So apparently these three are a thing in some fic, and I'm very down for that. I do like the idea of these emotionally constipated men having a shared wife who's able to help them be playful again through the haze of emotional baggage.
So let's say that instead of Magda and Nina dying, Erik spots the first sign of danger and takes his little family to the mansion, where Charles is eventually dragged into the mix.
Warnings: Tickle fic, Cherigda. Erik being a sap. Skip if not your thing.
Erik tended to be the first one to wake up most mornings. This was not the case that day.
Later, when he glanced at the clock and realized that he had slept all the way to ten o’clock, he would have to give himself grace for how much work around the mansion he had done the previous evening. The work was not the tiring part, he would admit. It was all the children's questions that came with it.
But that was not the thing he thought of as he woke up. Instead, he woke with a start and a shot of fight-or-flight adrenaline that he had not felt for some time since moving here. The sound that woke him, a yelp from Charles, triggered something feral and protective within him.
At least, that was the case (and the bed frame was in the firm grasp of his powers) until he realized that Charles was not under attack. Well, not that kind of attack at any rate.
“Magda, wait!”
There was a dizzying moment in which Erik tried to make sense of what he was feeling. The adrenaline coursing through his veins. A buzzing sense of mixed joy and embarrassment that was definitely not his own. Surprise at seeing Charles twisting beneath Magda, trying and failing to block her wiggling fingers.
Magda was intent. It was the kind of single-minded focus with which she had pursued Erik in the first place, and so he knew what it was like to be in the middle of that laser sight. Her arms were tangled around Charles, fingers curling into his ribs and sides, careful to stay above the line where his sensation ended for maximum efficiency at taking him apart. Her face was buried against the side of his neck, and she was definitely making little growling sounds as she seemingly nibbled at him with no mercy.
Charles, to his credit, was clearly trying to keep the noise down, but it was a losing battle. His hands were on Magda’s curled fingers, trying to pry her loose, and his neck was scrunched as close as it could go with Magda’s chin in the way. His cheeks were a rosy pink, his eyes closed with the force of his grin. Every now and then, he would let out a little huff, protest, or laugh that he was unable to contain, his lips curling in that lovely way around each one.
Erik had not seen that smile—wide, unrestrained, light—in a long time. Even after he and Magda managed to convince Charles that there was enough room in between them for him, he still tread lightly around them, as if he was afraid. Afraid that Erik would leave again, perhaps, or that Magda would get jealous, neither of which had happened yet. Still, it must be a difficult feeling to shake after spending so long convinced that Erik did not want him. To go from that to suddenly being wanted by two people must be quite the emotional ride.
And speaking of emotional rides…
“You’ll wake him!” Charles hissed, reaching up to push at her shoulder instead. Magda raised her head to look at Erik, and oh.
They were both so gorgeous in that moment. The glint in Magda’s eyes was gleeful and devilish, her grin stretched as wide as Charles’. Charles himself took the brief respite from her attack to also look Erik’s way, and the Erik could no longer decide which one of them to look at. Charles was flushed, visibly embarrassed, but it was evidently nothing compared to the joy and warmth that suffused the room like warmth from sunlight. He never was very good at keeping his projection at bay when he was overwhelmed like this.
“Looks like he’s awake to me,” Magda said. She looked down at Charles and then back at Erik.
“So which is it? Save him or join the dark side?”
Charles turned to her with a look of utter betrayal. Mouth open, he turned back to Erik.
“Don’t you dare,” he said. Erik, now fully awake, leaned up on one elbow, making a show of taking in the scene before him.
“Such tempting options,” he said, “but I think I’ve betrayed him enough for some time now.”
He hoped dearly that the joke would land instead of ruining the fun. For a heart-stopping second, Charles' eyes began to dull. Then he seemed to realize what that meant, and that instantly brought him back to the moment as he looked smugly up at Magda.
Magda was not looking at him. Instead she steadily met Erik’s gaze, eyes narrowing.
“You think you can defeat me?”
Erik had fought would-be world conqueror's and mutant-killing machines, but the look in his wife's eye still made him hesitate. Resolute, he raised his chin in defiance.
“Bring it on,” he said.
