[fic] Skidding Down the Sliding Scale 2/2
Nov. 4th, 2011 07:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keire_keTitle: Skidding Down the Sliding Scale 1/1
Rating: 14
Genre: fun
Pairings: Erik/Charles, Alex/Hank
Wordcount: 19k
Warnings: creative use of homophobia, crazy teenage logic
Summary: Alex chalks up his grudging love for his dad to Stockholm Syndrome. He’s not going to stand idly by while Erik harvests Mr. Xavier’s innocent soul, however. Human AU.
Author’s Note: continuation of Playing Havoc.
Damn you, kink meme! Damn you to hell!
Betaed byyami_tai and imprint_of_doe. <3
Alex is not really good at subterfuge, and by not good he of course means he doesn’t know what subterfuge even means. Things worth doing need doing in broad daylight, possibly also at the top of one’s voice. This logic drives him to Mr. Xavier’s classroom after the period is over.
“Hey, Professor, can I have a word, please? It’s uh. Personal.”
“Certainly.” Mr. Xavier smiles, looking up from his pile of notes. “Can I help you?”
“You need to stop seeing my dad,” Alex says before he sits, or rather collapses into a chair opposite.
Mr. Xavier looks surprised. He blinks and folds his hands across the papers. “Please elaborate.”
Alex growls in frustration and starts messing up his hair. “Just, you know. I don’t think it’s a good idea, for you two to be friends. Or anything.” His voice hitches on the final part and, god, it sounds like the clumsiest sex reference he has ever uttered and he’s the guy to whom the “snorkeling for cookies” quote is attributed.
Mr. Xavier blushes. It’s so adorable Alex wants to puke. “I see you have been talking to Raven.”
Alex turns red. “Look, it’s not-”
“I promise you, your father’s virtue is quite safe.” He looks disappointed and a little scared and Alex has just kicked his way out of a truckload of puppies, because Mr. Xavier is looking at him with those innocent blue eyes that seem completely unreal.
Alex feels like crap. “That’s not! I. Uh. Look, I don’t care, okay? No problem. Really. I’m all for people sleeping with my dad, he needs more targets, hell, he needs the endorphins. I need blackmail material, if nothing else.” This is bloody embarrassing, but at least Mr. Xavier is smiling again.
“Well, if you are not worried I would despoil him…”
“I’m more worried about what he’s going to do to you,” Alex mutters before he can stop himself.
Mr. Xavier looks confused, so Alex braces himself and says, as clearly as he can, “My dad is evil.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Alex leans forward. “He is evil. Actually evil. Evil like Megan Fox. Possibly worse.”
“More evil than Megan Fox?”
“Or worse.” Alex tries to impress the meaning by the sheer force of his glare. It seems to work for a moment, then Mr. Xavier just looks amused.
“I’m certain he seems that way.”
“He’s not looking like a demon out of hell for nothing. Ten times out of ten if a guy looks like he might bite vital organs out of your body cavity, chances are it’s not a coincidence, even if he sparkles in the sun! He’s not vegetarian, either.”
Mr. Xavier winces at that. “I will respect your literary choices, but please, if you must compare me to a flustered teenager, can it at least be a boy? Regardless of Raven’s tales, which I really will have words with her about, I don’t think I can be compared to a smitten adolescent girl.”
“It’s got werewolves in it, s’all. Werewolves are cool,” Alex mutters. “Anyway.”
“Anyway?”
“Erik is evil. Please, please don’t see him again. He probably eats babies when I’m not looking. I have yet to find any tiny skeletons, but I haven’t been looking, exactly, because I don’t want to know, because then I might have to testify against him and he is my dad and then I might have to live with my mom, who is even worse.”
“Your concern is touching. However believe me when I say I can take care of myself.”
“Have you ever been attacked by a flock of rabid bulldozers who want to rip you to shreds and then kill you and hang your corpse in the back of their closets?”
“I think you may mean bulldogs.”
“I know what I said.”
“Then no, I confess, I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Dad did that to a guy once. I mean, the guy did hit me, so I guess he had it coming, but it was bad. For the guy.”
“Really?”
“Erik is fucking evil!” Alex slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that.”
“I hope not.” Mr. Xavier is still looking at him and Alex, despite everything, fidgets. “Unfortunately, I can’t make the promise I won’t see your father again. We are adults and we enjoy each other’s company.” He raises his hand just as Alex tries to speak. “And believe me, this is a purely intellectual matter. We are both well-read, educated and whatever differences there are in our world views, I’m sure you understand that a healthy argument can be more satisfying than being in complete agreement.”
“You do know what Erik does for a living, right?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
“He’s a corporate lawyer and he’s earning buckets of cash, which means he’s got no human feelings whatsoever. He’s what sharks would be if they could breathe oxygen and had hair.”
“Am I that colossal a failure as a teacher?”
“What?”
“Alex, I understand it was quite a while ago, but fish do breathe oxygen.”
“That’s not the point!”
“All right. Your point is, your father is evil, because of the job he does successfully, is that it?”
“No, my point is that he is evil and that’s the reason he’s as good as he is at his job. The only reason I’m convinced he isn’t a serial killer is that he doesn’t like doing the laundry and I would have noticed the bloodstains.”
“Forgive me, but Erik is a very intelligent man. I’m sure if that was his secondary career, he would be smart enough to use the laundromat and not bring his washing home.”
“He never carries change. Says the jiggling bothers him.”
“I presume spare change can be easily donated, or even fed into a vending machine.”
“So you agree he could be a serial killer.”
“If the only piece of evidence against the theory you have is that he doesn’t like laundry, then yes, he very well could be.”
Sadly, that made sense.
“And you still want to see him?”
“I’m sure you’d agree that serial killers have some fascinating stories to tell.”
Mr. Xavier looks at him with a bright smile and Alex feels around his pocket for a needle filled of anesthetic. He’s disappointed when his hand comes up empty. It would be grand if he could jab Mr. Xavier with it, pack him in a crate filled with wool, ship him over to some tiny peaceful Asian country, so that he could live the rest of his life with a tea cosy on his head, surrounded by little woolly sheep who’d go baa and shit rainbows.
“I’m pretty sure that when he was in high school every single father pointed him out to his daughter and said, ‘that dude is bad news’. I know my grandfather did. My mom didn’t listen, and bam, nine months later she had me. Not that I’m bad, or anything, but Erik says I was a screamer and she says I ruined her best bikini season.”
Mr. Xavier smiles. “Well then. You can consider me warned. Let’s agree that whatever misfortune your father brings on my head will be my fault.”
Alex considers revisiting his infancy and screaming, because no, it will not be his fault, and anyway the fault isn’t the point! The point is to stop anything from happening altogether.
It seems, however, that convincing Mr. Xavier that someone on god’s green earth is not a decent human being, deep down, might just be on the wrong side of the possible line.
“I just don’t want him to hurt you,” he mutters as he gathers his things and gets up. “Please be careful?”
“Thank you, Alex. I will keep that in mind.”
Alex cuts classes that day and spends the afternoon wandering around town. He has a serious moral obligation here, and moral obligations are fucking important. He can live without English lit for an afternoon. Hank is going to be there and he takes notes like a machine. Alex can always claim he was ill. It’s an emergency, after all. Dad would agree. Eventually.
The problem with solving the issue is, he’s not Erik. He’s not Emma. He’s smart, sure, but he’s a football player. Not even a quarterback at that.
“It’s fucked up,” he tells the sky above the grassy hill. Hollywood’s life lessons fail him, yet again, as no light bulb comes to life over his head.
He returns home in a foul mood. Fortunately, Erik is up for a trip to the gym, where they spend the evening knocking the crap out of each other in the boxing ring. Alex is too exhausted to think when they get back home.
Then he has a thought. So Erik may be willing to ignore the gay thing in favor of awesome chess skills, because god knows he has no friends at all and the computer chess games kill him with boredom, but he’s not exactly pride parade material. In fact, Alex thinks, a little heartened, the last time anything even remotely sounding like gay pride parade showed up on the news, Erik taught him a few valuable curse-words in German.
So… if he maybe managed to get Erik to cuss out someone for being gay in front of Mr. Xavier, then this whole embarrassing mess would be over.
Alex brightens and grins at his window. It makes sense. It totally does. He is out the door and halfway down the street before he can even come down from the heights of his own genius.
“Hank!” Alex hisses, throwing rocks at the window. He knows Hank is awake, because it’s not even midnight yet and the flickering light of the computer screen inside is painting the ceiling blue. “Bozo!”
Finally the window opens. “What?”
“Can I come in?”
“Can’t you use the doorbell, like a normal person?”
“Whatever. Can I come in?”
Hank rolls his eyes. “Fine.”
“Okay, this is going to sound crazy,” Alex says when they are in Hank’s room and the door is closed. “But how do you feel about making out with me?”
Hank turns beet red and stammers something stupid.
“It’s a legitimate question!”
“How is it a legitimate question?”
“How is it not?” Alex folds his arms. “Didn’t you have a crush on me?”
“It was in second grade! You can’t hold that over me forever.”
“Come on, it won’t be that bad.”
Hank slaps his hands over his face. He is red, his glasses are askew, and he is, altogether, adorable. “What the hell brought this on.”
Alex falters. This a little difficult to explain. “You know how my dad is kind of the unholy spawn of Jaws and Satan?”
Hank raises a brow, but nods. Alex breathes. Of all his friends Hank is the only one to understand the primeval evil that Erik represents. The rest of them think he is cool, like Dracula or something. They cower before him, but they think he’s cool. Morons.
“Well, I think Mr. Xavier has a crush on him.”
Hank flails, then pauses. “Wait, and that has to do with us making out, how?”
“Dad’s kinda homophobic. If I can get him to make a scene, maybe Xavier will stop having the crush, because it’s hard to have a crush on someone who thinks you’re sick. I think.”
Hank looks at him and his gaze is flat like Nicole Richie’s sunken chest. “You want me to make out with you in front of your homophobic, evil dad, in order for him to make a scene.”
Alex has to admit, it sounds bad. Scratch bad. It sounds suicidal.
“He’ll kill me! He’ll bury me in my own yard so that my mom can plant flowers there and walk our dog all over my dead body!”
“Don’t be a moron,” Alex protests weakly, though yeah, this is exactly what Erik would do. Then he’d become Hank’s mom’s best friend, so that he could drop in unannounced and admire his handiwork while she brought him coffee.
Hank is silent. “Okay, all evil aside, you gotta realize he’s not going to buy it. For one thing, you’re straight. Assuming you can act like you are into it, what makes you think he’ll believe you? He does have a sense of humor. He’ll assume it’s a prank.”
Alex didn’t plan that far. “It’s hard to argue with empirical evidence, right?”
“He’s a lawyer, he gets paid to know when people are lying to him.”
“He gets paid to lie on behalf of people.”
“No offense, but I’ve been to your house. If he gets paid enough to afford that, you are out of his league when it comes to lying.”
“He is the Big Bad Wolf. And Xavier is Red Riding Hood, skipping mindlessly into the forest with a basket of goodies on his arm and a bull’s eye on his back. He’s gonna get slaughtered and it will be our fault for letting it happen.”
“You might have an overactive imagination.”
“Yeah. Remember when I dated Cecilia?”
“I haven’t heard from her in a while.”
“That’s because Erik decided she was a bad influence. He ran her out of the house. I think her whole family moved to Michigan.”
Hank bites his lip, rubs his nose, dislodging his glasses in the process, and it’s oddly endearing. Alex looks away. Damn Hank.
“You know, it’s perfectly normal to have a crush on your teacher.”
“What?” Alex is certain his expression cannot be more stupid. “No! That’s totally not it!”
