#like he’s just begging charles to stop shrugging things off as platonic

[bisexualbuckleyy]

absolutely obsessed with ritchie saying brad and hunter were gay for each other and charles immediately saying “nah they were just best mates” because if these other two best friends were in love then charles might have to confront the reality of the relationship he has with edwin and how it might not be totally 100% platonic

[gold-from-straw]

Enough - ch6/8 (possibly 9...)

AT LAST! Erik arrives, half way through the fic! On the plus side, this is now ACTUALLY and officially a Cherik fic since they are at least on screen together. on the down side... this is not going to make it any less angsty, I’m sorry!

Read from the start on AO3!

Charles regretted being out in New York on the day of the protest. The streets were crowded with mutants and allies, and behind them trailed the counter protesters, the ugly hum of anger thick in the air, pressing on his temples and making him flinch at shadows.

He hurried down the side street. His errand was over, another student booked to visit the school in a week. Luckily this one had supportive parents who wanted to look around as well, make sure their child was going to be well cared for while they learned to hone and control their teleporting powers.

He heard the minds before he saw the men, before he heard their feet pounding on the tarmac. Run quick round here Trask’s waiting we’ll get him fuck he’s fast run!

Charles flinched back as two men raced past. Even with the loud projecting, they were both surrounded by a haze of fear, but unlike someone just running away, they were also saturated with anticipation… even excitement.

Seconds behind them, legs and arms pumping, came a tall, furious looking man, projecting determination, and righteous anger, and Charles knew with a horrifying certainty that he was running into a trap. “Wait!” he yelled, and tore after him.

He could hear the voices ahead of him, the first men had doubled back and were standing with a trio of other minds, and in a panic, Charles reached out into the pursuer’s mind and cried out again, wait!

The man stopped and spun on his heel, glaring at Charles. “Was that you?”

Charles caught up to him, breathing hard, and held his finger to his lip. But it was too late - the other minds were coming closer, anticipation a tingling zing to the edges of their minds. “Please, trust me?” he asked the tall man.

The man curled his lip up, but before he could retort, the ambush arrived.

Charles gripped the man’s elbow and concentrated hard, pressing his fingers to his temple in his old childhood crutch. He reached into their minds, a part of him already bemoaning the loss of his morals, yet again, and simply cut himself and the man out of their awareness.

“Well, where the hell is he?”

“He was right here!”

“What are you--”

Shhh! Charles insisted in the man’s mind, and oh God he had such a beautiful mind, it was all he could do not to reach in, brush against all the sweeping lines, the architecture of it. It’s harder if you talk.

“You said he was following you!” snapped one of the ambushers, a bulky guy in combat trousers and black boots.

“He was,” insisted the second runner who’d passed Charles. He was almost pleading with his boss.

“Well he sure as hell ain’t here now,” yelled Combats. “You fucked up, that’s what happened. You were supposed to piss Lehnsherr off enough that he’d have to follow you, and now what? What are we going to do with the transport we’ve hired?”

The man at Charles' side, Lehnsherr, tensed at this, radiating a fury so powerful that Charles was amazed the attackers couldn’t feel it.

“I swear, boss, he was following us,” whined runner number two. “He should be here.”

“He was, definitely,” nodded runner number one, nodding. “We hit that blonde bitch with the dart, and we made sure he saw us - he was definitely coming after us.”

Combats threw his hands up. “Well he’s not here now, is he?”

The two runners looked at each other and shuffled their feet like naughty schoolboys as their boss ranted and raved. Charles was considering pushing them to leave, making the decision for them, when Lehnsherr reached out his hand. The metal of the fire escapes whipped out like cobras, curling tendrils around the three men’s arms and hauling them up, trapping them against the wall. Lehnsherr grinned, all his teeth showing in vicious glee, and stepped forwards out of Charles’ grip, lifting a huge rubbish skip in front of the screaming, writhing captives.

For a moment, Charles was staggered by the overwhelming beauty of his mind as he used his powers, aurorae dancing around his senses, reaching out and limning all the metal in the immediate vicinity with a twisting light. He lost his grip on the men’s minds as he stared and soaked up the incredible presence.

Then he yelled and rushed forwards, standing between the men and Lehnsherr. “Don’t! You’ll kill them!”

“Yes, that’s rather the point,” he said dryly.

“You can’t just kill them!”