They didn’t get up for some time after that, and for once, Erik couldn’t bring himself to mind. He had spent so long on eggshells, worried that Magda would hate their new life or that Charles would never be able to reconcile the past with what they had now. There was nothing to worry about that morning. Especially not since he still had the bed frame—the metal one that Charles never bothered to get rid of—at his disposal. That was, until Charles and Magda came to the conclusion that they could form their own team.
Hello! So sorry to bug you but would you be willing to share some of your favorite cherik tk headcanons? Not sure if you take headcanon requests/any requests at all but I thought I’d ask haha 💕
No worries! I'd be happy to, and I don't mind asks <3
I haven't really thought about whether or not to take requests, but this was nice to log in to! So I suppose the answer is yes :)
Alright, let's go:
Erik
Before everything went to hell with his life, Erik did actually have some good memories with his mom, so I like to think he knew he was ticklish before they met. It just hadn't been relevant for what felt like several lifetimes.
Charles was the first person brave enough since his mom to try it. He freaked out and stopped him the first few times (and Charles knew well enough to back off, but not to stop forever, bless him). However, he was eventually able to reconcile the panicky feeling with the feeling of being close to someone again, and Charles has been a menace ever since.
Once he has his mind set on resisting it, there are only a few spots that can really incapacitate him (see, hips in Distractions). Other than that, he can and will turn any attack back on whoever dared to provoke him. So far, only Charles has been allowed to really get him (because he's a softie for Charles and always will be), but Banshee did end up obliterated on the mansion lawn one time when he was feeling brave and Erik was feeling playful.
(This might have been before the "pushing him off the satellite dish" thing. They never did find out whether or not this was done in revenge.)
Alex did try once too, but Erik pinned him and warned him that things would start exploding soon if he wanted to continue this. Alex didn't take that chance.
Old!Erik reminisces sometimes on lying in bed with Charles and tickling him until he was warm and pliant and curled up against him. Charles' eyes would get a certain shine to them then, and something aches in Erik's chest.
At least until the 300th time they manage to make up and he actually gets to spend some time at the mansion again. It turns out Charles' eyes still do The Thing.
Charles
Charles didn't grow up with much affection, so I imagine he wouldn't know until Raven came around, and even then it took her a long time to get comfortable enough to be playful with him.
Shriek-y when you really get him. He won't let Erik do it in front of others, but he doesn't actually mind in private, despite the protests.
He can't stop the happy mental projection anyway, so it's hard to misinterpret the situation.
Once you get him riled up, just about any part of him will have him near incoherence. Feeling both his own sensations and the playfulness of the ler is just too much for him.
and as in Surprise, Surprise, you can eventually tickle him just by thinking about it. Like wiggling your fingers in the air, but without needing to do even that.
When they first started collecting mutants together, Charles was already in love with Erik, whose suffering he had seen in detail that first night they met. Tickling was only one of the ideas he had for showing him some semblance of safety and joy, but it was definitely one of the few that stuck.
He was very careful to pick up on surface feelings when he tried it (just for safety's sake), so the first few times, he backed off when Erik panicked. But there was a spark of interest there, too, so Charles softened his touch until Erik got used to it. From then on, there was no saving either of them.
There was just no resisting him. Erik would either grow soft and sappy and let Charles go on the offensive, or turn aggressively playful and turn the tables on Charles. Both were lovely to see.
One time in bed, after a long mission, Charles even got him to growl as he rolled them over and pinned him down.
That time Erik stays at the mansion when they're older, Charles doesn't dare try anything, so when Erik climbs into bed with him, it feels like a weight off his chest. When Erik tickles him for the first time in years, he's the most surprised he's ever been, and Erik destroys him without the slightest effort.
He gets him back the next morning, though, feeling lighter than he has in years.
I'm realizing now that you said "favorite", and here I went with everything I could think of ^_^; I'll let it stay, though, and list my favorites here:
Charles being either shriek-y or boyish with his laughter. His eyes shining and hair pointing every which way when Erik really gets him. He's a squirmer.
Erik complementing that by essentially ducking and covering, curling up for protection most of the time. At least, until Charles hits a bad spot and he flops over like a fish out of water.
Erik using any metal on Charles (cufflinks, watch, buttons) to pin him down and destroy him. Charles just Cannot Handle it.
Charles getting revenge by ghosting little mental sensations over Erik, and then really getting him once they're in private.
Just any use of the powers for tickling, really. What evil, what menaces to society they are.
