Work Text:
The night after they arrive in Westchester, he and Charles talk long into the night, sampling the collection of expensive malt whisky that Charles inherited with the house. Charles spins grand plans for their future while Erik tries to temper his enthusiasm.
They're in the West Parlor, and he mocks Charles soundly for living in a house with so many rooms they have to be defined by the points of the compass. Charles just grins back at him, unoffended, and the conversation drifts to trivial things - they both like Miles Davis, neither like Eliot, Erik simply must read Howl, Charles has a copy somewhere...
They may be hiding, but Erik finds himself tempted by the notion that they're safe here.
Erik startles awake to the sound of laughter. He tries to sit up, and his neck twinges in protest. No more than half awake, it's a moment before he realises he's still on the couch in the West Parlor, Charles stretched out beside him, a whisky tumbler balanced on his chest. It rises and falls with each easy breath Charles takes.
Raven stands over them, laughing as Erik struggles to disentangle himself without waking Charles. He succeeds only in tipping Charles to the floor, sending the tumbler flying and Raven into further peals of laughter.
Charles doesn't wake.
Raven's laughter attracts the others, and they crowd in at the door. "Wha's going on?" asks Sean through a yawn.
"Nothing," says Erik, pushing Raven towards them. She's almost doubled over, and Hank fusses over her in concern. "I think she needs some fresh air," adds Erik, and the boys nod seriously.
Shutting the door behind him with relief, Erik turns to find Charles finally awake. He looks about in confusion. "What happened? Why am I on the floor?"
"I'm not sure, but I think it's called Highland Park."
Charles' laughter is softer than Raven's, and Erik finds himself smiling back. "I'm sure we can stretch to finding you a bedroom," says Charles as he picks himself up.
Erik shrugs. "I've slept in worse places."
He's slept worse in better places, too, and while his neck plagues him all day, he feels more rested than he has in - too long. He even finds it in himself to forgive the way Raven sniggers behind her hand every time she sees him.
~
The dream is hazy, warm. There's a garden, or possibly a field, and as Erik turns that possibility over in his mind, it's gone, resolving for a moment as the drive in front of the house. Just as Erik thinks he ought to be able to wake up, he sees himself. Half turned away, but unmistakably himself. He looks -
Unreachable.
"It's okay," he calls out to himself.
It's an odd thing to say, but that's okay, it's a dream, and he's waking up anyway.
There's a warm pressure on his chest, but he's not awake enough to push it away. It's not constricting in any way, it's okay, but maybe that's the dream still. He's not sure if he's actually awake at all.
Erik wakes.
The weight across his chest is Charles, sprawling across Erik, warm and relaxed. Erik isn't entirely convinced he's not still dreaming, but he reaches out to shake Charles awake.
Charles blinks awake with a soft sound of complaint. He stretches like a cat, and Erik will go to his deathbed saying that he doesn't find it endearing.
He coughs awkwardly, and Charles finally notices him.
"Why are you in my bed?" asks Charles, not accusatory, but looking as bemused as Erik feels.
"I'm not. This is -" The bed you gave me, he doesn't say.
"Good Lord, so it is," says Charles, suddenly looking far more awake, and so primly startled that Erik can't help but burst out laughing.
"I'm at a loss to explain it," says Charles later, when they're dressed and drinking coffee at the kitchen table. "I've never sleepwalked before. Raven used to, when she was a child, but she always ended up in here, one hand in the cookie jar."
Charles is telling him the story of how he first met Raven when she joins them, stealing a slice of toast from Charles' plate. "Which only goes to show," says Charles, his expression fond, "that she still doesn't listen to me."
She flicks a crumb at him. "Sleep well?" she asks Erik brightly.
"Very well," he replies, without thinking. "...thank you."
Charles shoots him a grateful glance and a Thank you, she'd never let me hear the end of it. Erik tries hard not to think But it's true.
~
"I feel like I'm taking advantage of you in some way," says Charles, the second time it happens.
Erik's hand itches to reach out and smooth the furrow that appears in Charles' brow. "You're not," he says instead. "Not even you have control over your sleeping mind."
"Perhaps I should."
"And how do you intend to train yourself in your sleep?" Erik shakes his head in exaggerated disapproval. "You're just looking for an excuse to take more naps."
Charles' smile returns, and Erik finds himself relaxing. "It's these children - young people," Charles corrects himself. "They do wear one out."
Erik just raises an eyebrow at him.
"Oh, hush, you know what I mean."
"Yes," says Erik, suppressing a smile. "And you are so very old, Charles."
Charles huffs, and takes revenge by making Erik chase after Hank all morning.
~
It doesn't happen every night. Just often enough that they hardly question it. Charles has a hundred things to focus on, Erik has one, and why should it matter where they sleep, so long as they catch enough hours to keep them going.