“Right.” Hank smiles and Alex really wants to hit him, so instead he leans forward. Their lips bump together, then their noses. Hank’s mouth opens a little in surprise and Alex gets an eyeful of glasses. He licks his lips, and by sheer accident of proximity Hank’s as well, and somehow after that they end up making out. It’s purely fucking coincidental.
It’s awesome.
“Uh,” Alex says, fifteen minutes later, when footsteps in the corridor make them spring apart. “Is this a bad time to say I might not be entirely straight?” It’s a reasonable assumption to make, what with the crazy awesome high he gets from digging his fingers into Hank’s back, so that he feels all of the very flat chest against his, and his thoughts happily board the southbound train with pompoms and rainbow flags.
“It’s going to help your crazy scheme.” Hank is flushed and panting a little.
“Fuck the scheme,” Alex says. The footsteps are gone and he sweeps in for another kiss.
“Wait. Seriously?” Hank sits up a little too quick and nearly breaks Alex’s nose with his forehead. “You know your dad is going to kill you. Probably.” Hank considers. “I mean, how do you even know he’s homophobic?”
“Mainly it was the very loud ‘fucking faggot’ tangent he went on when that one guy he knew from Law school propositioned him. That and. hello, he has sex with my mom, whenever she’s in town and single. Don’t ask me how I know, but yeah. You have seen my mom.”
“I hate to break it to you, but everyone has seen you mom. I think half the football team has her photo in their lockers.”
Right. Damn Playboy spreads. Alex sighs. “So are you in, or what?”
“Saving Mr. Xavier from your evil dad? Sure. Shouldn’t we tell Raven, though?”
“Are you crazy? She’s thrilled about the whole thing. She’s probably installing cameras all over Mr. Xavier’s house, for when Erik comes over.”
“Your dad is very attractive.” Hank looks contemplative for a moment and Alex wants to deck him.
“Like a forest fire. All hot and shining from a mile off, then you walk over and it’s bloody panic and the smell of burning woodland creatures. Except no, that’s not accurate, unless we were talking about a sentient fire that actively went after the squirrels and bit their fuzzy little heads off!”
“He’s your dad!” Hank says in a scandalized whisper.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know he’s evil.”
“I can’t help but feel you are overreacting. People aren’t evil like that. Not outside of Batman movies.”
“If this was a Batman movie, Erik would have the bat gutted and hanged by his intestine in ten minutes. Then it would be Erik, the criminal mastermind movie.”
“What does that make you, the knight in the shining armor?”
“Someone’s got to be,” Alex says decisively. It makes him feel a little better. Chivalry will not die if he has to CPR the post-modernism out of it, and he is all for being the hero. Heroism is cool.
“Besides, what if you are wrong? He might like Mr. Xavier. Everyone does. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to dislike Mr. Xavier. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Hank, don’t take this the wrong way, but your world view is that of a Disney Princess. Real people are mean fuckers, alright? And if the mean fuckers ever got around to having elections, Erik would be voted king, on the basis that he would have slaughtered the competition and left their corpses in the dumpster.”
Hank is giving him a look. Alex sighs and shuts down his mental faculties with another kiss. “Are you with me on this, or not?”
“I’m not saying I’ll risk my life to make out with you,” Hank says. “But okay, if you want to put me at risk of grievous bodily harm by pretending to date me, I’m in.”
Alex gives this a moment of thought. “We could try dating for real. I mean, what’s the harm, right?”
“Grievous bodily?”
“Besides that.”
“Since when are you at all interested in dating me?”
“Since half an hour ago. Do you want to, or not?”
“On the basis that you might not be straight? I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been propositioned before, and this makes the second least sensible proposition I had.”
“On the basis that you know how to fucking kiss, okay? I’ll make it worth your while, come on. Movies, dinners, you name it, you got it. I’ve a condom fund now.” Alex rocks back, so that he’s sitting on his haunches and stares. He has an inkling Hank’s crush isn’t fully gone, they’ve been friends for long enough that Alex just knows Hank’s got a soft spot for him. God knows it got him into enough trouble, over the years. Alex is not above using that now, because hey, at least they should try, right? “It’s not like we don’t get along, anyway. There’s no reason we can’t kill two birds with one shotgun.”
“One stone,” Hank says, folding his arms. “Fine. IMAX. The nature movies.”
“Fine! Tomorrow night?”
“I don’t even know if they are playing anything.”
“I’ll think of something else then.” Alex considers Hank and his dumb glasses and discovers that there might be worse things than going gay for Hank, who looks like the picture perfect of a Hollywood nerd. Alex finds he wants to smooch him stupid. It’s a thoroughly new experience. “You’re not half-bad looking, you know?”
“How did you ever get laid, I wonder?”
“Alcohol. Lots of it.”
“That smells suspiciously like consent issues.”
“What was the least sensible proposition?”
“What?”
“You said this was second least. What was the least?”
“Raven. She insisted we should get together because we both like the color blue and that a gay boyfriend is a good accessory for blue.”
“That makes no sense.”
“She was really drunk at the time.”
Alex snickers, because it sounds like Raven. He kisses Hank again, and it’s chaste this time, nothing but a peck. “I’m gonna be a gentleman and leave now. Bye.”
“Isn’t that a change of pace,” Hank says, but he is smiling.
Alex whistles all the way home.
*****
IMAX is playing a movie about sharks Friday night, which is possibly the very last thing Alex needs: to be staring down Erik’s five story high throat framed with razor sharp teeth in glorious 3D.
He allows the universe to make it up to him by playing tonsil hockey with Hank, who, unfortunately, watches the progression of the killings with rapt attention on his face. He’s probably making notes, Alex thinks and kind of wants to hit him.
It’s a damn good thing that the dinner went over well (they seem to share a passion for dissing baseball in no uncertain terms. They may also have compared reading lists and found them oddly compatible, but that Alex will deny when questioned -- Hank reads some stupid shit), because Hank needs a manual on dating. One written in block capitals.
On the screen a fuzzy coffee colored seal flops along the ice, turning its huge, guileless eyes every which way. Its fur is slick and pettable and Alex wants to hug it and run his fingers down its coat. It’s so cute it probably will break into song in five minutes and the song will be accompanied by a fuzzy sea-mice chorus.
Too bad there is a telltale fin circling the ice.
“That,” Alex whispers to Hank as he points at the hapless seal, “Is Mr. Xavier. Right now.”
The seal flops patiently along the edge and peers down into the inky Arctic waters. It looks apprehensive, and Alex can get behind that, because the sea looks cold as hell. Eventually it slips into the water and just as Alex starts gearing up for the musical number, the poor seal turns, panic blossoms in its eyes, and then its silky fur bursts into a bright red cloud. A shark emerges from the red mist, grinning at the IMAX audience, as it picks the seal from between its teeth, looking smug as holy hell.
“And this it my dad and Mr. Xavier. See what we’re up against?”
Hank smacks him. “Would it kill you to relax?”
“Would it kill you to be a realist for ten minutes?”
“Would it kill you both to shut up and go back to making out?”
Alex looks up at the glowering face of the patron in the row behind them.
“Seriously, fuck for all I care, just shut up.”
“Do you mind? We have to be heroic in a moment. We’re gearing up.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you fail, if it’s any consolation. But if you make the news, I will want an autograph and dibs on writing your biographies.”
Alex rolls his eyes and goes right back to watching the shark dine on the innocent floppy little seal. He’s relatively sure he spies its fuzzy face among the gore, still surprised that the shark ate it instead of hugging it and taking it home for dinner and candy.
He feels vindicated when they leave the theater. The universe has just taken time off to prove him right, and fuck if it didn’t feel amazing.
“I think you need therapy,” Hank says. “You might be a little over-invested.”
“I’m trying to save a man’s life here!”
“Mr. Lehnsherr wouldn’t murder him! I mean, not really.”
“Dude, there’s, like, hospitals dedicated to people who are worse off than dead.”
“Let’s be rational for ten minutes, what can your dad do to Mr. Xavier? It’s not like he can get him fired, he can’t blackmail him, because with Raven around it’s no great secret that Mr. Xavier is bisexual. He’s stupidly rich and connected, but he’s got no parents, so no way to make his life difficult by being a bother.”
“He could break his heart,” Alex says grimly. “Erik does that. He’s had a girlfriend a few years back. The breakup was nasty. She was crying, I’m pretty sure she even begged, and he didn’t even flinch, he just walked away smirking all the while.”
“You don’t sound too broken up about it.”
Alex shrugs. He wasn’t a fan of hers -- she was pleasant enough, he supposed, but there was the oily quality to her, like she tried too hard to be lovable. Good boobs, obviously. Erik appreciated that. She made the token effort to reach out to Alex as well, but they had soon agreed that a mutual pact of noninterference was in order. Erik seemed to like her, so Alex resolved to be quiet, even if she made his hackles rise. Fortunately, the whole affair only lasted a few months.
Hank sighs and falls silent. His hand just happens to bump Alex’s as they walk and it seems like a good idea to twine their fingers together. Hank’s got stupidly warm hands.
“Thanks. It was nice of you. I know you’re not crazy about nature documentaries,” Hank says as they walk.
Alex savors the compliment. It might be the first time ever anyone in his family was called nice. “Wasn’t bad, bozo. I mean, I do get it at home all the time, what with sharks and everything, but still.”
They are silent as they make their way back to Alex’s place.
“What are they playing next week?” Alex asks. It’s either that, or run down the street screaming “gay oppression!” and it’s no time for the show yet.
“Volcanoes.”
“Okay, that I want to see.”
Hank gives him a surprised look, which Alex thinks should offend him.
“What? I like volcanoes. Especially in 3D.”
“You’re a freak.”
“It’s genetic, baby!”
“Don’t call me baby.”
“We’re dating now, I’m allowed.”
“I’m going to call you snookooms in public.”
Alex nearly doubles over laughing. “Snookooms? What are you, twelve?”
Hank turns bright red. Alex is still snickering when they stand in front of his house. “Wanna come in?”
“That depends. Is your dad in?”
Judging by the lights in the living room, he is. If memory serves, he is having Mr. Xavier over tonight. “No, of course not,” Alex says and grins.
“You are a horrible liar.”
Alex laughs, louder than he probably should, but the laughter obscures the frantic beat of his heart. Stupid organ, really. One would think evolution would take them beyond the necessity of the fragile, fleshy little pump. One would think something more sophisticated and pneumatic would have been invented by now. “You’d think I was half decent, what with living with Erik all my life, but the man’s depressingly honest. It’s frustrating as fuck.” His dumb heart thunders so loud he can barely hear his own voice.
He would have run, if Hank wasn’t holding his hand. Instead he opens the door and walks inside, his new boyfriend in tow. Now it is show time.
“Dad,” he says when they walk in to the living room.
He feels like he is standing over the dark waters of a pool. He’s on a platform fifty feet in the air, staring down into the shark-infested waters. He’s teetering on the edge, right now.
“Alex,” Mr. Xavier says cheerfully. He was sitting across from Erik when they walked in, and now he half-turns in his chair and Alex catches the glimpse of the chess set between them. Mr. Xavier’s smile is open and bright, and Erik looks at him like he is lunch.
It’s the only push Alex needs.
“Dad, I’m dating Hank.” He forces his eyes to stay open.
Erik barely looks up. “Good job, kid, have a cookie.”
Alex reels just as Mr. Xavier picks up a plate and extends it in his direction. “Congratulations, both of you. I made these. I could do with a little more practice, but they aren’t half bad.”
The clue train has left the station and Alex stares after it, uncertain whether he should chase it. Something is amiss. To start with, he just used the word “amiss” in a non-ironic context.
“I’m dating Hank,” he repeats stupidly. “For real.”