Both being super soft about it sometimes, curling up as close as they can get and tickling softly until neither of them can stop smiling. Kissing each other amidst that warmth and feeling safe despite everything.
Summary: Charles offers to help Erik with his training. Erik isn't sure what to expect.
Warnings: Tickle fic. Skip if that's not your thing.
Lee!Erik, Ler!Charles that eventually switches to the reverse.
OOC, perhaps, but fits into the First Class timeline.
Erik had been through a lot of trials in his life. None of them had been like Charles Xavier.
Perhaps it was unfair to compare someone as genuine and sweet as Charles to the other things he had been through—to Shaw and his tables with straps and his implements—but at times like these, when faced with the full force of that sincerity, he found that he had even less defenses against it than he had against Shaw. With Shaw, he knew what to expect. With Charles, he always felt lost. Off kilter.
Charles was all warm hands and gentle words, then at once a fierce insistence that Erik was worth it, that he belonged there with them. It was enough to give one whiplash, were it not for the fact that it was all so irrevocably insistent of his own goodness and worth as a person. If he could expect nothing else, he could expect whatever Charles would do to go in that direction.
That did nothing to help him right now. Days ago, Charles had asked him, so calmly, so sincerely, if he was allowed back into Erik’s head. To help him train, ostensibly, but that was only part of what had happened. He had reached into Erik’s memories like reaching into the reeds of a pond and pulled out something so precious to him that it might have been made of gold and physical between them. A memory of his mother, of celebrating with her. Being safe with her.
It rattled Erik at first. Knocked him off his pedestal of anger and hate and had him face-plant right into the soft grass of whatever this was that he had with Charles. But then he had began to realise the similarities of it to what was happening here. With Charles, he was not afraid of being betrayed. In Charles’s house, he did not fear waking up with knives in his flesh and Shaw towering over him again.
Was this safety? It was not exactly the same as that memory, but it certainly felt close to it. With Charles, he found himself able to smile. To relax. He should really known better than to do that.
Not because he was betrayed, but because Charles could be playful when he least expected it. Erik had no idea how to deal with that, no practiced defenses against it.
They were out on the grounds that day, hidden amongst the trees around the lake. Charles was watching him as he trained, levitating various bits of metal they had found around the house, forming complex shapes around himself and the rustling trees. Charles had informed him that one of those trees was his favorite, from his childhood. What a ridiculous concept. He still took a little extra care not to graze it with the odd pair of scissors flying about.
They were alone out there, in part thanks to the ridiculous comments Raven and Alex had offered the one time they were allowed in on Erik’s training (it was not juggling, damn it). Mostly, though, it was just nicer to be out in the quiet, and Charles only offered his opinions if he thought it might help. This, Erik was quite proficient at, and so the professor remained still, sitting in the grass behind him. At least until he got an idea, as Erik would soon come to learn.
The metal was forming a snake that slithered around him in the air, curled over the canopy of the nearest tree, and twitched to a stop in the air as Charles’ voice sounded behind him. Erik turned to look at him, arms still outstretched in the other direction.
“I was wondering,” Charles said, “if you wanted some help with your practice.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
In response, Charles raised his hand to his head, wiggling his fingers next to his temple in a familiar way.
“Test your concentration, perhaps?”
They both knew very well what kind of focus it took to use their respective powers. It was a correct angle from which to approach helping, but what exactly was he suggesting? Erik frowned as he watched Charles rise to his feet.
“Keep going,” he said, nodding his encouragement. “It’ll become clear.”
There was something in his expression that put Erik on edge. He knew that playfulness by now, but it came in so many different forms. Still, he turned back and guided the metal snake to curl around the trunk of the tree and slide back down. At the roots, he began to split it into tendrils that curled in different directions.
Then something brushed up his side, light as a feather.
He startled, convinced that something that lived in the trees or bushes had found its way into his shirt. The metal stalled, but did not fall as he reached down to smooth his sweater over the area. When he felt nothing more, he turned his attention back to the metal.
It happened again, almost immediately. This time, it was two quick swipes, up and down his ribs. He brushed at it once again, and found that this time, it didn’t help. The feeling didn’t dissipate.
Confused, he turned around, immediately spotting Charles, fingers at his temple and a smile on his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, impossibly innocent. “I thought you were focusing?”
Stilling the metal in the air, Erik raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Really, Charles?”
Charles gave a shrug, and his fingers stayed in place.
