anxious motion of his... tail.
"Charles, what on earth--" Erik reaches out and grabs Charles's tail in his hand: it's real, undeniable, a warm living length covered in silky fur.
"Ow! Gently, please, that's attached to me," says Charles, and he puts his face in his hands. "Oh God. It really is attached to me, so are the ears... this can't be happening."
Erik immediately lets go, sitting partway back against the car door to take a more detailed appraisal of Charles's new... attributes. "You have ears... like a cat. And a tail." It flicks at him, brushing against the back of his hand; Erik resists the temptation to catch it in his hand again, let it flick itself free of the slight constriction and whip through his fingers. "Also like a cat." He stares at Charles, eyebrows raised. "You didn't ask him to enhance your--" he clears his throat delicately-- "and get this instead, did you?"
Charles's head snaps up, and he glares at Erik. "I don't need any enhancement, thank you!"
It might be just Erik's imagination, but the sibilant sound in enhancement nearly reminds him of a hiss. He shrugs, desperately reaching for normalcy. "Well, you needn't be touchy about it, you know very well I don't have firsthand experience..."
Still looking at him stonily, Charles crosses his arms over his chest. His ears-- his cat's ears-- are nearly flattened down against his head now, and his eyes are narrowed; he looks a bit like an antique shop owner's cat he once knew, one who used to narrow her eyes and lay her ears back before pouncing and clawing at lingering browsers who never intended to buy. The expression is so catlike-- and yet seems so ordinary and natural on Charles's face right now-- that Erik actually finds himself blinking at Charles, fixing on him in something like wonder. Has his hair always looked so soft...? Erik's a little spellbound by this entire display: the twitching tail and the soft, velvety ears-- his hand nearly itches with the memory of touching one of them, even so briefly.
He pulls himself out of his stunned state, shaking his head and coughing lightly. "We'd better get back to the motel."
"Yes, please," Charles says. "What am I going to do about this?" He raises both hands to his ears and pats them down, strokes up and down their lengths, as if trying to get a sense of how big they are. They're a good three inches tall, perfectly proportioned and-- Erik can't help looking at them again, as he starts the car-- quite beautiful.
"As for how it happened, you'll be amused, I expect," Charles goes on. Erik puts his mind to driving, stretching his arm behind Charles's seat to back out of the parking space and pull them out of the lot. "Freddie accused me of cheating on you with him. He asked me earlier if I was with you, I told him no. But when he saw us again at the restaurant he believed I'd been lying and I stepped out on you with him, and as he's terrified of you, he was enormously upset with me... he was squeezing my wrist and making some remark about 'catting around' and-- well." Charles's ears... flick. "I suppose he made a wish."
Erik brakes, suddenly, a block away from the restaurant. "Should I go and get him, can he undo this?"
Charles sighs, rubbing at his forehead and then his cheeks with quick little strokes. "He panicked and ran, and I was a bit busy getting out of sight to deal with him."
"Ran where? If he's left town--"
Shaking his head impatiently, Charles finishes sweeping at his face and suddenly stares at his hands, as if wondering what he was just doing. "I read it off him, he was heading back home, he has no place else to go," he says. "We can sort that later. For now I just want to get somewhere safe to look at the damage."
It's the first time Erik's realized that such a dramatic change could actually be seen as damage; he's been so busy trying not to think about how badly he wants to touch Charles's cat ears again that it hadn't occurred to him that Charles would be so very much less than delighted with the change.
But of course he would; Charles has always had an appearance that lets him blend in with the humans, has always felt a desire-- baffling to Erik-- to fit in with their ilk. An obvious physical difference won't make him appreciate his mutation that much more. Any more than it does for Hank, Erik thinks with regret.
He can't help reassuring Charles, "You don't look damaged." But in deference to Charles's obvious distress, Erik drives a little faster than he ordinarily might, deftly avoiding the three or so other cars they pass on the metropolitan streets of Rayville. Once they're back at the motel, he glances around for other people, and seeing no one, he nods to Charles. "Quickly, then?"
Charles takes a deep breath and looks around him, down at the seat. He catches up his tail in both his hands. "I really don't want to find out what happens if this gets stuck in a door somewhere," he mutters.
"I'll get the door. Just head for the room."
Nodding, Charles climbs out of the car, tail twitching against even his own grip. It tugs and pulls at the back of his jacket, leaving it rucked up against the small of his back, where Charles's tail emerges from the top of his trousers. Erik shakes his head-- staring again, Lehnsherr-- and with Charles and his tail safely out of harm's way, he shuts both car doors and locks them, then quickly catches up to Charles, who's nearly at the motel room door now. Erik flicks the door open with a gesture, and Charles sends him a «Thank you» in return, slipping inside.