Often enough that when Erik wakes to find Charles curled on top of the covers, shivering in the sudden chill of a fall night, he doesn't shake Charles awake and send him back to his own bed, simply pulls the blankets over them both. Simply pulls Charles close until the shivering stops, until they both sleep.
Just often enough that Erik misses Charles' presence when he wakes alone.
~
He dreams that he's walking in a forest, walking with purpose. Towards. And yet, in the nature of dreams, the exact nature of that purpose evades him and, suddenly fearful, he twists, trying to see what's behind him, and suddenly he's falling -
Erik wakes on the cool mahogany floor of an unfamiliar room.
It's Charles' bedroom, Erik realises as he pulls himself to his feet. He would have expected Charles to have taken the master bedroom, but this is clearly his friend's boyhood room, the trappings of an inquisitive childhood overlaid with those of a well-read adolescence, and now the myriad workings of Charles' boundless mind. Books and papers and clothes are strewn across every available surface, an unexpected contrast to the care with which Charles approaches the world.
The bed is a child's bed, and Charles sprawls across it like a child, unguarded and oblivious in sleep - if Erik had reached it, there would hardly have been room for them both.
He shakes his head, wondering if Charles' sleepwalking has become contagious, or if this is another aspect of it, feeding on his telepathy as he sleeps. Charles would know the route from Erik's room to his - Erik does not, whether awake or asleep.
Did you bring me here, he wants to ask, but cannot bring himself to wake Charles. He looks happy - serene, thinks Erik, before the absurdity of it hits him, standing in the dark watching his friend sleep and waxing poetic.
It takes him three wrong turns before he finds his own room. The bed is cold, and he doesn't sleep.
~
Erik has always had dreams like this, sharp and full of steel. The steel doesn't obey him. It twists around him in chains, and chokes him. Molten steel engulfs him, and he burns, burns until there's nothing left, and then he wakes, screaming. Only, not here. Here there is a cool breeze that fills his lungs and lets him think, here the molten steel pours away and the chains shrink until they're a fine chain of silver, infinitely long. Now his fear gives way to curiosity, and he pulls the delicate chain towards him, winding it in skeins around his arm, and although he never reaches the end, somehow he knows what's there.
He wakes slowly, still reaching for the next length of silver.
Charles kneels beside him on the bed, their only point of contact the gentle hand on Erik's brow. Erik resists the urge to pull him close. It's the proximity of Charles' mind that soothes him, Erik tells himself, not his physical presence.
Thank you, he thinks. And, beneath that, half hoping Charles won't see it, Please don't ask.
Charles doesn't say anything, and sits back onto his heels. After a moment, he scratches his head in an awkward, self-deprecating gesture. "So, the kitchen's rather a mess."
The kitchen is two floors below them, and full of metal. Erik starts to apologise, but Charles holds up a hand. "Like you said, we don't have control over our sleeping minds."
Erik thinks of years of nightmares, and sees Charles wince. "What time is it?" asks Erik.
"Dawn." Charles smiles. "How about we get in a little training before breakfast? See if we can't hone your cutlery redistribution skills."
He kicks Charles off the bed for that, and his friend squawks a little as he tumbles, but he stands up grinning. We can do this resonates brightly from his mind to Erik's.
~
Something hot and sinuous pools in his belly, curls lower. He feels hands against his skin, soft and purposeful. He feels lips against his, words pressed into his mouth, sounds unheard yet meaning unmistakeable. The lips travel lower, the hands hold tighter -
Erik wakes with a gasp, bites down on a name.
He breathes slowly until his body calms itself, on every breath aware of his sleeping friend curled beside him. Restored to propriety, Erik risks a glance towards Charles, and his heart stutters to see Charles curled away from him, trembling in his sleep.
Charles' head rests on Erik's outflung arm, and Erik can feel his breath, ragged and hot, as he moans.
Like a fool, Erik almost reaches out with his free arm to shake Charles out of his nightmare, when Charles moans again, and turns, pressing against the bed.
Erik stares, knowing he should look away, knowing he should ease himself from the bed, knowing only that he wants to reach out. Touch.
He balls his free hand into a fist at his side, and stares as Charles -
He sees Charles' eye flicker open as he climaxes, whatever curse or name Charles gasps out lost against the skin of Erik's arm, trapped beneath him.
He sees the moment when Charles realises where he is, what he's done. He sees, no, feels his friend's arousal chased away by sudden shock and pure embarrassment.
"Oh God, Erik, I am so sorry," says Charles, flushing with shame, and Erik cannot find his tongue to say there is nothing to be ashamed of. He shakes his head, hoping that it's enough, knowing that it isn't, and smiles, even though he knows it looks forced and insincere.