“All’s fair in love and practice.”
Erik raised the other eyebrow then, and his sudden burst of amusement was clearly felt by Charles, whose smile widened the slightest bit.
“I’ll make sure to remember that the next time you’re training,” he said.
He turned back to the metal, but not before he could see Charles open his mouth and find no retort. The sound of him trying was almost imperceptible, just an aborted breath or two, but Erik noticed. His smirk, however, did not last for long after that.
Charles was evidently done being subtle, but Erik was stubborn if he was anything. The next touch moved up both sides, and it felt more like fluttering fingers than feathers. Erik’s arms clamped immediately down to his sides, the metal made a jagged motion sideways, and he clamped his mouth shut. At his armpits, the feeling dodged up to his shoulders instead and cascaded like skittering nails down his back. It made him shiver more than anything, and he was going to have to ask Charles to do that the next time he needed help sleeping, but it did not break his concentration.
If Charles was noticing the way the metal shivered in the air, he said nothing about it.
Slowly regaining his confidence, Erik selected a smaller section of the metal—a haphazard mix of scrap parts and loose staples that wouldn’t be missed. Everything else lowered to the ground, and he brought it closer to himself, letting its parts curl around each other and melt into one uniform piece. Curling his hands in the air around it, he began to form it into a cube.
Something curled teasingly over his lower ribs and down his sides, heading with singular purpose towards his hips. He would never admit to the sound that escaped him as he realised that.
It didn’t stop, and Erik fought for his life. The feeling curled like gentle nails over his hips, and he suddenly felt less like training and more like curling up into a ball and disappearing. The compromise between that and his pride was his knees bending halfway to a crouch and his hands shaking as he struggled to hold on to the metal. He clenched his teeth, refusing to let out another sound.
Then that something--that nefarious, nebulous feeling—turned without warning to a pinching squeeze around the base of his hips.
The metal cube followed him down to the grass like an obedient dog as Erik came to the conclusion that the best solution here would be to hunker down like a crumpled hedgehog and suffer through the feeling. There was another sound, not a laugh, but some sort of whine, then a strangled “Charles”.
There was a chuckle from behind him, warm like honey and sweeter, still. The feeling didn’t let up, even as he let go of the metal to cover himself uselessly with his hands. At his first breathless laugh, as though it was the trigger of a gun, Charles let loose with it.
Hands or feathers or something else entirely—Erik was too far gone to tell—skittered and danced up his sides to his armpits, down over his thighs, rolling over his belly. Erik made a sound like a wounded animal and descended into giggles that no one but Charles would ever find out he was capable of. It felt like torture. It felt light and warm. He was unable to make any sense of the feeling.
“Chaharles,” he pleaded, his voice higher than he had ever heard it before. There was another laugh from behind him, this one louder and delighted, and Erik was not so far gone that he couldn’t appreciate being the reason for Charles to laugh like that. For a moment, the sounds mingled, like harmonizing notes. Though the result was nice, Erik felt a little bit like he was actively dying at this point.
He had never laughed at length, had never had reason to, and while Charles had tried tickling him before (likely the reason he dared to do it now), it had never been this intense. Erik found himself lying sideways in the grass, an imperfect metal cube forgotten in front of him. It watched him impartially as Charles methodically took him apart. He could do it from a distance. He could do it without lifting a finger.
He was terrifying, and Erik would be turned on about that if he wasn’t so busy giggling like a child.
“What?” Charles asked, and the laugh was clear in his voice. “I thought you wanted to practice!”
His tone lowered a bit, but he was no less amused when he added, “You look lovely like that, by the way.”
Erik realized with some difficulty that Charles was teasing him, and was that not just the cherry on top of all this? He had run from a lot of things and fought through a lot of things, but few of them were as paradoxical as this. This should be humiliating, and he should be lashing out. Instead he felt completely safe, a feat only ever possible because it was Charles doing this. Charles who had proven as much as one could that Erik could trust him. That he wanted him to feel safe and comfortable. And apparently to be tickled beyond coherency.
He knew that Charles was at least shallowly in his head now, keeping what boundaries he could while making sure that Erik wouldn’t be overwhelmed. But to hell with that, he thought. Clearly, training was over, and this was nothing if not a provocation.