Erik looks to Hank, then back at Alex. “He’s really dating you?”
Hank has the presence of mind to keep breathing, but that’s as far as it goes. “I. Um. Yes?”
“I, um, yes? Hank, I do hope you’ve been doing your homework, because acting career is out of question.”
“No, I mean, we really are. We went out tonight.”
“Obviously.”
“On a date,” Hank clarifies and stares at Alex miserably.
“I haven’t been so touched since the last episode of My Little Pony,” Erik says and moves his only remaining rook five spaces forward. “Next time try to come up with something remotely plausible.”
Alex is, unexpectedly, angry. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“You expect me to believe the nerd would date you?” Erik looks at Hank. “Honestly? With the kind of porn you can hack on the internet you’d go to the movies with Mr. Vanilla Is A Legitimate Kink?”
“Yeah, keep deflecting, Dad.”
Erik pauses with his hand on the bishop he’d just taken off the board. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh dear,” Charles says and gets up. “Hank, I’ll walk you home, shall I? This has the air of a long argument.”
“Stay right there!” Alex yells, before his lone, prized brain cells wakes up.
Hank looks between Erik’s scowl and Alex, and sensibly picks the less painful death. “Sorry, Alex,” he says. “Call me later?”
“Count on it,” Alex growls into Erik’s face, even as Hank follows Mr. Xavier out the door. “I’m dating him.”
“Have the goddamn cookie and sit down.” Erik shoves him and drops the plate onto Alex’s lap. “Now, what the fuck brought this on?”
“What, Hank? Dunno, he’s kinda cute and he used to have a crush on me.”
“You’re the designated dreamboat at school, who doesn’t have a crush on you?”
“Raven, for one.”
“Why the hell aren’t you dating Angel? You spent most of the summer last year photographing her chest.”
Alex scowls. “Fuck you! I’m dating Hank, because I want to date Hank, why is this such a problem for you!”
“Because the kid’s a shy nerd, that’s why, and you barely have two braincells to rub together when it comes to people. You think it’s amusing now, but then you’ll stop trying to prove whatever it is you’re trying to prove and Hank will get hurt.”
“Oh, so now you’re trying to spare people the hurt, that’s rich.”
Erik sits down. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Is this about Raven?”
“Is what about Raven?”
“Are you doing this for her? She and Hank are close, I see how that might help. If perhaps I disengage my brain and let the hormones and teen comedies do the thinking for me, obviously.”
“No! Jesus, why is it so hard to believe I might want to be with a guy, for real?”
“Well, it would go against your career so far. I suppose it’s not wholly unbelievable.” Erik awards him a long, pointed look, the kind that goes right through the token argument and strikes jackpot fifty stories below. Alex squirms in his seat. Fuck. “But it’s not about Hank, either.”
“I need a drink,” Alex says after a minute, during which Erik flays most of his brain’s inner lining with his gaze. “Do I need the third degree right now?”
“You’ve been acting like a bitch for the past few months. I’ve chalked it up to the gay panic, but that’s excessive even for you.”
“What gay panic?”
“The one you had when you came home screaming Charles was gay and spending time in our house, and therefore the whole world would think you were also gay by association. Which was very mature of you, by the way.”
Alex tilts his head. “What?”
“Kudos for trying to get over it, but again, Hank is not the right person for experimentation.”
Alex wills his face to lose the lobster-red color. God, this is familiar. This is The Talk all over again. Without the power point, which is a small mercy, but Erik is grinning, which means he has the very same thought and he is going to milk the cow for all it, and the farm it came from, is worth.
Good-bye, dignity.
“We’re not experimenting!”
“I would hope so, I took the parental control off the internet two years ago. I expect you know more than the basic biological facts by now.”
“You disabled it?”
“It was never on to begin with.” Erik grins. “But it’s good to know my rules still get some respect around here.”
“Yeah, screw you.”
“Do I need to start yelling?” Erik folds his hands and props his chin on them. “I will. Unless you quit the bullshit and tell me what the fuck is your problem, right now.”
“You have to stop seeing Mr. Xavier,” Alex says finally. It comes out a little desperate.
Erik sighs. “Fuck. Not that again. Look, I thought you were getting over this?”
“Over what?”
“Over the perceived threat to your masculinity. Trust me, it’s dead. I’m sure you feel the need to defend it, but you are standing over smoking ruins. Let it go.”
“It’s not about me!”
“Isn’t that what mutilating Hank’s heart and soul is about? You getting over the homophobic jock stage? If you’re so dead set on fucking a guy, there’s no end to people you can get into your bed, I’m sure you’re aware. Charles tells me half the football team is either gay or so horny they won’t care. I didn’t think he included you in that half, but there you go. He claims to have a spectacular gaydar. I’m inclined to believe him.”
Alex is relatively sure he manages to string together a respective amount of syllables and construct a sophisticated, concise question. He feels cheated when Erik raises a brow and says, “English, Alex, please.”
“I’m…” Alex closes his mouth and shakes his head. “It’s not about me.”
“Who is it about, then?”
“You! You and Mr. Xavier and god! Erik, for the love of fluffy kittens. Leave the poor man alone!”
“Subject change, fair enough. I’m tired of talking about your dick anyway. So, Charles.” Erik makes himself comfortable. “What, exactly, is your problem with Charles? Because the last argument you used against his presence in these parts just lost all credibility, I hope you realize this much.”
“My problem is that you are an evil son of a bitch and Mr. Xavier deserves better than to be ripped apart by you. He’s really nice, okay? He thinks everybody is really nice! Raven says he likes you, so he probably thinks that you are nice, and there’s a world of wrongness right there. You are not nice! I’m still unconvinced you’re human, you’re so evil sometimes. Mr. Xavier is just… this fluffy little kitten and you are going to stomp over him and it will be far worse than anything I will ever do to Hank, which I won’t, but you will. There.” Alex takes a cookie and bites. It’s still warm in the middle, and the chocolate chips are the gooey definition of perfection. “These are really awesome.”
Erik is watching him and his mouth is open. Alex reaches out and shoves a cookie between his dad’s teeth, because no matter how sharky the mouth, it looks instantly better with a cookie in it.
“Did Mr. Xavier really make these?” he asks, when Erik fails to utter a word, and there is a hint of desperation in his voice, despite his best efforts.
“Alex,” Erik says at long last, pulling the most spot on impression of wounded Bambi eyes Alex has had the pleasure of seeing on a human being. It skewers his world view, just a little. This is his evil shark of a dad. “Did you just try to make me go apeshit on you to scare off Charles, whose company I genuinely enjoy, because you were worried about him?”
Alright, that sounded a little bad. A little. A tiny, insignificant, “dear lord, he will gut me,” bit.
Erik’s eyes close. “I see. I think you need to go.”
“What? Where?”
“Anywhere, really. To Hank, or if you fail to not get caught there, go to Armando. Just get out of the house tonight, will you?”
“Why?”
“Because I have sacrifices to make and I’m out of goats. Out.”
It might be a little belated, but Alex has the feeling he might have just done something quite wrong. “Dad… Are you mad?”
“A little disappointed, that’s all.” Erik stares off into space. He doesn’t say anything else.
Alex walks out of the house, reeling. He doesn’t make it to Hank’s house until well over an hour later, even though it’s only a few streets away.
*****
INTERLUDE
Erik doesn’t think long after Alex walks out before he picks up the phone. To his credit, Charles picks up after the second ring. “It didn’t go too well, did it? I just saw Alex rushing out of the house.”
“Have you heard the argument?”
“I’m not a stalker. I’m on the corner.”
Erik smirks into the phone. “Come on in. Whiskey?”
“Please.”
Charles lets himself in when Erik is in the kitchen. He hears the lock around the rattling of the ice cubes.
“How bad was it?” Charles asks.
Erik shrugs. He turns off the light and hands Charles the tumbler. As an afterthought he leans in and presses their lips together. “Let’s have sex,” he says. His voice is low, but Charles hears, because Erik can see his pupils dilate.
“So it went well,” Charles says when they walk up the stairs to Erik’s bedroom.
“I might have to turn in my father card, it seems. Oh, and before you feel too good about yourself, I’m having your mind reader card revoked, too.”
“I take it Alex is not violently opposed to us.”
“Oh, he is. He has told me so, in no uncertain terms.”
“Oh dear,” Charles says and his mouth is curling into a smile. Erik holds the bedroom door open and gestures inside.
“After you.”
“Erik.” Charles sounds uncertain for a moment. Erik shakes his head, takes the tumbler out of his hands and sets it on the dresser. He cradles Charles’ face in his hands and kisses him deeply. It’s exhilarating. The fact that it happens in his own bedroom somehow adds to the appeal.
“Why the hell did we even wait this long?” he murmurs into Charles’ parted lips. His tongue darts out to brush against Charles’ teeth, just as he starts talking.
“Because your son had a colossal problem with accepting you having homosexual leanings? Which I’m still in the dark about.”
“Ah, that. Alex believes I’m evil.”
“Excuse me?” Charles blinks, a fact obvious to Erik by the fluttering of eyelashes against his cheek.
“It is adorable, but he seems to think he’s witnessing some sort of a Little Red Riding Hood scenario, with you skipping happily to your doom. I should be proud he felt the need to rescue you from the Big Bad Wolf.” Erik adds a thoughtful growl, which is entirely lost on Charles.
“He was serious,” he says. His mouth is hanging open. “He was serious!”
“Oh?”
“He came to talk to me a while back. Warned me to stay away from you. Used those exact words. ‘Erik is evil, Mr. Xavier, evil like Megan Fox.’”
Erik laughs and kisses Charles again and again, until he stops talking and Erik’s shoulders are shaking in mirth. “Outwitted by a football player.”
“This is a first for me, too,” Charles admits and his hands are splayed comfortingly on Erik’s back. “I may have overdone the innocent act.”
“You don’t say.” Erik maneuvers them towards the bed, until he is sitting down and Charles is on his hands and knees above him. Their lips never part, because Erik is certain he would stop breathing if they did. God, he’d waited so long for this, for Alex to get his head out of his ass, and now it turns out he needn’t have--
That is when his mobile goes off, vibrating in his pocket like an angry bee, while the valkyries thunder through the first beats of Wagner.
“Fuck,” Erik says. Charles sits back and cocks his head in a silent question. “It’s Emma. She won’t stop calling even if I switch it off.”
Charles bites his lip, but he is smiling. Even in the shadows his face appears flushed and Erik has to fight to keep his voice even and businesslike.
“This is not a good time,” he says into the receiver.
Charles hums and inches closer.
“Sweetheart, never is a good time for you. I just got off the phone with Alex, who is weeping with distress. Apparently, he broke your paternal heart.”
“Emma. Now is not a good time,” Erik says again, painfully aware that Charles is stretched out over him and nipping on his neck, that his lips are moist and his teeth are sharp.
“When else, then?” she says. She sounds concerned for a moment there, but Erik can’t concentrate on her voice.
Charles’ hands are underneath the hem of Erik’s turtleneck and he’s pulling it up, inch by inch, as his fingers crawl up Erik’s torso. Emma’s diatribe is getting less and less interesting, even if she is summarizing a very emotional call from Alex. Erik hums thoughtfully in all the right places, but mostly he tries to keep his balance, because he is sitting on a flexible bed with one hand at his own ear, the other rubbing circles into Charles’ naked back, and his turtleneck is slowly, but surely inching up towards his head.
“So, are you okay, Erik?” Emma asks when Charles pushes the turtleneck over his head and bends to lick his collarbone.
“Am I okay? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“That’s what I told Alex, but you know teens, so dramatic. Everything is the end of the world.”
