drunk!cherik, first class/mutant recruitment road trip era, pre slash (currently), pov erik.
“You like having a friend,” Charles claims. “In fact, you very much like having me, specifically, as your friend. And I don't even have to read your mind to know it.”
Erik's lips quirk. “I wouldn't know the difference; I've never had a friend before you. And anyway, you like me so much you want to kiss me, and I don't need to be a mind-reader to know that. So, what of it?”
There, he's finally said the words he's been ruminating over for days now, outloud this time. He's also managed to do it in a conversational yet still rather direct way, as he and Charles stumble down the Toronto alleyway, arm in arm, each considerably more than three sheets to the wind.
Charles is silver-tongued, granted, but he surely won't be able to worm his way out of acknowledging the tension between them, not now Erik has brought it up so plainly. Unless he believes Erik to be jesting, Erik supposes.
Erik was secretly rather glad the rumoured ‘Wolverine’ prick had told them to go fuck themselves several hours earlier, seeing as their flight isn't until mid-morning tomorrow. It meant they'd consequently spent the last few hours pouring hard liquor into each other's glasses and some of their hopes and dreams into each other's hearts. Well, Charles had, at least. Erik's only had killing Shaw to dream about for the past eighteen years.
“Erik, what on earth are you…?” Charles trails off, scoffing at Erik's remark and making a show of rolling his eyes. He then hiccups, loudly, before practically giggling like a school girl, the last three glasses of Spanish sherry cask Scotch traitorously giving the game away on his behalf.
He's not getting away that easily. Erik ignores his friend's faux confusion and presses on. “I don't like to play games, Charles,” he warns, sobering ever-so slightly. “I just happen to know that you know that I know. You know?” 'Ever-so slightly’ being the obvious operative words. Erik is almost as shit-faced as Charles.
There is now a very definite giggle bubbling up and out of Charles's pale throat. Slowly but surely, the sound turns to full-blown, drunken laughter. Hooting, whooping and all.
Someone shreiks for them to shut the hell up! from someplace above.
Erik point-blank refuses to join in with Charles's ridiculous merriment this time around. Which, honestly, is no mean feat.
“I'm sorry, Erik,” Charles eventually says after catching his breath again, “but that really did sound very silly.”
Charles's hand reaches for Erik's shoulder. Erik regards it for a moment, before turning his attention fully to his friend again. Charles is beaming at Erik now, so open and unabashed—until he catches Erik's enquiring, sultry eye, that is. The telepath’s cheeks then flush like spilled claret on a starched white linen tablecloth, and Erik commits the particularly pretty shade of red to memory as a possible future bargaining chip in some harmless argument or the like. Or for some other, as of yet unnamed purpose. He's just about drunk enough to convince himself he might not leave the moment he gets the information on Shaw's whereabouts. Or if he does, that maybe Charles will want to join him. He immediately does his best to shake both thoughts from his mind, though. Wishful thinking can be a horribly dangerous venture, something Erik unfortunately learned the hard way.
Charles continues. “And anyway,”—another hiccup—“that last statement simply isn't true; you, my metal-bending friend, are quite partial to a tinker on the old checkerboard. Which is a discovery I'm eager to persue as it turns out I'm rather fond of letting you win.”
Charles bites the inside of his cheeks. It makes Erik a little mad with jealousy.
“Sure,” Erik agrees sarcastically. “But you're not wrong about the former, at least when I'm playing against you, Seelenfreund.” The smile Charles gifts Erik with at learning his new moniker is positively blinding. Rather like looking directly at the sun, Erik muses. “But you're trying to change the subject,” he scolds in an attempt not to wander too far from the current task at hand.
Erik slows their pace a little.
“Hmm? What subject’s that, dear?” Charles asks, absentmindedly trying to pick a piece of lint from the breast of his jacket.
“The one where you want to kiss me, Liebling.”
Charles now looks abruptly across at Erik as if every drop of his blood containing every drop of the alcohol he's consumed this evening has somehow just drained from his body, all at once.
“Oh, that,” he mutters before all but gulping his acknowledgement down. Then, with what is either reluctance, retinance or resignation, Erik can't tell which, Charles stops, straightens himself to full height and squares up to Erik, also stopping Erik in his tracks. In a much firmer manner, looking up at Erik, Charles boldly says, “What of it?” looking Erik dead in the eye as he borrows Erik’s quip from moments ago.
Erik is nothing but wholly delighted with that answer.
He hadn't really thought Charles would dare be honest with him, nor indeed himself. Not over this. Therefore, he hadn't really thought about what would or could possibly be the outcome, if that were the case. Well, alright, Erik very much had thought about it. He just hadn't imagined any of the things he'd thought about doing with Charles would actually be placed on the table. He hadn't even thought Charles was truly aware of the table's existence, until now.
Charles, though, apparently fully aware of all the metaphorical furniture in the metaphorical room, is now metaphorically standing atop the table, singing loudly while wildly waving his arms in the air.
Erik grins—somewhat shark-like, he's been told—before going in for the kill.
“Have you ever kissed a man?”
Charles gulps for real this time, blinking rapidly and hands trembling so much he jails them in his trouser pockets. Then he seems to find his courage from some reserve unknown to Erik.
“Never one as handsome,” Charles says, licking his lips. “And never, ever in the way I want to kiss you, Erik Lehnsherr.”
not been round these parts properly in foreverrrr and not made any fanfic/art etc in even longer bc audhd burnout is a bitch ToT anyways, about a month ago I announced I was falling down the rabbot hole... which I was/still am BUT last night I ended up having my gazillionth random rewatch of x men first class and ofc got immediately dragged back into the cherik pit, kicking and screaming (a blatent lie; I am loving it). so, here's the first draft of the start of a first kiss (and maybe more?) wip that I unbelievably boshed out today, for the maybe one person who follows me that might be interested. @mercurialkitty my lovely mutual lol it's you xD