His laughter had gone from a loud, boisterous thing to a breathless sort of wheezing at this point, and it was a struggle to move at all with the feeling creeping all over him like vigorous ants. Still, Erik was a stubborn man, and Charles had not been careful that day. He was still wearing metal. A watch on his left wrist. Cufflinks. A pair of slacks with a metal zipper. All enough for Erik to reach out with one swift, uncoordinated hand and yank him gracelessly through the air as Charles yelped like a startled child. The tickling feeling disappeared in an instant, and Erik had time to take one breath before Charles landed on him with all the grace of a man tumbling off a cliff. It was all Erik could do to raise one arm and try to catch him, but they still ended up in an uncoordinated roll across the grass.
“Erik!” Charles was yelling, but they had slowed to a stop and Erik was already ensuring that he ended up on top. Surely, Charles was going to say something about this being childish or their clothes getting dirty, but Erik was faster. The next sound Charles let out was a loud, startled laugh around his next words.
“This—ah—thihis is nohot part of ihihit!” He was flailing, reaching for Erik’s hands, but vengeance gives one reflexes like no other. Erik dodged him at every turn and dove inside that neat jacket with no preamble to find the soft skin of his belly. The laughter raised an octave as Charles tried to curl up like a shrimp, and Erik grinned triumphantly down at him. In the next instant, Charles’ hands had been yanked above his head and pinned to the ground by watch and cufflinks both.
“All’s fair in love and practice,” Erik parroted, smug beyond belief. He could feel the whispers of tickles over his thighs and hips, but Charles was too distracted now to make it all that effective. Erik huffed.
“Come on. You can do better than that. Show me your legendary focus, Charles.”
Charles did no such thing. Instead he curled sideways as much as he could and laughed his head off, eyes shut and cheeks red. The sight of him so loose and carefree was almost enough to distract Erik from the task at hand. Almost.
“We’ll keep at this until you can get out, you know.” He did not imagine the way Charles’ breath hitched between laughs. “Show me your escape strategy.”
The undeniable thrill in the back of his head was not his own.
Welp. I suppose I've lurked for long enough. Have a little story.
Edit: Now on AO3 as well
Summary: Surprising a telepath is difficult, but definitely not impossible.
Warnings: Tickle fic. Skip if that's not your thing.
Lee!Charles, Ler!Erik, brief mentions of the reverse
Technically fits into FC, pre-beach divorce, if perhaps uncharacteristically fluffy.
Erik learned quickly and efficiently that you cannot surprise a telepath, especially when the two of you are dating.
Sure, Charles had agreed and then sworn on his life that he would not meddle in Erik's head without his permission (which Erik was unsure if he could ever give). It did quickly become apparent, however, that this was not the only problem his powers could cause.
"There are some things I cannot shut off," Charles said mournfully after a conversation where he had seemingly slipped up without thinking about it. "If you think too loudly, I get a general impression of it. Feelings and images, sometimes. Words, sometimes. I’m not always fast enough to block it out.”
There was apparently a difference between "inside thoughts" and "outside thoughts" as Charles worded it. Mostly, the outside ones were impulsive, emotional ones. If Erik got excited about something, or struck with an episode of terrible memories, Charles struggled to block that sort of thing out. But it wasn't his innermost thoughts, he could remind himself. They were just instincts. If he actively contemplated something, he could focus on keeping it to himself. Charles was also eager to show him how to keep the thoughts “quiet”, as it were.
Though this might never be enough for Erik and his anxiety, it did keep it at bay most of the time. It helped that Charles was so very earnest about it, apologizing so profusely, blocking him out so deliberately when he noticed. Eventually, carefully, Erik began to relax a little on this matter. Charles knowing that his spontaneous little surprises made him happy--really, truly happy--was not a bad thing after all.
Surprising Charles in return, however, was next to impossible, and Erik found himself wanting to surprise him. If only for revenge.
It started when Charles discovered that he was ticklish. A fact that was impossible to deny, not only because of the physical reaction, but because the feeling of it rolled like waves from him straight to Charles.
He hadn’t laughed in so long before then. Actually, physically laughed. It was a light, fluttering, terrifying feeling.
Okay, so perhaps he did not hate it. That did not mean he wanted Charles to do it in front of the others. This was quickly and obviously communicated after the first innocent little poke next to where Hank was working. A look and a mental surge of discomfort was all it took for Charles to back off completely.