“Most things are the end of the world at that age,” Erik says wryly. He has only a handful of life-changing memories, and among those the most vivid is Emma, telling him she was pregnant, and Emma again, dropping a screaming infant into his lap. Neither proved particularly world-ending and, oddly enough, showing up to an oral exam with a toddler got him extra points for effort.
“So how is your world, still stable?”
“Emma, you are an epic cockblock. I trust you are aware of this?”
“Oh? Do you have a lady friend with you? Put me through, if you will.”
Erik catches Charles’ eye. “Sure,” he finds himself saying and turns the speaker on.
“Hello, there,” Emma says and she sounds gleeful. It’s not hard to guess why -- the pre-coital phone calls occurred with depressing frequency, but this was the first time she was getting her way. “Moira, is it? I understand this is somewhat unorthodox, but I wanted to impress upon you the sheer amount of pain I will put you through if this goes wrong. Erik seems scary, but he is a gentleman at heart, but me…”
“It’s Charles, actually. As for the warning, I am aware of the risks, thank you.”
There is a brief silence. “My, my, Erik. You have been holding out on me.”
“I try.”
“This is why we need sex-ed in school. You would have figured out you were queer before I grew to the size of a walrus and I wouldn’t have needed to spend the following year wearing burlap sacks.”
“The joys of motherhood are lost on you, aren’t they?”
“Erik, dear. I fed and breathed for the little brat for nine months. If that doesn’t prove I have maternal feelings, I don’t know what does.”
Charles is hiding a smile, but it is so bright and wide Erik would see it through a concrete wall. “Are we done here?”
“Leave the speaker on and take your time. I’m footing the bill.”
“It might be more sensible to do it over Skype, then.” Charles’ thigh is between Erik’s now. His mouth is brushing Erik’s chest, leaving narrow wet stripes where the tongue darted from between his teeth. “Less expenses. More visuals. Though there is something to be said for aural stimulation, I’ll give you that. Erik sounds really good.”
Erik can picture Emma’s face, flawless, exquisite in silent laughter. “I look forward to meeting you, Charles. I shall leave you boys to your fun, I have a child to console.”
“Likewise, Emma. It’s been a pleasure.”
Emma hangs up without another word and Charles laughs into Erik’s shoulder. “I can safely say this marks the first time I held a conversation with someone’s ex while actively trying to score with them.”
“Emma isn’t an ex, exactly.”
Charles makes a consonant-rich noise into Erik’s neck. “You have the most interesting family. You, according to Alex, are capable of having building machines do murder on your behalf, Emma sounds like the Snow Queen over the phone and you assure me she is frostier in person, while your son fancies himself as a knight in a shining armor.” He kisses Erik thoroughly. “On second thought, I wonder how could I have possibly missed that.”
“You were busy trying to get into my pants.”
“True.” There is a gentle pressure on the waistband of Erik’s jeans. He recognizes fingertips. Charles is watching him, and with every blink of Erik’s eyes his head is lower and lower, until his mouth is resting against Erik’s abdomen. “So, Erik. Do I get into your pants, or should I allow Alex to rescue me?”
“How precious, I’m being wooed.”
“A new experience?”
“Rather.” Erik grins and then groans, because Charles doesn’t continue with the line of enquiry, but sits up and starts undoing the buttons of his own shirt.
“Patience, my dear.”
“It’s a virtue I am short on.”
Fortunately, as it turns out, so is Charles. He folds the shirt in half, throws it onto the chair, and then he is on Erik, kissing him with a ferocity that his usual professorly ensemble does a great job of concealing. His mouth is hot and full of promises, which, Erik is certain, are outlawed in at least seventeen different states, but there’s weight behind each kiss and fire, one that burns its way through Erik’s system.
Granted, the lack of adipose in the breast area is a little disappointing, but the disappointment melts in the fire, anyway, so when Erik rolls them over and feels the entirety of Charles’ front against his, feels the cool air on his naked back, he forgets everything but what’s in front of him. Then it turns out Charles can undo buttons on two separate waistbands with one hand, while most of his attention is elsewhere. Erik finds the turn of events delightful.
The orgasm is small fry in comparison.
“My Little Pony,” Charles tells the ceiling. Erik looks up, but his gaze quickly drifts back down, because the edge of his duvet is far more engrossing. It cuts a smooth line across Charles’ torso, starting just below his left nipple and plunging to his right hip, where the material folds in on itself and hugs Erik around the stomach. “Interesting.”
“It’s brightly colored twinkie crack,” Erik says. “I have no regrets.”
“Skittles are brightly colored crack.”
“Ponies are talking Skittles.”
“So they are more M&Ms then.”
“Except M&Ms have yet to discover purple sparkles.”
“Ah.” Charles folds an arm under his head. “I can see why Alex is so worried you might spend time with someone. My Little Pony, dear lord. No wonder the poor boy believes you’re evil.”
“I’m not ashamed.”
Charles raises a brow. Erik knows a challenge when he sees one. He reaches under the bed for his laptop and scoots up against the pillows, so that he can prop it in his lap.
Charles watches him and he is seconds away from breaking into hysterical laughter, when Erik double clicks “my computer,” goes through “my videos” to a folder labeled “mlpfim.”
“This smells suspiciously like blackmail material. Alex never found these?”
“Couldn’t guess my password.”
“I bet I could.”
Erik looks down to find Charles’ bright blue eyes fixed on him. He smiles. “Yes. You probably could.”
“Do I get a hint?”
“Eight characters. Letters and numbers.”
Charles snorts, but the snort is muffled by the skin of Erik’s shoulder, so it becomes a kiss instead. “AL, oh three, oh eight, ninety-four. A variation thereof.”
“I forgot you have access to his records.”
“I have a good memory for dates.” Charles’ fingers trail down Erik’s arm. “It’s sweet.”
“Don’t tell Alex, he’d die of shock.”
“He might.” Charles lifts the duvet and sidles closer until they are pressed against one another, skin to skin, just as the screen flares and Twilight Sparkle starts narrating. “Oh my god,” Charles says and giggles. “She’s called Twilight Sparkle!”
“I can’t see how Charles Xavier is any better.”
Twilight prances across the screen and Charles is crying with laughter against Erik’s shoulder, while his hand is sneaking beneath the covers and under the laptop, warm and thoroughly distracting.
“Charles,” Erik says a few minutes later, when his diaphragm gets excited and starts making uncontrollable rocking motions, interrupting his comfortable breathing patterns.
“Hush, darling. The ponies are talking.” There’s a crease between Charles’ brows and his mouth is curled around a smile so filthy that a bottle of bleach and an hour of scrubbing would only scratch its surface.
Erik sighs, grins and tries to relax. “Watch,” he says.
“Kinky pony torture? On our very first night? I had no idea we were this far gone.”
“I do believe you have been warned.”
“Not about this level of depravation. Are you going to eat my liver next? I thought I saw a bottle of Chianti in the kitchen.” Charles presses a thoughtful kiss to Erik’s collarbone. “Oh, this is adorable. I just might die of diabetes before the episode is over.”
“I’ll blow you if you manage to last until the end of the story.”
“When you put it like this, it’s worth the inevitable insulin shots.”
Charles manages just barely. Erik makes good on his promise. They fall asleep still breathless with laughter.
*****
The house is quiet in the early morning. Alex yawns and pushes the gate open with one hand, while trying to swallow the other. Stupid Hank and his goddamned morals. Wouldn’t even put out, the bastard. Alex growls at the poodle, which wanders to his leg, until it gets the picture and leaves him the hell alone.
Mrs. Lambert sniffs at him. He grins. Erik’s genes come through for him, or once, because she is pale and shaking when she turns and flees.
Alex snorts. That’s what she gets for messing with them.
He opens the door and slips inside. The door to his room looks dark, remote and inviting, but it is nearly six, he’s dying for food and it’s not like he will be able to sleep, anyway. Not until he talks to Erik.
The kitchen is bright and, surprisingly, smells like coffee and pancakes.
“Alex, good morning!”
Alex retains his teeth through the miracle of the fridge door alone. He grasps the handle and doesn’t hit the table with his face, though it is close. “Mr. Xavier,” he says. “What?”
“How do you feel about blueberry pancakes? I’m afraid that was the only fruit I found in your fridge. I could still try to make plain ones, if you wish.”
“Blueberry is good.” Alex stares, but it is too damn early to process the attitude. He’s relatively sure their walls aren’t made of happy pills, because if they are he has wasted a good portion of his teenaged life on needless angst.
“Wonderful. Coffee?”
Alex nods, mutely, and the shiny bundle of unabashed happiness flitters about their kitchen, fixes a cup and sets it before him. Then, unexpectedly, the shiny bundle of unabashed happiness is in his face, no longer shiny, but glaring, no longer unabashed, but brazen. The glare is narrowed to twin pinpoints of blue, which bore into Alex’s skull with the efficiency of a death metal concert.
“Uh,” Alex says.
“Erik was quite upset,” says the creature wearing Mr. Xavier for a body suit. Alex knows this must be true, because it doesn’t sound happy. Or cheerful. It doesn’t sound like Mr. Xavier at all. “Alex, my dear, I am awfully fond of you, but please refrain from hurting Erik’s feelings in the future. Because then I might be forced to do unpleasant things to your person. Unpleasant and gruesome. Believe me, I know how.”
Alex’s hands are shaking and the entirety of the Sahara desert has migrated into his mouth for the express purpose of making nervous swallowing a torture. Mr. Xavier is still watching him from less than a foot away, and Alex’s eyes try to roll back into his head, and as they do he notices the cuff of the shirt around Mr. Xavier’s wrist, which is resting on the table. A cranberry juice stain smiles at him, pale after so many washings, but unmistakably there.
“That’s dad’s shirt,” he manages through the shock. It’s Erik’s favorite shirt, the one he wears only on lazy Sunday mornings, when he can doze in a sunbeam like a giant, lazy cat.
Mr. Xavier blinks and the radiance of pure joy is back. “Ah, yes, I’m told it’s customary.”
“For a certain given value of custom, yes.”
Alex doesn’t dare to look away from Mr. Xavier, for fear that he will miss the alien sprouting out of his chest, but he notices the fleshy shape reflected in the fridge door. Erik, thank god.
“Were you just threatening my son?” he asks, dropping a hand into Alex’s hair.
Mr. Xavier turns, another cup of coffee in hand. “Yes.”
“Put the fear of god into him?”
“I tried for fear of Charles, but I would hope so.”
“Excellent.” Erik takes the coffee and, as though to cement his position as the Antichrist and All That Is Wrong With The Universe, twists his fingers in the shirt’s front and ruins the last of Alex’s innocence by shoving his tongue down Mr. Xavier’s mouth.
“I’m going to be sick,” Alex announces. “Right now.”
“Be sure to disinfect the table later,” Erik tells him. He’s grinning. So is Mr. Xavier.
“I died, didn’t I? I was hit by a bus on my way home. This is hell.”
“So fatalistic. Your first thought should be that you are sleeping.” Mr. Xavier leans over the table and stirs a spoonful of honey into Alex’s coffee. “It’s appalling that you have no tea in the house.”
“Get your own,” Erik says and sticks a finger into the bowl of batter.
Mr. Xavier smacks it away. “Wait your turn. Alex was here first.”
“Don’t I get privileges?” Erik fucking pouts around the finger in his mouth. Alex resists the urge to throw his cup to the floor and run screaming.
“All in due time,” Mr. Xavier says mildly and smiles. It’s a wicked smile, all teeth and tongue and eyebrows knitting in the middle, shadowing the gleaming irises.
Alex’s forehead hits the table just as his eyes try to crawl out of his sockets and commit ritual suicide. No one notices. No one cares. The world has gone insane. He is stuck in the Twilight Zone, forever.
