When he opens his eyes Charles is looking at him with a sad smile on his face, but before Erik can ask what put it there Charles kisses him again, and he forgets.
Erik feels the elevator coming before it arrives, but does not care. Raven doesn’t even stop when she sees them, just drops herself onto the other end of the couch as Charles pulls away, flush-faced and swollen-lipped, his hair mussed from Erik’s fingers. “Get a room, guys.”
“Every room in this apartment is mine,” Erik says without rancour, and frowns when he sees the folders in her hands, three or four of them stacked one atop the other on the curve of her belly. “I don’t think more bad news is going to water down the first.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” and Raven puts the folders down on the footstool, reaching for the first one and putting it on Charles’ lap. “They’re photo albums.”
Charles looks gobsmacked, utterly wordless for a moment before he finally manages, “Raven, where did you get these?” His hands are moving before he’s stopped speaking, flipping open the album in his lap with its glossy black leather cover to reveal a first sheet of tissue paper overlying blurred images, which he pulls back reverently to reveal a photograph of a smartly-dressed couple in what is clearly a studio. They’re posed much the same way as Erik’s parents had been, though their clothes are obviously of much better quality, and the woman is wearing a gleaming choker around her neck, a thick shining bracelet at her wrist that catches the light of the flash.
“From the house.” Raven smirks, clearly pleased with herself as Charles turns the page to see another photograph of the same couple, this time – perhaps at a party? There are other people around, certainly, though none in focus, and the image has faded a little so that the lines are not so crisp as they once might have been. “I went back and pinched them when it was clear you were going to be here a while, since I knew you didn’t have any in your place and I wanted them to be kept safe. Good thing I did, huh?”
“Very,” and Charles puts a hand to her face and plants a loud kiss on her forehead with a smack of lips that has her feigning disgust, though she’s laughing. “Oh, Raven, you are a star. Remind me of this the next time I’m being a prig about something and you can have a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“You, a prig? Never,” Raven says, reaching over to turn the page again when Charles pauses. “Oh, look. I always loved Sharon’s dresses. It was the best part of being a shapeshifter, they always fit when I tried them on.”
“Shame you had no idea how to do make-up,” Charles says, and Raven half-shrieks with fake outrage, pretending to smack him upside the head. “No, really, Erik, she looked like a circus clown had mated with a blueberry. It was really a very – aah! – unique look – stop pulling my hair, Raven, and pretend to be a grown-up won’t you – ”
Raven is grinning sharply as she lets go, laying her hands primly in her lap, ankles together like a fine society lady, suddenly demure. “It’s not my fault nobody makes blue foundation.”
There are so many photographs, Erik thinks with a feeling somewhere between disgust and fondness, shaking his head as he reaches out to rub the soft, thick cardstock between his fingertips. It even feels prohibitively expensive. The Xaviers must have owned a camera, or perhaps - he chuckles under his breath - a photographer. They put the Lehnsherr family portraits to shame, these sleek black-and-white images of people in motion, only pausing for a moment in a busy day to be frozen in time before moving on to the next thing, the next extravagance. “Are you in here?” he asks, and lets Charles take back command of the folder, flipping through page after page of the same man and woman, getting a little older each time, until suddenly there is a baby in her arms.
“There he is!” Raven crows, slapping a hand down on the photograph so that Charles can’t turn it over with the rest. “Look at him, all fat-faced and undignified like the rest of us. Isn’t he just precious?”
FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 128/?
Erik feels the elevator coming before it arrives, but does not care. Raven doesn’t even stop when she sees them, just drops herself onto the other end of the couch as Charles pulls away, flush-faced and swollen-lipped, his hair mussed from Erik’s fingers. “Get a room, guys.”
“Every room in this apartment is mine,” Erik says without rancour, and frowns when he sees the folders in her hands, three or four of them stacked one atop the other on the curve of her belly. “I don’t think more bad news is going to water down the first.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” and Raven puts the folders down on the footstool, reaching for the first one and putting it on Charles’ lap. “They’re photo albums.”
Charles looks gobsmacked, utterly wordless for a moment before he finally manages, “Raven, where did you get these?” His hands are moving before he’s stopped speaking, flipping open the album in his lap with its glossy black leather cover to reveal a first sheet of tissue paper overlying blurred images, which he pulls back reverently to reveal a photograph of a smartly-dressed couple in what is clearly a studio. They’re posed much the same way as Erik’s parents had been, though their clothes are obviously of much better quality, and the woman is wearing a gleaming choker around her neck, a thick shining bracelet at her wrist that catches the light of the flash.
“From the house.” Raven smirks, clearly pleased with herself as Charles turns the page to see another photograph of the same couple, this time – perhaps at a party? There are other people around, certainly, though none in focus, and the image has faded a little so that the lines are not so crisp as they once might have been. “I went back and pinched them when it was clear you were going to be here a while, since I knew you didn’t have any in your place and I wanted them to be kept safe. Good thing I did, huh?”
“Very,” and Charles puts a hand to her face and plants a loud kiss on her forehead with a smack of lips that has her feigning disgust, though she’s laughing. “Oh, Raven, you are a star. Remind me of this the next time I’m being a prig about something and you can have a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“You, a prig? Never,” Raven says, reaching over to turn the page again when Charles pauses. “Oh, look. I always loved Sharon’s dresses. It was the best part of being a shapeshifter, they always fit when I tried them on.”
“Shame you had no idea how to do make-up,” Charles says, and Raven half-shrieks with fake outrage, pretending to smack him upside the head. “No, really, Erik, she looked like a circus clown had mated with a blueberry. It was really a very – aah! – unique look – stop pulling my hair, Raven, and pretend to be a grown-up won’t you – ”
Raven is grinning sharply as she lets go, laying her hands primly in her lap, ankles together like a fine society lady, suddenly demure. “It’s not my fault nobody makes blue foundation.”
There are so many photographs, Erik thinks with a feeling somewhere between disgust and fondness, shaking his head as he reaches out to rub the soft, thick cardstock between his fingertips. It even feels prohibitively expensive. The Xaviers must have owned a camera, or perhaps - he chuckles under his breath - a photographer. They put the Lehnsherr family portraits to shame, these sleek black-and-white images of people in motion, only pausing for a moment in a busy day to be frozen in time before moving on to the next thing, the next extravagance. “Are you in here?” he asks, and lets Charles take back command of the folder, flipping through page after page of the same man and woman, getting a little older each time, until suddenly there is a baby in her arms.
“There he is!” Raven crows, slapping a hand down on the photograph so that Charles can’t turn it over with the rest. “Look at him, all fat-faced and undignified like the rest of us. Isn’t he just precious?”