Erik is kinda hard-headed (literally too if you consider the fact he still has his helmet on... bad puns are bad puns) and Charles is more real than most believe. And yeah, besides not owning it, I am not actually quite sure about this one.

XXX

i name this after you

XXX

This is for you.

The other doesn't say it out loud, he barely thinks it above a whisper, probably, but it isn't hard to see.

The rubbles surround him, the death count is above his head. He is responsible, he is accounted for, and this is all for him. Exclusively so. Charles breathes through the dust and the world doesn't disappear, this isn't a dream, rather it is sharp and focused, and he sees Erik from across the tattered land.

There is blood on the concrete walls and men buried beneath the fallen infrastructure. He has heard them scream before he can see them bend and break at angles he never knew to be possible.

Erik's eyes are lovely even when the helmet glints.

000

"Tea?"

"Coffee."

000

"Charles."

Erik is simple with his words and it always comes off harsh. Always has been, always will be. Even now, his name sounds like a dagger to the heart. Or maybe, it is just that (they too were once in love.)

"Go ahead, I don't need them anymore."

There are a handful of scientists, doktor, in the next room with blood trailing down their temples, broken ribs keeping them from breathing too deeply, and hands still warm from holding their scalpels too tightly as they watch, in fascination as the first cuts they make heal on the man, homo sapien superior, bounded to the operating table.

Like an animal to be slaughtered.

It is all too familiar because Erik means you can take what you like. Go ahead, read their minds, find the reasons behind their kills. Just the way you have done to me.

"No, Erik. I won't."

He refuses to spill more blood than what has already pooled to the ground.

"…Their loss then."

Erik lifts a hand, doesn't turn his head away from Charles though because Erik won't spare the scientists dignity when he kills.

And Charles will never admit that he has always been having a hard time figuring things out. No, not when the biggest puzzle is still standing before him, falling apart into even smaller pieces for him to sort out when the breaking finally stops.

(But it never really does. Not this, at least.)

He sees Erik's fingers curl, joint taut as he motions at the men in their white lab coats.

"Erik, please, don't do this."

His plead is cold and it means nothing, not when he is pulling all his shields up around his mind when a sharp tang of blood hits the air. The pull of iron, the control in Erik's eyes, the empty need in his own voice.

Their pain is their own when Erik draws the iron from their blood. And Charles continues to hear their screaming ringing in his ears long after the next room quiets into silence. That is the only punishment of those men he allows himself to carry, those long echoing screams that Erik draws.

Charles can see Erik is pleased.

000

"Lemon?"

"Not even milk."

000

It is made of courtesy, one future day, when he asks a second time. A question not quite a question, a statement waiting on that final yes.

"Join me." Erik doesn't say.

Not for a fear of rejection but because of the yes that is ready to fall from Charles' lips. It isn't right, not until they are at each other's side. And it still isn't right, not when there'll be regrets come morning when Erik finally falls and exploits this moment of vulnerability. The moment when Charles will willingly damn the world to hell if only he can have Erik in his arms again.

Erik doesn't ask, doesn't offer. He doesn't want to believe they could have been.

Instead, "they died at my hands." But you understand, don't you?

"You killed them to prove a point." That I am just like you.

"And you've proven it." That they are not worth it.

Erik may be right but still, it doesn't change a thing. "You killed them for me."

Those men died to prove him wrong. And although Erik may have lives and lives of blood on his hands, it means nothing, not when Charles can bring the world to it's knees, mutants and humans be damned. And when that happens, it'll be worth it, because Charles sincerely believes the world owes Erik this much.

Charles nearly gives in to the silent join me that Erik can't quite voice.

000

"Sugar?"

"Black."

000

When they aren't standing in ruins and Erik hasn't just killed a handful of men in his name, Charles is sure they can talk, one on one. And it won't be easy but it won't be like this at the very least. And really, he doesn't want any more bodies piling between them.

Erik will still love the way he looks, him and his pretty bow of a mouth. His eyes and that deceitful tongue. His need to reconnect, him, Charles, and his lifeless legs.

"You've changed."

"So have you, my friend."

Neither for the better. Still nothing is worst off.

And when the air reeks of a fresh kill, they don't have that luxury. The facility smells of sterile surfaces and fear despite the dust and destruction to start the place off fresh.

Everything shifts when Erik brings it down from inside out. Charles no longer cares for men and their justification of their acts. (No, he doesn't want to be understanding to their intentions.)

Fear, it doesn't give anyone a right to kill.

000

"Charles?"

"Hmm?"

"You make horrible coffee."

Charles huffs out a soft laugh, says nothing, not until he catches the glint of recognition in Erik's eyes. The afternoon sun makes the light brown of his hair almost blonde and his eyes are a lovely green.

"You—"

"Yes, Erik." Charles doesn't try to hide the smile on his face. "Maybe now, you will join me for tea?"

000

He has him out of the facility before it comes down over their heads.

And it is no longer just Erik and Charles. It is also the Brotherhood and the X-Men, the humans and the mutants. And a war they better be ready to fight.

"There'll be more."

I know. Charles looks up and imagines Erik to have a hand around his throat, just so he can find another reason to hate. And it isn't because he doesn't see it from his stand in the war. But sometimes no one is wrong and it makes doing the right thing just that much harder. "Don't kill them for me."

"Then, let us hope they start to learn."

Charles smiles, bitterly, and shakes his head.

"I no longer have the same faith I once had." With you.

000

"Lemon, Erik?"

"Whatever you'll let me have, Charles."

XXX Kuro

Charles is a telepath and telepaths are trolls. Can't convince me otherwise.