THE END.
Rating: 14
Genre: fun
Pairings: Erik/Charles, Alex/Hank
Wordcount: 19k
Warnings: creative use of homophobia, crazy teenage logic
Summary: Alex chalks up his grudging love for his dad to Stockholm Syndrome. He’s not going to stand idly by while Erik harvests Mr. Xavier’s innocent soul, however. Human AU.
Author’s Note: continuation of Playing Havoc.
Damn you, kink meme! Damn you to hell!
Betaed by
yami_tai and imprint_of_doe. <3Alex is not really good at subterfuge, and by not good he of course means he doesn’t know what subterfuge even means. Things worth doing need doing in broad daylight, possibly also at the top of one’s voice. This logic drives him to Mr. Xavier’s classroom after the period is over.
“Hey, Professor, can I have a word, please? It’s uh. Personal.”
“Certainly.” Mr. Xavier smiles, looking up from his pile of notes. “Can I help you?”
“You need to stop seeing my dad,” Alex says before he sits, or rather collapses into a chair opposite.
Mr. Xavier looks surprised. He blinks and folds his hands across the papers. “Please elaborate.”
Alex growls in frustration and starts messing up his hair. “Just, you know. I don’t think it’s a good idea, for you two to be friends. Or anything.” His voice hitches on the final part and, god, it sounds like the clumsiest sex reference he has ever uttered and he’s the guy to whom the “snorkeling for cookies” quote is attributed.
Mr. Xavier blushes. It’s so adorable Alex wants to puke. “I see you have been talking to Raven.”
Alex turns red. “Look, it’s not-”
“I promise you, your father’s virtue is quite safe.” He looks disappointed and a little scared and Alex has just kicked his way out of a truckload of puppies, because Mr. Xavier is looking at him with those innocent blue eyes that seem completely unreal.
Alex feels like crap. “That’s not! I. Uh. Look, I don’t care, okay? No problem. Really. I’m all for people sleeping with my dad, he needs more targets, hell, he needs the endorphins. I need blackmail material, if nothing else.” This is bloody embarrassing, but at least Mr. Xavier is smiling again.
“Well, if you are not worried I would despoil him…”
“I’m more worried about what he’s going to do to you,” Alex mutters before he can stop himself.
Mr. Xavier looks confused, so Alex braces himself and says, as clearly as he can, “My dad is evil.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Alex leans forward. “He is evil. Actually evil. Evil like Megan Fox. Possibly worse.”
“More evil than Megan Fox?”
“Or worse.” Alex tries to impress the meaning by the sheer force of his glare. It seems to work for a moment, then Mr. Xavier just looks amused.
“I’m certain he seems that way.”
“He’s not looking like a demon out of hell for nothing. Ten times out of ten if a guy looks like he might bite vital organs out of your body cavity, chances are it’s not a coincidence, even if he sparkles in the sun! He’s not vegetarian, either.”
Mr. Xavier winces at that. “I will respect your literary choices, but please, if you must compare me to a flustered teenager, can it at least be a boy? Regardless of Raven’s tales, which I really will have words with her about, I don’t think I can be compared to a smitten adolescent girl.”
“It’s got werewolves in it, s’all. Werewolves are cool,” Alex mutters. “Anyway.”
“Anyway?”
“Erik is evil. Please, please don’t see him again. He probably eats babies when I’m not looking. I have yet to find any tiny skeletons, but I haven’t been looking, exactly, because I don’t want to know, because then I might have to testify against him and he is my dad and then I might have to live with my mom, who is even worse.”
“Your concern is touching. However believe me when I say I can take care of myself.”
“Have you ever been attacked by a flock of rabid bulldozers who want to rip you to shreds and then kill you and hang your corpse in the back of their closets?”
“I think you may mean bulldogs.”
“I know what I said.”
“Then no, I confess, I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Dad did that to a guy once. I mean, the guy did hit me, so I guess he had it coming, but it was bad. For the guy.”
“Really?”
“Erik is fucking evil!” Alex slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that.”
“I hope not.” Mr. Xavier is still looking at him and Alex, despite everything, fidgets. “Unfortunately, I can’t make the promise I won’t see your father again. We are adults and we enjoy each other’s company.” He raises his hand just as Alex tries to speak. “And believe me, this is a purely intellectual matter. We are both well-read, educated and whatever differences there are in our world views, I’m sure you understand that a healthy argument can be more satisfying than being in complete agreement.”
“You do know what Erik does for a living, right?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
“He’s a corporate lawyer and he’s earning buckets of cash, which means he’s got no human feelings whatsoever. He’s what sharks would be if they could breathe oxygen and had hair.”
“Am I that colossal a failure as a teacher?”
“What?”
“Alex, I understand it was quite a while ago, but fish do breathe oxygen.”
“That’s not the point!”
“All right. Your point is, your father is evil, because of the job he does successfully, is that it?”
“No, my point is that he is evil and that’s the reason he’s as good as he is at his job. The only reason I’m convinced he isn’t a serial killer is that he doesn’t like doing the laundry and I would have noticed the bloodstains.”
“Forgive me, but Erik is a very intelligent man. I’m sure if that was his secondary career, he would be smart enough to use the laundromat and not bring his washing home.”
“He never carries change. Says the jiggling bothers him.”
“I presume spare change can be easily donated, or even fed into a vending machine.”
“So you agree he could be a serial killer.”
“If the only piece of evidence against the theory you have is that he doesn’t like laundry, then yes, he very well could be.”
Sadly, that made sense.
“And you still want to see him?”
“I’m sure you’d agree that serial killers have some fascinating stories to tell.”
Mr. Xavier looks at him with a bright smile and Alex feels around his pocket for a needle filled of anesthetic. He’s disappointed when his hand comes up empty. It would be grand if he could jab Mr. Xavier with it, pack him in a crate filled with wool, ship him over to some tiny peaceful Asian country, so that he could live the rest of his life with a tea cosy on his head, surrounded by little woolly sheep who’d go baa and shit rainbows.
“I’m pretty sure that when he was in high school every single father pointed him out to his daughter and said, ‘that dude is bad news’. I know my grandfather did. My mom didn’t listen, and bam, nine months later she had me. Not that I’m bad, or anything, but Erik says I was a screamer and she says I ruined her best bikini season.”
Mr. Xavier smiles. “Well then. You can consider me warned. Let’s agree that whatever misfortune your father brings on my head will be my fault.”
Alex considers revisiting his infancy and screaming, because no, it will not be his fault, and anyway the fault isn’t the point! The point is to stop anything from happening altogether.
It seems, however, that convincing Mr. Xavier that someone on god’s green earth is not a decent human being, deep down, might just be on the wrong side of the possible line.
“I just don’t want him to hurt you,” he mutters as he gathers his things and gets up. “Please be careful?”
“Thank you, Alex. I will keep that in mind.”
Alex cuts classes that day and spends the afternoon wandering around town. He has a serious moral obligation here, and moral obligations are fucking important. He can live without English lit for an afternoon. Hank is going to be there and he takes notes like a machine. Alex can always claim he was ill. It’s an emergency, after all. Dad would agree. Eventually.
The problem with solving the issue is, he’s not Erik. He’s not Emma. He’s smart, sure, but he’s a football player. Not even a quarterback at that.
“It’s fucked up,” he tells the sky above the grassy hill. Hollywood’s life lessons fail him, yet again, as no light bulb comes to life over his head.
He returns home in a foul mood. Fortunately, Erik is up for a trip to the gym, where they spend the evening knocking the crap out of each other in the boxing ring. Alex is too exhausted to think when they get back home.
Then he has a thought. So Erik may be willing to ignore the gay thing in favor of awesome chess skills, because god knows he has no friends at all and the computer chess games kill him with boredom, but he’s not exactly pride parade material. In fact, Alex thinks, a little heartened, the last time anything even remotely sounding like gay pride parade showed up on the news, Erik taught him a few valuable curse-words in German.
So… if he maybe managed to get Erik to cuss out someone for being gay in front of Mr. Xavier, then this whole embarrassing mess would be over.
Alex brightens and grins at his window. It makes sense. It totally does. He is out the door and halfway down the street before he can even come down from the heights of his own genius.
“Hank!” Alex hisses, throwing rocks at the window. He knows Hank is awake, because it’s not even midnight yet and the flickering light of the computer screen inside is painting the ceiling blue. “Bozo!”
Finally the window opens. “What?”
“Can I come in?”
“Can’t you use the doorbell, like a normal person?”
“Whatever. Can I come in?”
Hank rolls his eyes. “Fine.”
“Okay, this is going to sound crazy,” Alex says when they are in Hank’s room and the door is closed. “But how do you feel about making out with me?”
Hank turns beet red and stammers something stupid.
“It’s a legitimate question!”
“How is it a legitimate question?”
“How is it not?” Alex folds his arms. “Didn’t you have a crush on me?”
“It was in second grade! You can’t hold that over me forever.”
“Come on, it won’t be that bad.”
Hank slaps his hands over his face. He is red, his glasses are askew, and he is, altogether, adorable. “What the hell brought this on.”
Alex falters. This a little difficult to explain. “You know how my dad is kind of the unholy spawn of Jaws and Satan?”
Hank raises a brow, but nods. Alex breathes. Of all his friends Hank is the only one to understand the primeval evil that Erik represents. The rest of them think he is cool, like Dracula or something. They cower before him, but they think he’s cool. Morons.
“Well, I think Mr. Xavier has a crush on him.”
Hank flails, then pauses. “Wait, and that has to do with us making out, how?”
“Dad’s kinda homophobic. If I can get him to make a scene, maybe Xavier will stop having the crush, because it’s hard to have a crush on someone who thinks you’re sick. I think.”
Hank looks at him and his gaze is flat like Nicole Richie’s sunken chest. “You want me to make out with you in front of your homophobic, evil dad, in order for him to make a scene.”
Alex has to admit, it sounds bad. Scratch bad. It sounds suicidal.
“He’ll kill me! He’ll bury me in my own yard so that my mom can plant flowers there and walk our dog all over my dead body!”
“Don’t be a moron,” Alex protests weakly, though yeah, this is exactly what Erik would do. Then he’d become Hank’s mom’s best friend, so that he could drop in unannounced and admire his handiwork while she brought him coffee.
Hank is silent. “Okay, all evil aside, you gotta realize he’s not going to buy it. For one thing, you’re straight. Assuming you can act like you are into it, what makes you think he’ll believe you? He does have a sense of humor. He’ll assume it’s a prank.”
Alex didn’t plan that far. “It’s hard to argue with empirical evidence, right?”
“He’s a lawyer, he gets paid to know when people are lying to him.”
“He gets paid to lie on behalf of people.”
“No offense, but I’ve been to your house. If he gets paid enough to afford that, you are out of his league when it comes to lying.”
“He is the Big Bad Wolf. And Xavier is Red Riding Hood, skipping mindlessly into the forest with a basket of goodies on his arm and a bull’s eye on his back. He’s gonna get slaughtered and it will be our fault for letting it happen.”
“You might have an overactive imagination.”
“Yeah. Remember when I dated Cecilia?”
“I haven’t heard from her in a while.”
“That’s because Erik decided she was a bad influence. He ran her out of the house. I think her whole family moved to Michigan.”
Hank bites his lip, rubs his nose, dislodging his glasses in the process, and it’s oddly endearing. Alex looks away. Damn Hank.
“You know, it’s perfectly normal to have a crush on your teacher.”
“What?” Alex is certain his expression cannot be more stupid. “No! That’s totally not it!”