He slips from the bed, and grabs a washcloth from the nightstand, handing it to Charles with as neutral an expression as he can muster. He turns away again to spare Charles' dignity.
"It would be hypocritical of me to condemn one aspect of our physiology," says Erik, straining to keep his tone light, "when I'm arguing so hard for the freedom of another -"
He's rewarded by a ragged laugh, and Charles says, "I hope you're not advocating to bring this out onto our streets -"
"It would rather frighten the horses, wouldn't it? All the same, Charles, it's perfectly natural." If he were a better friend, he would turn and look Charles in the eye, but he can't. That curling, sinuous heat has never left him, and he's sure Charles will see it. He has to spare his friend that, at least.
"Erik-"
"It's nothing, Charles. It's already forgotten."
But it's not forgotten, after Charles closes the door softly behind him, not when the memory of Charles, flushed and blinking heavy-lidded eyes, is enough to push Erik to his own climax in less than a dozen strokes. Nor is it forgotten all day, when Charles cannot meet his eyes and hastens to leave each room that Erik enters.
Charles doesn't sleepwalk again.
~
He dreams that he's floating, and, suddenly fearful of falling, he twists to see what's beneath him. He's suddenly constrained, unseen hands gripping his arms and legs, and he struggles against them, frees himself, falls -
Erik wakes, still falling.
"Oh, shit," says a young voice. Alex.
"I knew this was a bad idea." Sean.
The four of them are standing over him, the boys with panic-stricken expressions, Raven already holding out her hands in a pacifying gesture. "Now, Erik, don't be angry -"
"What the hell are you doing?"
"We just wanted to help you sleep well -"
"By dumping me in a corridor?"
"No, we were taking you to - um," Raven hesitates.
"You woke up," points out Hank, helpfully. "Because you don't sleep well when you're not with - um." He trails off, echoing Raven.
When he's not with Charles. He knows this. He has no idea how they know this, unless -
"You were struggling, and we dropped you," adds Sean. "Sorry."
Erik struggles to his feet, face hot with shame. He's too angry even to yell at them.
They leap back as he pushes past them.
"Erik, wait," calls Raven. The metal in the door handle is enough for him to slam the door in her face.
~
He's back in the West Parlor, pacing the room, when Charles finds him. His friend's expression is torn, and Erik shivers. As angry as Erik is, this must be far worse for Charles, who has no need of company to simply sleep soundly at night.
"It's not like that, Erik," says Charles, voice soft.
"Like what?" Erik laughs, the sound harsh and grating in his ears. "They've been - toying with us."
"No, Erik, it wasn't -" Charles sighs. "Raven - she's my sister. There isn't a lot I can keep from her. She found out I was sleepwalking, I had to talk to her -"
"And, what? Told her I couldn't sleep when I was away from you?" Erik's anger twists, imagining the gentle pity with which Charles must regard him.
"And I from you," says Charles, and Erik is shocked by the fierce surge of emotion that Charles projects. "I didn't need to tell her, Erik, it was obvious. I never expected her to -" He gestures hopelessly towards the door. "- act upon it, but, Erik, they didn't mean any harm, believe me."
Charles has been inching closer all this time, and now he's close enough to touch, and Erik cannot move. "The fault is all mine," says Charles, and reaches up as Erik shakes his head, stopping the movement. His hand slides gently to Erik's temple, and Erik tenses, trying to contain the tumble of his thoughts, but Charles stays out of his mind. "I cannot seem to keep away from you, my friend."
He drops his hand, and Erik dips his head involuntarily, chasing the touch, and he doesn't mean to, he swears, but Charles is so close that Erik can feel the warmth of his breath, and for a moment it all seems so simple. He kisses Charles, and -
- panics a little, pulls back, because it's not that simple, it's never that simple, and -
Why not?
Because - "Because," he starts, and Charles' expression is serious, but his eyes are smiling as he reaches up again, hand against the nape of Erik's neck.
That's a terrible argument, my friend, thinks Charles, and smiles as he kisses Erik, the smile blossoming in his mind as the kisses grow deeper, longer, a flicker of tongue and little bites that leave Erik gasping, breathless -
Sorry, thinks Charles with cheerful insincerity, biting down on Erik's bottom lip before pushing him back until he bumps against the couch where all this started, and Erik sits, no longer trusting his legs, and Charles follows, straddling him, and Erik -
- moans a little into the next kiss, answered with a gasp and the scrape of fingers through his hair and the rising curl of arousal in their minds and underneath it -
Underneath the nimble fingers reaching for buttons, underneath the wet, biting kisses trailing across his jaw, underneath the bright, sweet lust he shares, underneath all that he recognises the clear warm affection that has given him such respite these past few weeks.