“It’s better than what they’d have done to me, isn’t it? I bet they’d take you, as well, a powerful telepath like yourself. Where did you have in mind, boys? Some lab somewhere in the wilderness? Pump me full of drugs, see how far you can push me, how much it’ll take to tear away my powers, how much it’ll take to make them explode uncontrolably? Why do you think I should let you live?”

His mind was sharp-edged with fury and grief, but Charles held up both his hands and took a step closer. “Because you have it in you to be the better man.”

“We already are the better men,” he snarled. “These… these baselines are the Neanderthals of the present, they know they’re in the presence of the next stage of human evolution, and they’re fighting their own extinction.”

Charles rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “Oh, and you were doing so well! Don’t tell me you’re still subscribing to that utterly Victorian notion that evolution is a linear process with some sort of optimum species in mind. And here I was thinking you were intelligent - your mind is so beautiful, how can you still believe that Homo neanderthalis was in any way inferior to Homo sapiens? You do know that nearly all people of European origin have approximately two percent Neanderthal DNA, and that Neandertals and Homo sapiens populations lived side by side for centuries, interbreeding, until finally genetic drift and climate change and the end of the megafauna spelled the end of them, don’t you?”

The alleyway was silent. Water dripped in the corner.

Charles cleared his throat. “Anyway. What I’m saying is that… umm… just don’t use biology as your excuse for bigotry and supremacist leanings.”

Lehnsherr bit his lip, creases forming at the corners of his eyes. “Two percent, hmm?”

“Yes,” said Charles primly, crossing his arms.

“Well, that’s very interesting information, Mr…?”

“Xavier. Charles Xavier. Now, are you going to put that skip down?”

“Skip?”

“Garbage… thing. Whatever you Americans call it.”

“I’m not American, I’m German.”

“Well, I don’t know what you call it in Germany- look, are you going to put it down or are you going to discuss linguistics?”

“I’d much rather discuss biology,” he said, lowering the skip to the ground and completely ignoring the squirming, yelling humans still pinned to the wall behind them. “Say, over coffee?”

Charles blinked rapidly. “I… I beg your pardon?”

Lehnsherr held up his hands. “Sorry, I mean… platonic coffee would be good too. But if my gaydar is correct...”

“You want to take me out for coffee?”

“If you want to accompany me, yes.”

Charles opened and shut his mouth, completely lost for words. He bit his lip, and Lehnsherr flicked his eyes down, and back up to his eyes. “Ummm… your, uh… your gaydar’s correct,” he said at last, weakly.

Lehnsherr grinned, shark-like, and his mind sparked at the edges, like flint on steel. “Excellent. Oh- I do still want to hear more about Neanderthals, of course. I’m not just asking you out because you’ve got glorious blue eyes and the most fantastic mutation I’ve ever seen.”

Charles’ butterflies didn’t know what to do with themselves. He felt himself breaking into a wide, utterly silly grin, and goodness knows what he would have said if the captives hadn’t spoken up just then.

“Oh, Christ, they’re faggots as well.”

Charles turned and narrowed his eyes at them as Lehnsherr lifted the skip again, making them shriek and howl in fear. He held out his hand to Lehnsherr. “Wait, I’ve got a better idea. One that won’t send you to prison.” He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hey, Moira? Yes, we’ve got three men here who just attacked my friend and I. If you come down to…” he looked around. “Cortlandt alley, I think? I’ll check and text you my location anyway. We’ve got a lovely little trio, armed with tranquilisers and suppressants, and a van somewhere they’ve been planning to use to transport their victims. Oh, perfect. Thank you, Moira, I owe you one.” He glanced up at Lehnsherr. “I think my friend and I will clear out before you get here. It’s still a bit hairy for mutants in this area, if you know what I mean. Yes, thank you. You know how to get hold of me.”

He hung up and smiled sweetly at the men, straining at their bonds. “You’ll never get away with this, mutie scum,” snarled one of them.

Charles pursed his lips and tutted. “Oh really. This isn’t Scooby-doo. And I have very good links with the local police. And quite exceptional lawyers, as well.” He turned to Lehnsherr. “Shall we?”

Lehnsherr raised an eyebrow, mischief twinkling. “I still say we should kill them.”

Charles shrugged. “Well, as I said, my lawyers really are very good, so…”

He laughed, throwing his head back, and Charles felt shockwaves of desire rushing through him. He pushed them back, trying to stay pragmatic. He would enjoy this for as long as he got, but at some point this gorgeous man, this beautiful mind, would remember what he was, what he could do, and he’d move on. But first, maybe there would be coffee…