Finding each other.

Erik was still angry, filled with distrust and spite, but he allowed the Americans to 'rescue' him. He was hauled up by line, dropping gracefully in front of Charles Xavier. "You're rather like Errol Flynn, aren't you?" the man said, smiling in admiration. "Do you fence, as well?"

"I do." Erik was not immune to the compliment. "But I prefer Douglas Fairbanks."

"Silent but deadly?" Xavier nodded, still smiling. "I can see that. All in black, driven by revenge…Zorro?"

Such a strange conversation to have, under the circumstances, but it made Erik want to smile back.

He didn't, of course.

Finding Angel

They waited for the girl arrive, sitting too close on the gaudy, glorified couch. Charles seemed happy, slightly drunk, and finished his cheap champagne in one swallow. Erik watched Charles's mouth, in truth was unable to stop himself, and was rewarded with a swipe of tongue across lower lip. Those lips were damp, shining, and without warning, pressed fully to his own. It was his surprise that allowed Charles to insert that tongue into his mouth, to kiss him so thoroughly and leave him breathless and astonished when the door whispered open. He had only a moment to compose himself.

Finding Charles and Erik

Angel had thought the room empty. It was fate that she saw, heard what they were doing. It was obvious they struggled for silence; Erik's hand pressed firmly over Charles's mouth and proof of Erik's teeth marred Charles's neck. The thrusts were short, controlled, rocking Charles hard against the wall, leaving him holding tightly with legs and arms twined around Erik. She found the next room, also empty, and leaned her back against the adjoining wall to listen. Charles came first. She heard his muffled, frenzied cries. She supposed Erik came, too, but her own orgasm blotted out the sounds.

Charles dreams.

In the dream Charles was not afraid. His heart was pounding, adrenaline sparking nerves he rarely, if ever, considered. He knew he was being swallowed, alive, whole, by something dangerous. Surely his instincts should tell him to fight, run. Escape had never crossed his mind. It was not fear that jolted through him as he was devoured. It was heat and joy and such intense pleasure that he was moaning, so loudly that he finally startled himself awake. He lay in his sweat and semen soaked sheets willing his heart to slow, thinking of the word that woke him.

"Erik."

Erik tries not to overdo the thigh-pat.

Erik tensed when the door was unlatched. He was ready for anything, he thought, except Charles. Watching Charles's face, with lips pursed, brows drawn, was thrilling. The man had a mind of expanded dimensions that would never bend to conventional thought. Instead of blood and terror, he created calm and silence. Erik thought, not for the first time, that maybe Charles could help him find his own calm and silence. He resisted the urge to grab Charles then but could not resist at least one touch. He may have hit too hard, but otherwise he would have not let go.

Past life regression.

Charles's hair was mussed, his tie loosened, shirt open at the throat. The effect was not unpleasant, but it startled Erik with its familiarity. When Charles faced him, the edges of his vision blurred. They were somewhere else, entirely, against a backdrop of stone and moss. The cut of Charles's jacket had changed to something older, higher collared, more romantic. The smile on his face was still warm and alluring, but this was not them. Not now. It stole his breath. He was on the edge of remembering when it snapped, and Charles was asking him if he was okay.