fourteenacross: “You’re mad at me.” Charles...

fourteenacross:

“You’re mad at me.”

Charles barely glances up from his magazine. He’s engaged. He’s riveted, really, and Erik’s not distracting and Erik doesn’t deserve his attention. Charles is mature. He leagues more mature than Erik.

“I’m not mad at you,” Charles says. He rustles the magazine and focuses his attention on the article he’s reading. “I don’t know why you would say that.”

“I’m saying it because you always make that snooty face when I’ve done something that doesn’t quite meet your approval, like you can’t believe you allow yourself to be seen with me.”

Charles wrinkles his nose and pushes his reading glasses up. “That’s absurd,” Charles says. “I absolutely do not. And I’m not angry. You’re just projecting because you feel guilty.”

“Nope,” Erik says, and Charles steals a peek, watches him stirring his coffee, and god, it’s really not fair how fucking attractive Erik always is, even first thing in the morning—well, one in the afternoon—even when Charles is—yes, okay, annoyed with him. “I don’t feel guilty at all, because when I said, ‘Do you want me to go to the Summers’ kids recital with you?’ You said, ‘You don’t have to, you can come along if you wake up in time.’ And I said, ‘There’s no way I’ll wake up in time, but I’ll go if you want me to’ and you said, ‘It doesn’t matter.’”

Charles huffs and doesn’t say anything.

“Charles, if you want me to do something with you, I’ll do it. You just have to actually ask,” Erik says. “We’re not all telepaths.” Charles opens his mouth to snap at him, but before he can so much as draw in a breath, Erik continues. “But, since I’m such a nice guy, I’m going to finish my coffee and then I’m going to make it up to you.”

Charles can feel Erik’s smirk, even though Erik’s back is to him. His back, fuck, and his waist and those jeans and—

“Bloody hell, you drive me mad sometimes,” Charles mutters, and Erik just laughs.

“If you think that’s bad, wait until I finish my coffee.”