“Right.” Hank smiles and Alex really wants to hit him, so instead he leans forward. Their lips bump together, then their noses. Hank’s mouth opens a little in surprise and Alex gets an eyeful of glasses. He licks his lips, and by sheer accident of proximity Hank’s as well, and somehow after that they end up making out. It’s purely fucking coincidental.
It’s awesome.
“Uh,” Alex says, fifteen minutes later, when footsteps in the corridor make them spring apart. “Is this a bad time to say I might not be entirely straight?” It’s a reasonable assumption to make, what with the crazy awesome high he gets from digging his fingers into Hank’s back, so that he feels all of the very flat chest against his, and his thoughts happily board the southbound train with pompoms and rainbow flags.
“It’s going to help your crazy scheme.” Hank is flushed and panting a little.
“Fuck the scheme,” Alex says. The footsteps are gone and he sweeps in for another kiss.
“Wait. Seriously?” Hank sits up a little too quick and nearly breaks Alex’s nose with his forehead. “You know your dad is going to kill you. Probably.” Hank considers. “I mean, how do you even know he’s homophobic?”
“Mainly it was the very loud ‘fucking faggot’ tangent he went on when that one guy he knew from Law school propositioned him. That and. hello, he has sex with my mom, whenever she’s in town and single. Don’t ask me how I know, but yeah. You have seen my mom.”
“I hate to break it to you, but everyone has seen you mom. I think half the football team has her photo in their lockers.”
Right. Damn Playboy spreads. Alex sighs. “So are you in, or what?”
“Saving Mr. Xavier from your evil dad? Sure. Shouldn’t we tell Raven, though?”
“Are you crazy? She’s thrilled about the whole thing. She’s probably installing cameras all over Mr. Xavier’s house, for when Erik comes over.”
“Your dad is very attractive.” Hank looks contemplative for a moment and Alex wants to deck him.
“Like a forest fire. All hot and shining from a mile off, then you walk over and it’s bloody panic and the smell of burning woodland creatures. Except no, that’s not accurate, unless we were talking about a sentient fire that actively went after the squirrels and bit their fuzzy little heads off!”
“He’s your dad!” Hank says in a scandalized whisper.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know he’s evil.”
“I can’t help but feel you are overreacting. People aren’t evil like that. Not outside of Batman movies.”
“If this was a Batman movie, Erik would have the bat gutted and hanged by his intestine in ten minutes. Then it would be Erik, the criminal mastermind movie.”
“What does that make you, the knight in the shining armor?”
“Someone’s got to be,” Alex says decisively. It makes him feel a little better. Chivalry will not die if he has to CPR the post-modernism out of it, and he is all for being the hero. Heroism is cool.
“Besides, what if you are wrong? He might like Mr. Xavier. Everyone does. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to dislike Mr. Xavier. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“Hank, don’t take this the wrong way, but your world view is that of a Disney Princess. Real people are mean fuckers, alright? And if the mean fuckers ever got around to having elections, Erik would be voted king, on the basis that he would have slaughtered the competition and left their corpses in the dumpster.”
Hank is giving him a look. Alex sighs and shuts down his mental faculties with another kiss. “Are you with me on this, or not?”
“I’m not saying I’ll risk my life to make out with you,” Hank says. “But okay, if you want to put me at risk of grievous bodily harm by pretending to date me, I’m in.”
Alex gives this a moment of thought. “We could try dating for real. I mean, what’s the harm, right?”
“Grievous bodily?”
“Besides that.”
“Since when are you at all interested in dating me?”
“Since half an hour ago. Do you want to, or not?”
“On the basis that you might not be straight? I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been propositioned before, and this makes the second least sensible proposition I had.”
“On the basis that you know how to fucking kiss, okay? I’ll make it worth your while, come on. Movies, dinners, you name it, you got it. I’ve a condom fund now.” Alex rocks back, so that he’s sitting on his haunches and stares. He has an inkling Hank’s crush isn’t fully gone, they’ve been friends for long enough that Alex just knows Hank’s got a soft spot for him. God knows it got him into enough trouble, over the years. Alex is not above using that now, because hey, at least they should try, right? “It’s not like we don’t get along, anyway. There’s no reason we can’t kill two birds with one shotgun.”
“One stone,” Hank says, folding his arms. “Fine. IMAX. The nature movies.”
“Fine! Tomorrow night?”
“I don’t even know if they are playing anything.”
“I’ll think of something else then.” Alex considers Hank and his dumb glasses and discovers that there might be worse things than going gay for Hank, who looks like the picture perfect of a Hollywood nerd. Alex finds he wants to smooch him stupid. It’s a thoroughly new experience. “You’re not half-bad looking, you know?”
“How did you ever get laid, I wonder?”
“Alcohol. Lots of it.”
“That smells suspiciously like consent issues.”
“What was the least sensible proposition?”
“What?”
“You said this was second least. What was the least?”
“Raven. She insisted we should get together because we both like the color blue and that a gay boyfriend is a good accessory for blue.”
“That makes no sense.”
“She was really drunk at the time.”
Alex snickers, because it sounds like Raven. He kisses Hank again, and it’s chaste this time, nothing but a peck. “I’m gonna be a gentleman and leave now. Bye.”
“Isn’t that a change of pace,” Hank says, but he is smiling.
Alex whistles all the way home.
*****
IMAX is playing a movie about sharks Friday night, which is possibly the very last thing Alex needs: to be staring down Erik’s five story high throat framed with razor sharp teeth in glorious 3D.
He allows the universe to make it up to him by playing tonsil hockey with Hank, who, unfortunately, watches the progression of the killings with rapt attention on his face. He’s probably making notes, Alex thinks and kind of wants to hit him.
It’s a damn good thing that the dinner went over well (they seem to share a passion for dissing baseball in no uncertain terms. They may also have compared reading lists and found them oddly compatible, but that Alex will deny when questioned -- Hank reads some stupid shit), because Hank needs a manual on dating. One written in block capitals.
On the screen a fuzzy coffee colored seal flops along the ice, turning its huge, guileless eyes every which way. Its fur is slick and pettable and Alex wants to hug it and run his fingers down its coat. It’s so cute it probably will break into song in five minutes and the song will be accompanied by a fuzzy sea-mice chorus.
Too bad there is a telltale fin circling the ice.
“That,” Alex whispers to Hank as he points at the hapless seal, “Is Mr. Xavier. Right now.”
The seal flops patiently along the edge and peers down into the inky Arctic waters. It looks apprehensive, and Alex can get behind that, because the sea looks cold as hell. Eventually it slips into the water and just as Alex starts gearing up for the musical number, the poor seal turns, panic blossoms in its eyes, and then its silky fur bursts into a bright red cloud. A shark emerges from the red mist, grinning at the IMAX audience, as it picks the seal from between its teeth, looking smug as holy hell.
“And this it my dad and Mr. Xavier. See what we’re up against?”
Hank smacks him. “Would it kill you to relax?”
“Would it kill you to be a realist for ten minutes?”
“Would it kill you both to shut up and go back to making out?”
Alex looks up at the glowering face of the patron in the row behind them.
“Seriously, fuck for all I care, just shut up.”
“Do you mind? We have to be heroic in a moment. We’re gearing up.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you fail, if it’s any consolation. But if you make the news, I will want an autograph and dibs on writing your biographies.”
Alex rolls his eyes and goes right back to watching the shark dine on the innocent floppy little seal. He’s relatively sure he spies its fuzzy face among the gore, still surprised that the shark ate it instead of hugging it and taking it home for dinner and candy.
He feels vindicated when they leave the theater. The universe has just taken time off to prove him right, and fuck if it didn’t feel amazing.
“I think you need therapy,” Hank says. “You might be a little over-invested.”
“I’m trying to save a man’s life here!”
“Mr. Lehnsherr wouldn’t murder him! I mean, not really.”
“Dude, there’s, like, hospitals dedicated to people who are worse off than dead.”
“Let’s be rational for ten minutes, what can your dad do to Mr. Xavier? It’s not like he can get him fired, he can’t blackmail him, because with Raven around it’s no great secret that Mr. Xavier is bisexual. He’s stupidly rich and connected, but he’s got no parents, so no way to make his life difficult by being a bother.”
“He could break his heart,” Alex says grimly. “Erik does that. He’s had a girlfriend a few years back. The breakup was nasty. She was crying, I’m pretty sure she even begged, and he didn’t even flinch, he just walked away smirking all the while.”
“You don’t sound too broken up about it.”
Alex shrugs. He wasn’t a fan of hers -- she was pleasant enough, he supposed, but there was the oily quality to her, like she tried too hard to be lovable. Good boobs, obviously. Erik appreciated that. She made the token effort to reach out to Alex as well, but they had soon agreed that a mutual pact of noninterference was in order. Erik seemed to like her, so Alex resolved to be quiet, even if she made his hackles rise. Fortunately, the whole affair only lasted a few months.
Hank sighs and falls silent. His hand just happens to bump Alex’s as they walk and it seems like a good idea to twine their fingers together. Hank’s got stupidly warm hands.
“Thanks. It was nice of you. I know you’re not crazy about nature documentaries,” Hank says as they walk.
Alex savors the compliment. It might be the first time ever anyone in his family was called nice. “Wasn’t bad, bozo. I mean, I do get it at home all the time, what with sharks and everything, but still.”
They are silent as they make their way back to Alex’s place.
“What are they playing next week?” Alex asks. It’s either that, or run down the street screaming “gay oppression!” and it’s no time for the show yet.
“Volcanoes.”
“Okay, that I want to see.”
Hank gives him a surprised look, which Alex thinks should offend him.
“What? I like volcanoes. Especially in 3D.”
“You’re a freak.”
“It’s genetic, baby!”
“Don’t call me baby.”
“We’re dating now, I’m allowed.”
“I’m going to call you snookooms in public.”
Alex nearly doubles over laughing. “Snookooms? What are you, twelve?”
Hank turns bright red. Alex is still snickering when they stand in front of his house. “Wanna come in?”
“That depends. Is your dad in?”
Judging by the lights in the living room, he is. If memory serves, he is having Mr. Xavier over tonight. “No, of course not,” Alex says and grins.
“You are a horrible liar.”
Alex laughs, louder than he probably should, but the laughter obscures the frantic beat of his heart. Stupid organ, really. One would think evolution would take them beyond the necessity of the fragile, fleshy little pump. One would think something more sophisticated and pneumatic would have been invented by now. “You’d think I was half decent, what with living with Erik all my life, but the man’s depressingly honest. It’s frustrating as fuck.” His dumb heart thunders so loud he can barely hear his own voice.
He would have run, if Hank wasn’t holding his hand. Instead he opens the door and walks inside, his new boyfriend in tow. Now it is show time.
“Dad,” he says when they walk in to the living room.
He feels like he is standing over the dark waters of a pool. He’s on a platform fifty feet in the air, staring down into the shark-infested waters. He’s teetering on the edge, right now.
“Alex,” Mr. Xavier says cheerfully. He was sitting across from Erik when they walked in, and now he half-turns in his chair and Alex catches the glimpse of the chess set between them. Mr. Xavier’s smile is open and bright, and Erik looks at him like he is lunch.
It’s the only push Alex needs.
“Dad, I’m dating Hank.” He forces his eyes to stay open.
Erik barely looks up. “Good job, kid, have a cookie.”
Alex reels just as Mr. Xavier picks up a plate and extends it in his direction. “Congratulations, both of you. I made these. I could do with a little more practice, but they aren’t half bad.”
The clue train has left the station and Alex stares after it, uncertain whether he should chase it. Something is amiss. To start with, he just used the word “amiss” in a non-ironic context.
“I’m dating Hank,” he repeats stupidly. “For real.”
Erik looks to Hank, then back at Alex. “He’s really dating you?”