But that did not stop him when they were alone, to Erik's mixed embarrassment, chagrin, and delight (though he would never admit to that last part). Charles pounced when he could, looked for the smallest moments of privacy, and it was not always tickling. Sometimes it was just physical contact or the odd kiss that Erik did not want the others to see. The tickling, however, was the only thing that really warranted revenge.
But Erik was apparently a loud thinker when it came to that sort of thing. In conversations, around others, even mid-training, Charles would gracefully side-step if Erik came at him with anything more than the intention to put a hand around his waist. Erik found it infuriating. He also relished the challenge.
This required some time alone to think. At first, he solved this by taking walks around the grounds whenever he had some time left over. However, this eventually lead to Charles offering (so kindly, so innocently) to join him. This lead to some very nice walks and some interesting conversations, but it certainly did not lead to a solution to his problem. That came by accident one day.
Erik woke up early most mornings. The exceptions were after difficult missions, when he woke up aching and one or two hours later the next day. Charles often struggled with the same concept. He did not have the perfect internal clock that one gets from a lifetime of life-or-death and living on the run.
This lead to a morning where Erik had the rare chance to not only wake up in a leisurely manner, but also to do so in Charles' bed, a deeply sleeping telepath slung over his arm and his mind whirring with the possibilities of it. How had he not thought of this before? How could he have missed this?
There was no time to dwell on this, however. The early bird and the worm and all that, and if he spent too long thinking too loudly about the serendipity of this, Charles would surely be woken up from the sheer glee rolling off him in waves. So he laid closer and curled up around Charles, rolling him onto his back and slipping the hand that was buried beneath him into the fold between the shirt and pants that Charles had been to tired to shed the previous evening. It took a second, a moment of prodding and pinching, but then Charles was squirming closer and burying his head in Erik's chest.
Erik did not stop, and the feeling did not go away. It was with victory in his heart that he watched Charles’ eyes flutter open and listened to the sound of a hum of discomfort turning into a high-pitched yelp of surprise when he ventured further up to the ribs. There were no barriers, no guard to keep up. Charles was laughing immediately.
It was lovely.
“Erik!” he was squealing, squirming this way and that, but the way Erik was wrapped around him made him unable to do more than press his arms tightly to his sides to keep out the wriggling fingers. This did nothing to deter Erik, and he made sure that Charles knew it. His laughter was high and light, boyish and carefree, and Erik couldn’t get enough of it.
“Yes?” Erik asked, feeling unusually playful for being, well, him.
“Sto-“ he broke off with a shout as the hand slipped up into his armpit. The reaction was instant and practically violent, to the point where the bed frame twitched with Erik’s instinct to restrain, to protect. He quickly squashed down the feeling. This was not a fight. This was play.
Perhaps he should appreciate more just how much Charles had been teaching him to play.
“Please!”
Charles was turning red, laughing against his chest and no longer bothering to squirm away. Erik was still new to this, and he did not want to hurt him. Carefully, his fingers stilled, but there was no hope of removing them with the way Charles was still squeezing them close. He seemed unable to do anything else at this point.
“That,” Charles panted, “was rude.” He was still giggling a little bit.
Erik realized at once that he was smiling, wider than he had done in a long time. He could not imagine how he looked in that moment, but perhaps that was not so important now.
“Payback,” he muttered into Charles’ hair. He pressed a kiss to the scalp, going for soothing, but Charles was still squirming in his grasp.
“Stop it,” he muttered, amusement clear in his voice. “You’re feeling too loudly. Stop being so happy about this.”
“Make me,” Erik muttered back, for once perfectly happy that Charles was unable to shut him out. The joy was practically a feedback loop now. When Charles felt enough—joy, awe, arousal—he tended to project his feelings outwards, and suddenly Erik felt like he was the one able to read minds. It gave him some insight into why Charles loved his power so much, and certainly made it easier to deal with it on difficult days.
The idea was sudden. A surprise as much to him as to Charles, and it worked a charm. All it took was an image, the memory of wiggling his fingers, and Charles shut his eyes and let out a whining sound.
He was so sensitive. So hyper-aware. It made sense now why he did not let Erik do this anywhere else.
If Erik was a little ticklish, Charles was extremely ticklish, and Erik loved him for it.
“E-Erik!” Charles was once again giggling into his neck, squirming closer, despite the fact that Erik’s fingers remained perfectly still. “Please, this isn’t fair!”