Charles doesn't waste any time, heading for the bathroom and gaping at himself in the mirror. Erik joins him, seeing the changes in full light at last.
Two peaked cat ears jut up from Charles's head, lined with short fur the same color as his hair. The long tail sweeps back and forth furiously behind him.
It's no joke. This is real, these new body parts-- and they're a violation of who Charles really is, something that could genuinely be dangerous to him. Certainly he can't leave the motel room without drawing stares at best, and how long might this last?
All the same...
He's breathtaking.
The ears and tail aren't like a costume; they're clearly integrated into Charles's body, the tail taking on nearly a life of its own, the ears turning at the slightest noise and moving to suggest hints about Charles's understandably-volatile emotional state. The fur looks as soft as Erik remembers it feeling under his hand, and he's never wanted to touch Charles so badly as he does right now. Angry as he is about this attack on his closest friend-- he's also struggling with plain, naked arousal, attraction wrapping itself around him like... like a strong, silken tail.
Charles's reaction is profoundly different, of course. He stares into the mirror and frowns, eyes following the arch of one ear. He reaches up for it, not quite touching the tip, and squints to the left as if trying to move the ear on purpose-- and both ears twitch. "Oh God," Charles groans. He steeples his hands over his mouth and nose; the ears lay back, not a purposeful gesture this time, just an automatic distressed reaction.
"I'll get him. I'll bring him back here and get him to fix this." Erik dodges as Charles's tail whips up between them, moving back and forth and back and forth and... he is much, much too close to Charles for that to be acceptable.
"I'm so sorry," says Charles, "I don't quite seem to be able to control that, yet--" with a frustrated little growl he grabs hold of the wildly swaying length, and stares at it once he has it in his hands. "I have a tail."
This is awful, whether it's a punishment or a practical joke, and it should not be having this effect on Erik. But Charles has never looked quite so irresistible. "You have a tail." Erik clears his throat. "You didn't answer me before. Freddie-- can he undo this?"
"He said no, he said--" Charles rubs his temples. "I don't know, I was reading him to try to get a notion, and all I got was that he didn't mean to do this and he was sorry, though he also thought I'd earned it. It was completely mixed up in his head."
Erik exhales harshly in frustration. "That's absurd, that's completely unfair-- what on Earth--" He puts his hands on Charles's shoulders, holding tightly. "This is not your fault, and you certainly didn't 'earn' it. It's a damn good thing he doesn't want to join us."
"On the contrary, now I particularly wish he would!" Charles answers. "I'm sure if I worked with him I could help him control his ability better, and from the mess in his head when I read his mind, this isn't the first time this has happened. Imagine if he did something like this to an ordinary human!"
"I don't care who else he's done this to, he did it to you!" says Erik, his voice a snarl. "You can be impressed with his mutation all you like, but this isn't something simple or harmless. What he's done to you-- you can't seriously mean to forgive this."
"We'll speak to him. I'll try to persuade him to let me guide his ability with mine, to reverse this. I'm sure it's possible." Charles glances again at the mirror with huge eyes. "It must be."
For the first time, Erik considers Charles and tries to imagine what it will be like if this new alteration is a permanent one. He's not pleased with how strongly his body reacts to that idea; this is not something Charles is, not something Charles chose. This has been forced on him, and it says particularly unflattering things about Erik if he's actually enjoying the results.
Still, the question needs to be asked. "If it isn't something Freddie can reverse...?"
Charles turns those enormous eyes on Erik, and then at his tail. He's been wringing it in his hands, and it's ruffled; he smooths the fur down. "I'll deal with that when I come to it. For now, I'm going to need a hat and a longer coat if I'm to leave this room."
Erik nods. The practicalities are making this all seem more real. A hat. A longer coat. Hiding what's become of him. It occurs to him he's been nodding for a while, and he finally murmurs, "That will have to wait til morning." He looks at Charles again, watching the ears twitch, the tail swish back and forth. "Charles-- does it hurt? Are you all right, other than the obvious?"
"It doesn't hurt, no," Charles musters an attempt at a smile. "It feels very, very strange, but… it's not unpleasant."
Not unpleasant. Erik wonders how sensitive the new body parts are. The ears especially look so delicate, yet touchable, the thin skin almost translucent in the harsh light of the bathroom. The tail sweeps the floor; it's so long, and when Erik caught it briefly in his hand earlier, it felt surprisingly strong and utterly, shockingly alive. He needs to touch it again, he needs to know just how powerful it may be, how flexible. He needs to stroke the ears and find out how far the effect extends, if Charles is now inclined to purr.
He needs to get out of the motel room.
"Where is Freddie?" Erik demands.
Charles taps his temple. "Home. He expects us to come after him, he's resigned to it; I don't think he'll give you any trouble."
"Let him try," says Erik, and sets out.