Hank has the presence of mind to keep breathing, but that’s as far as it goes. “I. Um. Yes?”
“I, um, yes? Hank, I do hope you’ve been doing your homework, because acting career is out of question.”
“No, I mean, we really are. We went out tonight.”
“Obviously.”
“On a date,” Hank clarifies and stares at Alex miserably.
“I haven’t been so touched since the last episode of My Little Pony,” Erik says and moves his only remaining rook five spaces forward. “Next time try to come up with something remotely plausible.”
Alex is, unexpectedly, angry. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“You expect me to believe the nerd would date you?” Erik looks at Hank. “Honestly? With the kind of porn you can hack on the internet you’d go to the movies with Mr. Vanilla Is A Legitimate Kink?”
“Yeah, keep deflecting, Dad.”
Erik pauses with his hand on the bishop he’d just taken off the board. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh dear,” Charles says and gets up. “Hank, I’ll walk you home, shall I? This has the air of a long argument.”
“Stay right there!” Alex yells, before his lone, prized brain cells wakes up.
Hank looks between Erik’s scowl and Alex, and sensibly picks the less painful death. “Sorry, Alex,” he says. “Call me later?”
“Count on it,” Alex growls into Erik’s face, even as Hank follows Mr. Xavier out the door. “I’m dating him.”
“Have the goddamn cookie and sit down.” Erik shoves him and drops the plate onto Alex’s lap. “Now, what the fuck brought this on?”
“What, Hank? Dunno, he’s kinda cute and he used to have a crush on me.”
“You’re the designated dreamboat at school, who doesn’t have a crush on you?”
“Raven, for one.”
“Why the hell aren’t you dating Angel? You spent most of the summer last year photographing her chest.”
Alex scowls. “Fuck you! I’m dating Hank, because I want to date Hank, why is this such a problem for you!”
“Because the kid’s a shy nerd, that’s why, and you barely have two braincells to rub together when it comes to people. You think it’s amusing now, but then you’ll stop trying to prove whatever it is you’re trying to prove and Hank will get hurt.”
“Oh, so now you’re trying to spare people the hurt, that’s rich.”
Erik sits down. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Is this about Raven?”
“Is what about Raven?”
“Are you doing this for her? She and Hank are close, I see how that might help. If perhaps I disengage my brain and let the hormones and teen comedies do the thinking for me, obviously.”
“No! Jesus, why is it so hard to believe I might want to be with a guy, for real?”
“Well, it would go against your career so far. I suppose it’s not wholly unbelievable.” Erik awards him a long, pointed look, the kind that goes right through the token argument and strikes jackpot fifty stories below. Alex squirms in his seat. Fuck. “But it’s not about Hank, either.”
“I need a drink,” Alex says after a minute, during which Erik flays most of his brain’s inner lining with his gaze. “Do I need the third degree right now?”
“You’ve been acting like a bitch for the past few months. I’ve chalked it up to the gay panic, but that’s excessive even for you.”
“What gay panic?”
“The one you had when you came home screaming Charles was gay and spending time in our house, and therefore the whole world would think you were also gay by association. Which was very mature of you, by the way.”
Alex tilts his head. “What?”
“Kudos for trying to get over it, but again, Hank is not the right person for experimentation.”
Alex wills his face to lose the lobster-red color. God, this is familiar. This is The Talk all over again. Without the power point, which is a small mercy, but Erik is grinning, which means he has the very same thought and he is going to milk the cow for all it, and the farm it came from, is worth.
Good-bye, dignity.
“We’re not experimenting!”
“I would hope so, I took the parental control off the internet two years ago. I expect you know more than the basic biological facts by now.”
“You disabled it?”
“It was never on to begin with.” Erik grins. “But it’s good to know my rules still get some respect around here.”
“Yeah, screw you.”
“Do I need to start yelling?” Erik folds his hands and props his chin on them. “I will. Unless you quit the bullshit and tell me what the fuck is your problem, right now.”
“You have to stop seeing Mr. Xavier,” Alex says finally. It comes out a little desperate.
Erik sighs. “Fuck. Not that again. Look, I thought you were getting over this?”
“Over what?”
“Over the perceived threat to your masculinity. Trust me, it’s dead. I’m sure you feel the need to defend it, but you are standing over smoking ruins. Let it go.”
“It’s not about me!”
“Isn’t that what mutilating Hank’s heart and soul is about? You getting over the homophobic jock stage? If you’re so dead set on fucking a guy, there’s no end to people you can get into your bed, I’m sure you’re aware. Charles tells me half the football team is either gay or so horny they won’t care. I didn’t think he included you in that half, but there you go. He claims to have a spectacular gaydar. I’m inclined to believe him.”
Alex is relatively sure he manages to string together a respective amount of syllables and construct a sophisticated, concise question. He feels cheated when Erik raises a brow and says, “English, Alex, please.”
“I’m…” Alex closes his mouth and shakes his head. “It’s not about me.”
“Who is it about, then?”
“You! You and Mr. Xavier and god! Erik, for the love of fluffy kittens. Leave the poor man alone!”
“Subject change, fair enough. I’m tired of talking about your dick anyway. So, Charles.” Erik makes himself comfortable. “What, exactly, is your problem with Charles? Because the last argument you used against his presence in these parts just lost all credibility, I hope you realize this much.”
“My problem is that you are an evil son of a bitch and Mr. Xavier deserves better than to be ripped apart by you. He’s really nice, okay? He thinks everybody is really nice! Raven says he likes you, so he probably thinks that you are nice, and there’s a world of wrongness right there. You are not nice! I’m still unconvinced you’re human, you’re so evil sometimes. Mr. Xavier is just… this fluffy little kitten and you are going to stomp over him and it will be far worse than anything I will ever do to Hank, which I won’t, but you will. There.” Alex takes a cookie and bites. It’s still warm in the middle, and the chocolate chips are the gooey definition of perfection. “These are really awesome.”
Erik is watching him and his mouth is open. Alex reaches out and shoves a cookie between his dad’s teeth, because no matter how sharky the mouth, it looks instantly better with a cookie in it.
“Did Mr. Xavier really make these?” he asks, when Erik fails to utter a word, and there is a hint of desperation in his voice, despite his best efforts.
“Alex,” Erik says at long last, pulling the most spot on impression of wounded Bambi eyes Alex has had the pleasure of seeing on a human being. It skewers his world view, just a little. This is his evil shark of a dad. “Did you just try to make me go apeshit on you to scare off Charles, whose company I genuinely enjoy, because you were worried about him?”
Alright, that sounded a little bad. A little. A tiny, insignificant, “dear lord, he will gut me,” bit.
Erik’s eyes close. “I see. I think you need to go.”
“What? Where?”
“Anywhere, really. To Hank, or if you fail to not get caught there, go to Armando. Just get out of the house tonight, will you?”
“Why?”
“Because I have sacrifices to make and I’m out of goats. Out.”
It might be a little belated, but Alex has the feeling he might have just done something quite wrong. “Dad… Are you mad?”
“A little disappointed, that’s all.” Erik stares off into space. He doesn’t say anything else.
Alex walks out of the house, reeling. He doesn’t make it to Hank’s house until well over an hour later, even though it’s only a few streets away.
*****
INTERLUDE
Erik doesn’t think long after Alex walks out before he picks up the phone. To his credit, Charles picks up after the second ring. “It didn’t go too well, did it? I just saw Alex rushing out of the house.”
“Have you heard the argument?”
“I’m not a stalker. I’m on the corner.”
Erik smirks into the phone. “Come on in. Whiskey?”
“Please.”
Charles lets himself in when Erik is in the kitchen. He hears the lock around the rattling of the ice cubes.
“How bad was it?” Charles asks.
Erik shrugs. He turns off the light and hands Charles the tumbler. As an afterthought he leans in and presses their lips together. “Let’s have sex,” he says. His voice is low, but Charles hears, because Erik can see his pupils dilate.
“So it went well,” Charles says when they walk up the stairs to Erik’s bedroom.
“I might have to turn in my father card, it seems. Oh, and before you feel too good about yourself, I’m having your mind reader card revoked, too.”
“I take it Alex is not violently opposed to us.”
“Oh, he is. He has told me so, in no uncertain terms.”
“Oh dear,” Charles says and his mouth is curling into a smile. Erik holds the bedroom door open and gestures inside.
“After you.”
“Erik.” Charles sounds uncertain for a moment. Erik shakes his head, takes the tumbler out of his hands and sets it on the dresser. He cradles Charles’ face in his hands and kisses him deeply. It’s exhilarating. The fact that it happens in his own bedroom somehow adds to the appeal.
“Why the hell did we even wait this long?” he murmurs into Charles’ parted lips. His tongue darts out to brush against Charles’ teeth, just as he starts talking.
“Because your son had a colossal problem with accepting you having homosexual leanings? Which I’m still in the dark about.”
“Ah, that. Alex believes I’m evil.”
“Excuse me?” Charles blinks, a fact obvious to Erik by the fluttering of eyelashes against his cheek.
“It is adorable, but he seems to think he’s witnessing some sort of a Little Red Riding Hood scenario, with you skipping happily to your doom. I should be proud he felt the need to rescue you from the Big Bad Wolf.” Erik adds a thoughtful growl, which is entirely lost on Charles.
“He was serious,” he says. His mouth is hanging open. “He was serious!”
“Oh?”
“He came to talk to me a while back. Warned me to stay away from you. Used those exact words. ‘Erik is evil, Mr. Xavier, evil like Megan Fox.’”
Erik laughs and kisses Charles again and again, until he stops talking and Erik’s shoulders are shaking in mirth. “Outwitted by a football player.”
“This is a first for me, too,” Charles admits and his hands are splayed comfortingly on Erik’s back. “I may have overdone the innocent act.”
“You don’t say.” Erik maneuvers them towards the bed, until he is sitting down and Charles is on his hands and knees above him. Their lips never part, because Erik is certain he would stop breathing if they did. God, he’d waited so long for this, for Alex to get his head out of his ass, and now it turns out he needn’t have--
That is when his mobile goes off, vibrating in his pocket like an angry bee, while the valkyries thunder through the first beats of Wagner.
“Fuck,” Erik says. Charles sits back and cocks his head in a silent question. “It’s Emma. She won’t stop calling even if I switch it off.”
Charles bites his lip, but he is smiling. Even in the shadows his face appears flushed and Erik has to fight to keep his voice even and businesslike.
“This is not a good time,” he says into the receiver.
Charles hums and inches closer.
“Sweetheart, never is a good time for you. I just got off the phone with Alex, who is weeping with distress. Apparently, he broke your paternal heart.”
“Emma. Now is not a good time,” Erik says again, painfully aware that Charles is stretched out over him and nipping on his neck, that his lips are moist and his teeth are sharp.
“When else, then?” she says. She sounds concerned for a moment there, but Erik can’t concentrate on her voice.
Charles’ hands are underneath the hem of Erik’s turtleneck and he’s pulling it up, inch by inch, as his fingers crawl up Erik’s torso. Emma’s diatribe is getting less and less interesting, even if she is summarizing a very emotional call from Alex. Erik hums thoughtfully in all the right places, but mostly he tries to keep his balance, because he is sitting on a flexible bed with one hand at his own ear, the other rubbing circles into Charles’ naked back, and his turtleneck is slowly, but surely inching up towards his head.
“So, are you okay, Erik?” Emma asks when Charles pushes the turtleneck over his head and bends to lick his collarbone.
“Am I okay? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“That’s what I told Alex, but you know teens, so dramatic. Everything is the end of the world.”
