Charles doesn’t even feel the cold as he tries not to stare, to project, to drool at the mutant -- Erik -- he’s just rescued from the ocean. After pulling them back onboard, Moira and Raven had hustled them to the nearest empty cabin and told them to dry off and warm up.
Now Erik is, oh god, stripping off that wetsuit and Charles feels like a stupid teenage boy again with no control, unable to tear his eyes away from the lean, hard body in front of him. A body that houses that perfect mind that Charles just wants to wrap himself up in and wallow in, because it fit, Erik’s mind fit Charles’s mind in a way he’d never encountered before and --
Erik turns to look at him, and Charles is caught. He blushes and gulps, hoping he can come up with a decent excuse for his shamelessness.
“I want a Jewish wedding,” Erik declares.
Charles snaps his mouth shut. “Dry yourself off first. You're still wet from when I pulled you out of the sea."
*****
Subsequent discussions reveal that Erik was entirely serious about his proposal. It’s a wish and a hope and a promise that Charles carries next to his heart for the next days, weeks, and months.
Until he’s standing on a beach in Cuba, the sun hot on his face, and Erik holds the fate of the world in his hands.
Charles is tired, he’s hurt, his shields are shot to hell from that damn coin, and he says the first thing that comes to mind:
“You promised me a Jewish wedding, you bloody bastard!”
Every eye on the beach turns to Charles. Erik looks utterly stunned.
"How are we supposed to get married if we are fugitives?" continues Charles furiously. “If you start a war? And how I am supposed to marry someone who doesn’t trust me? And what about the children?”
Charles figures, having come this far, its best to lay it all out on the table.
“... What children?” asks Erik.
“Well I assumed we’d adopt,” says Charles. “I was thinking two of each. We’d raise them Jewish of course. But all that’s off the table, I suppose. Since I can’t marry a mass-murderer who doesn’t trust me.”
“But I do trust you,” Erik protests, and it figures Erik would latch on to that, and conveniently ignore the mass-murderer thing.
“Dude, if you trust him, then why did you put on that freaky anti-telepath hat?” yells Sean from across the beach.
“And didn’t Shaw murder your mom? Why would you take his stuff? How could you possibly think that was a good idea?” asks Alex right after, since apparently Charles and Erik’s private business is up for discussion from the peanut gallery.
“Charles,” says Raven, walking up. “If you don’t want people to comment on your ‘private business’, then maybe you shouldn’t scream at each other in the middle of a warzone. And yes, you were projecting just now.”
Charles rubs his forehead. “Dammit Erik! Just drop the missiles so we can go home and have ridiculous amounts of sex and Raven and Alex and Sean and Hank can hold the chuppah at our wedding!”
FILL: To Life 1/2 (Round 3, Charles/Erik, Erik wants a Jewish wedding)
Now Erik is, oh god, stripping off that wetsuit and Charles feels like a stupid teenage boy again with no control, unable to tear his eyes away from the lean, hard body in front of him. A body that houses that perfect mind that Charles just wants to wrap himself up in and wallow in, because it fit, Erik’s mind fit Charles’s mind in a way he’d never encountered before and --
Erik turns to look at him, and Charles is caught. He blushes and gulps, hoping he can come up with a decent excuse for his shamelessness.
“I want a Jewish wedding,” Erik declares.
Charles snaps his mouth shut. “Dry yourself off first. You're still wet from when I pulled you out of the sea."
*****
Subsequent discussions reveal that Erik was entirely serious about his proposal. It’s a wish and a hope and a promise that Charles carries next to his heart for the next days, weeks, and months.
Until he’s standing on a beach in Cuba, the sun hot on his face, and Erik holds the fate of the world in his hands.
Charles is tired, he’s hurt, his shields are shot to hell from that damn coin, and he says the first thing that comes to mind:
“You promised me a Jewish wedding, you bloody bastard!”
Every eye on the beach turns to Charles. Erik looks utterly stunned.
"How are we supposed to get married if we are fugitives?" continues Charles furiously. “If you start a war? And how I am supposed to marry someone who doesn’t trust me? And what about the children?”
Charles figures, having come this far, its best to lay it all out on the table.
“... What children?” asks Erik.
“Well I assumed we’d adopt,” says Charles. “I was thinking two of each. We’d raise them Jewish of course. But all that’s off the table, I suppose. Since I can’t marry a mass-murderer who doesn’t trust me.”
“But I do trust you,” Erik protests, and it figures Erik would latch on to that, and conveniently ignore the mass-murderer thing.
“Dude, if you trust him, then why did you put on that freaky anti-telepath hat?” yells Sean from across the beach.
“And didn’t Shaw murder your mom? Why would you take his stuff? How could you possibly think that was a good idea?” asks Alex right after, since apparently Charles and Erik’s private business is up for discussion from the peanut gallery.
“Charles,” says Raven, walking up. “If you don’t want people to comment on your ‘private business’, then maybe you shouldn’t scream at each other in the middle of a warzone. And yes, you were projecting just now.”
Charles rubs his forehead. “Dammit Erik! Just drop the missiles so we can go home and have ridiculous amounts of sex and Raven and Alex and Sean and Hank can hold the chuppah at our wedding!”
The missiles fall into the ocean.
*****