Tired? asks Charles, and Erik answers him with a shift of his hips that makes his arousal clear. 'Oh,' gasps Charles, and shifts in turn, and blushes, eyes suddenly wide.
Now you're blushing? asks Erik, and Charles laughs softly.
Well, maybe you should lock that door, Erik, simply closing it is not enough to keep my sister out -
"Shut up," says Erik, and snaps the door locked.
~
The dream is hazy, warm. He feels as if he should chase the feeling, but is disinclined to move, the warm weight against his chest anchoring him.
Erik realises that he is awake, and the weight on his chest is Charles, sprawling across him, relaxed and warm and familiar.
The room is small and plain, unfamiliar.
"It's part of the old servants quarters," says Charles, and yawns. "They're not likely to find us here."
Erik lifts his head to press a kiss into Charles' hair, uncertain. Good morning, thinks Charles, and sends it to Erik in a wash of affection and reassurance and a certain self-satisfaction. "No need to be smug," says Erik.
Charles props himself up with one arm, smiling down at Erik. "Really?" he asks, and sends Erik an image of - himself. From last night, a glimpse of Erik as Charles saw him, hair slicked down with sweat, eyes half-closed and mouth open, gasping for breath, hands slack on Charles' thighs, his stomach slick with -
He looks unrecognisable, broken open and -
"Beautiful," says Charles, pressing a kiss against Erik's shoulder. "Quite beautiful."
Erik has no reply for that, but he picks a moment from his own memory of the night before, Charles above him, head flung back, neck exposed and already red from the kisses and bites that Erik can still see this morning. His arms are taut, one grasping Erik's shoulder, the other reaching down to guide Erik's hand on his cock as Erik thrusts up, harder -
Beside him, Charles moans, and presses against him.
"So we're in agreement, then? We have equal reason to be smug?"
"Yes, absolutely," says Charles, flushing. Erik watches him for a moment, thinking of how he wants to chase that flush across every inch of Charles' skin, and Charles gasps, eyes suddenly wide. "Christ."
Erik raises an eyebrow at him.
Don't stop, Erik, please, sends Charles, and presses against him again, chasing friction. Please.
"Really?" Erik pulls the covers away from them both, and stops Charles from pulling them back with a hand on one pale hip. He thinks of running his hands over Charles' skin, of chasing kisses across his chest, of holding those hips, first gently, then firmer, pressing him down as Erik teases at Charles' cock -
Charles moans into his shoulder, and Erik lifts his hand to tip Charles' head back so that he can see - Please, Erik, don't stop - see that mouth, red and soft, so that he can - my God, your mind, Erik - imagine Charles' mouth on his own cock, taking him all in, lips wet, the sweet slide of -
Fuck, Erik, please -
Erik kisses Charles, still thinking of hands and mouths and skins and touch - touch, thinks Charles, moaning as Erik bites at his lip. Erik rubs his thumb gently against Charles' cheek, a teasing This? as Charles thinks again touch, insistent, desperate -
This, thinks Erik as he takes Charles' cock in his hand, no longer teasing, concentrating on the feel of it, the weight and heat and yes and that and -
Charles fumbles for Erik's cock, but Erik bats his hand away gently, sending him an image of Charles' mouth, and kissing into the whimper it provokes. And then the yes and please and harder stutters into yesyespleaseerikyes -
Erik -
- and Charles shudders through his climax, spilling over Erik's stomach, and it's all Erik can do to just watch as Charles comes back to himself, gasping and half laughing as he does so.
Charles kisses him then, slow and lazy, and smiles into the kiss, projecting that warmth again, that affection, so engulfing that Erik would almost be satisfied to lie there. But Charles pulls back, his smile curving into something altogether sharper and more knowing, and sends Erik back his own image of Charles' mouth, red and impossibly pretty -
Charles kisses him again, then shifts, and kisses his neck, the hollow of his throat, trails kisses down his body, slow and excruciating until Erik can hardly breath, hands buried into the sheets to stop from pushing him further down -
Then it's Charles' hands on Erik's thighs, gentle, then firm as he teases at Erik's cock with kisses and then -
- doesn't tease at all, takes Erik in his mouth completely, and Erik should be watching that mouth as it moves on his cock, red and spit-slick, raises a shaking hand to rub his thumb against Charles' cheek, but all he can see are Charles' eyes, never leaving his, so blue and impossibly bright -
And all the time Charles projects affection and sensation, lust and touch and joy, breath and skin and heat and devotion, desire and -
Erik thrusts up as he climaxes, and Charles holds him steady with unexpected strength, and never drops his gaze, taking all of him, and there's -
- no words at all, except -
love.