“Most things are the end of the world at that age,” Erik says wryly. He has only a handful of life-changing memories, and among those the most vivid is Emma, telling him she was pregnant, and Emma again, dropping a screaming infant into his lap. Neither proved particularly world-ending and, oddly enough, showing up to an oral exam with a toddler got him extra points for effort.
“So how is your world, still stable?”
“Emma, you are an epic cockblock. I trust you are aware of this?”
“Oh? Do you have a lady friend with you? Put me through, if you will.”
Erik catches Charles’ eye. “Sure,” he finds himself saying and turns the speaker on.
“Hello, there,” Emma says and she sounds gleeful. It’s not hard to guess why -- the pre-coital phone calls occurred with depressing frequency, but this was the first time she was getting her way. “Moira, is it? I understand this is somewhat unorthodox, but I wanted to impress upon you the sheer amount of pain I will put you through if this goes wrong. Erik seems scary, but he is a gentleman at heart, but me…”
“It’s Charles, actually. As for the warning, I am aware of the risks, thank you.”
There is a brief silence. “My, my, Erik. You have been holding out on me.”
“I try.”
“This is why we need sex-ed in school. You would have figured out you were queer before I grew to the size of a walrus and I wouldn’t have needed to spend the following year wearing burlap sacks.”
“The joys of motherhood are lost on you, aren’t they?”
“Erik, dear. I fed and breathed for the little brat for nine months. If that doesn’t prove I have maternal feelings, I don’t know what does.”
Charles is hiding a smile, but it is so bright and wide Erik would see it through a concrete wall. “Are we done here?”
“Leave the speaker on and take your time. I’m footing the bill.”
“It might be more sensible to do it over Skype, then.” Charles’ thigh is between Erik’s now. His mouth is brushing Erik’s chest, leaving narrow wet stripes where the tongue darted from between his teeth. “Less expenses. More visuals. Though there is something to be said for aural stimulation, I’ll give you that. Erik sounds really good.”
Erik can picture Emma’s face, flawless, exquisite in silent laughter. “I look forward to meeting you, Charles. I shall leave you boys to your fun, I have a child to console.”
“Likewise, Emma. It’s been a pleasure.”
Emma hangs up without another word and Charles laughs into Erik’s shoulder. “I can safely say this marks the first time I held a conversation with someone’s ex while actively trying to score with them.”
“Emma isn’t an ex, exactly.”
Charles makes a consonant-rich noise into Erik’s neck. “You have the most interesting family. You, according to Alex, are capable of having building machines do murder on your behalf, Emma sounds like the Snow Queen over the phone and you assure me she is frostier in person, while your son fancies himself as a knight in a shining armor.” He kisses Erik thoroughly. “On second thought, I wonder how could I have possibly missed that.”
“You were busy trying to get into my pants.”
“True.” There is a gentle pressure on the waistband of Erik’s jeans. He recognizes fingertips. Charles is watching him, and with every blink of Erik’s eyes his head is lower and lower, until his mouth is resting against Erik’s abdomen. “So, Erik. Do I get into your pants, or should I allow Alex to rescue me?”
“How precious, I’m being wooed.”
“A new experience?”
“Rather.” Erik grins and then groans, because Charles doesn’t continue with the line of enquiry, but sits up and starts undoing the buttons of his own shirt.
“Patience, my dear.”
“It’s a virtue I am short on.”
Fortunately, as it turns out, so is Charles. He folds the shirt in half, throws it onto the chair, and then he is on Erik, kissing him with a ferocity that his usual professorly ensemble does a great job of concealing. His mouth is hot and full of promises, which, Erik is certain, are outlawed in at least seventeen different states, but there’s weight behind each kiss and fire, one that burns its way through Erik’s system.
Granted, the lack of adipose in the breast area is a little disappointing, but the disappointment melts in the fire, anyway, so when Erik rolls them over and feels the entirety of Charles’ front against his, feels the cool air on his naked back, he forgets everything but what’s in front of him. Then it turns out Charles can undo buttons on two separate waistbands with one hand, while most of his attention is elsewhere. Erik finds the turn of events delightful.
The orgasm is small fry in comparison.
“My Little Pony,” Charles tells the ceiling. Erik looks up, but his gaze quickly drifts back down, because the edge of his duvet is far more engrossing. It cuts a smooth line across Charles’ torso, starting just below his left nipple and plunging to his right hip, where the material folds in on itself and hugs Erik around the stomach. “Interesting.”
“It’s brightly colored twinkie crack,” Erik says. “I have no regrets.”
“Skittles are brightly colored crack.”
“Ponies are talking Skittles.”
“So they are more M&Ms then.”
“Except M&Ms have yet to discover purple sparkles.”
“Ah.” Charles folds an arm under his head. “I can see why Alex is so worried you might spend time with someone. My Little Pony, dear lord. No wonder the poor boy believes you’re evil.”
“I’m not ashamed.”
Charles raises a brow. Erik knows a challenge when he sees one. He reaches under the bed for his laptop and scoots up against the pillows, so that he can prop it in his lap.
Charles watches him and he is seconds away from breaking into hysterical laughter, when Erik double clicks “my computer,” goes through “my videos” to a folder labeled “mlpfim.”
“This smells suspiciously like blackmail material. Alex never found these?”
“Couldn’t guess my password.”
“I bet I could.”
Erik looks down to find Charles’ bright blue eyes fixed on him. He smiles. “Yes. You probably could.”
“Do I get a hint?”
“Eight characters. Letters and numbers.”
Charles snorts, but the snort is muffled by the skin of Erik’s shoulder, so it becomes a kiss instead. “AL, oh three, oh eight, ninety-four. A variation thereof.”
“I forgot you have access to his records.”
“I have a good memory for dates.” Charles’ fingers trail down Erik’s arm. “It’s sweet.”
“Don’t tell Alex, he’d die of shock.”
“He might.” Charles lifts the duvet and sidles closer until they are pressed against one another, skin to skin, just as the screen flares and Twilight Sparkle starts narrating. “Oh my god,” Charles says and giggles. “She’s called Twilight Sparkle!”
“I can’t see how Charles Xavier is any better.”
Twilight prances across the screen and Charles is crying with laughter against Erik’s shoulder, while his hand is sneaking beneath the covers and under the laptop, warm and thoroughly distracting.
“Charles,” Erik says a few minutes later, when his diaphragm gets excited and starts making uncontrollable rocking motions, interrupting his comfortable breathing patterns.
“Hush, darling. The ponies are talking.” There’s a crease between Charles’ brows and his mouth is curled around a smile so filthy that a bottle of bleach and an hour of scrubbing would only scratch its surface.
Erik sighs, grins and tries to relax. “Watch,” he says.
“Kinky pony torture? On our very first night? I had no idea we were this far gone.”
“I do believe you have been warned.”
“Not about this level of depravation. Are you going to eat my liver next? I thought I saw a bottle of Chianti in the kitchen.” Charles presses a thoughtful kiss to Erik’s collarbone. “Oh, this is adorable. I just might die of diabetes before the episode is over.”
“I’ll blow you if you manage to last until the end of the story.”
“When you put it like this, it’s worth the inevitable insulin shots.”
Charles manages just barely. Erik makes good on his promise. They fall asleep still breathless with laughter.
*****
The house is quiet in the early morning. Alex yawns and pushes the gate open with one hand, while trying to swallow the other. Stupid Hank and his goddamned morals. Wouldn’t even put out, the bastard. Alex growls at the poodle, which wanders to his leg, until it gets the picture and leaves him the hell alone.
Mrs. Lambert sniffs at him. He grins. Erik’s genes come through for him, or once, because she is pale and shaking when she turns and flees.
Alex snorts. That’s what she gets for messing with them.
He opens the door and slips inside. The door to his room looks dark, remote and inviting, but it is nearly six, he’s dying for food and it’s not like he will be able to sleep, anyway. Not until he talks to Erik.
The kitchen is bright and, surprisingly, smells like coffee and pancakes.
“Alex, good morning!”
Alex retains his teeth through the miracle of the fridge door alone. He grasps the handle and doesn’t hit the table with his face, though it is close. “Mr. Xavier,” he says. “What?”
“How do you feel about blueberry pancakes? I’m afraid that was the only fruit I found in your fridge. I could still try to make plain ones, if you wish.”
“Blueberry is good.” Alex stares, but it is too damn early to process the attitude. He’s relatively sure their walls aren’t made of happy pills, because if they are he has wasted a good portion of his teenaged life on needless angst.
“Wonderful. Coffee?”
Alex nods, mutely, and the shiny bundle of unabashed happiness flitters about their kitchen, fixes a cup and sets it before him. Then, unexpectedly, the shiny bundle of unabashed happiness is in his face, no longer shiny, but glaring, no longer unabashed, but brazen. The glare is narrowed to twin pinpoints of blue, which bore into Alex’s skull with the efficiency of a death metal concert.
“Uh,” Alex says.
“Erik was quite upset,” says the creature wearing Mr. Xavier for a body suit. Alex knows this must be true, because it doesn’t sound happy. Or cheerful. It doesn’t sound like Mr. Xavier at all. “Alex, my dear, I am awfully fond of you, but please refrain from hurting Erik’s feelings in the future. Because then I might be forced to do unpleasant things to your person. Unpleasant and gruesome. Believe me, I know how.”
Alex’s hands are shaking and the entirety of the Sahara desert has migrated into his mouth for the express purpose of making nervous swallowing a torture. Mr. Xavier is still watching him from less than a foot away, and Alex’s eyes try to roll back into his head, and as they do he notices the cuff of the shirt around Mr. Xavier’s wrist, which is resting on the table. A cranberry juice stain smiles at him, pale after so many washings, but unmistakably there.
“That’s dad’s shirt,” he manages through the shock. It’s Erik’s favorite shirt, the one he wears only on lazy Sunday mornings, when he can doze in a sunbeam like a giant, lazy cat.
Mr. Xavier blinks and the radiance of pure joy is back. “Ah, yes, I’m told it’s customary.”
“For a certain given value of custom, yes.”
Alex doesn’t dare to look away from Mr. Xavier, for fear that he will miss the alien sprouting out of his chest, but he notices the fleshy shape reflected in the fridge door. Erik, thank god.
“Were you just threatening my son?” he asks, dropping a hand into Alex’s hair.
Mr. Xavier turns, another cup of coffee in hand. “Yes.”
“Put the fear of god into him?”
“I tried for fear of Charles, but I would hope so.”
“Excellent.” Erik takes the coffee and, as though to cement his position as the Antichrist and All That Is Wrong With The Universe, twists his fingers in the shirt’s front and ruins the last of Alex’s innocence by shoving his tongue down Mr. Xavier’s mouth.
“I’m going to be sick,” Alex announces. “Right now.”
“Be sure to disinfect the table later,” Erik tells him. He’s grinning. So is Mr. Xavier.
“I died, didn’t I? I was hit by a bus on my way home. This is hell.”
“So fatalistic. Your first thought should be that you are sleeping.” Mr. Xavier leans over the table and stirs a spoonful of honey into Alex’s coffee. “It’s appalling that you have no tea in the house.”
“Get your own,” Erik says and sticks a finger into the bowl of batter.
Mr. Xavier smacks it away. “Wait your turn. Alex was here first.”
“Don’t I get privileges?” Erik fucking pouts around the finger in his mouth. Alex resists the urge to throw his cup to the floor and run screaming.
“All in due time,” Mr. Xavier says mildly and smiles. It’s a wicked smile, all teeth and tongue and eyebrows knitting in the middle, shadowing the gleaming irises.
Alex’s forehead hits the table just as his eyes try to crawl out of his sockets and commit ritual suicide. No one notices. No one cares. The world has gone insane. He is stuck in the Twilight Zone, forever.
THE END.
