Diamond Dust - Fullmetalcarer - X-Men (Movieverse) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

The wind drove the falling snow into Charles' face, freezing and blinding. He clung to the sides of the dog sled as it jolted over the frozen lake in the deepening twilight. Behind him the musher called encouragement to the dogs. Erik was so close now, a supernova in Charles' head despite the deadening effect of the serum. He could see something at the edge of the lake, almost hidden among the trees. The cabin. The musher brought his team to a yelping halt. Charles threw off his protective layer of furs and staggered towards the cabin. Snow was banked up against the door and he had to dig to reach the latch. He shoved the door open. It was dark inside, apart from a few glowing embers in the fireplace. He was struck by how still and quiet it was after the howling chaos outside. There was a cot in the corner with a blanket covered figure lying on it. Erik.

Charles reached the cot in a couple of strides and laid his hand on Erik's brow. The cabin was cold but he was burning up, his mind a tumult of heat and pain. He was very pale and drenched in sweat. A bloodstained shirt was wrapped around his right shoulder. The skin around the makeshift bandage looked red and inflamed and felt hot. Charles knelt at the side of the cot and pressed his face to Erik's chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. Rapid but strong. He felt a powerful urge to burst into tears. No, no time for that.

He sent Erik "comfort" and "safe" and "love" and tweaked his pain receptors to make him a little more comfortable.

Erik sighed and projected a sense of deep, wordless recognition.

"He alright?"

The Inuit guide he'd hired at Churchill Falls stood in the doorway. He set down Charles' rucksack and the bag of provisions Charles had bought at the settlement.

"He will be."

Charles couldn't understand the language of the man's thoughts but he could feel his need to get back to his home and family.

The guide turned to look up at the sky. He sniffed the air.

"Storm coming."

Charles stared. He'd thought this was a storm.

"Will last four days. Fifth day I will come back. Take you and him back."

He felt no lie behind the man's words so he nodded a goodbye. Besides, if he laid off the serum for a couple of days he could compel him to return.

Right, first step, get some water, ibuprofen and antibiotics into Erik. He manhandled Erik into a sitting position - god, he felt light - put a pill on his tongue and a bottle of water to his cracked lips. Erik tried to resist but was too weak to put up much of a fight. Charles kept going until Erik was dosed up and had swallowed most of the water.

Step two, take a look at his shoulder. He peeled off Erik's shirt/bandage, revealing four long, narrow, parallel cuts. They didn't look too deep and the infection wasn't as bad as Charles had feared. He cleaned the wounds with medicinal alcohol - Erik moaned and gasped - then covered them with a sterile dressing.

Step three, get him out of his sweat sodden clothes and sponge him down. There was a big pile of wood next to the fireplace. Charles built up the fire, broke out one of his brand new camping pans, filled it with snow and hung it over the flames. While the snow melted, he unpacked the rest of his kit, set up a camping lantern and did a quick recce. There was just the one main room, with an earth closet in a shed to one side. There was no running water, no food and the furnishings consisted of the cot, a table, two chairs and a wooden settle graced by a decaying cushion. He couldn't see anything that looked as though it might belong to Erik. At least the place seemed to be weathertight.

He checked the water. It was perfect, warm, but not hot. Charles untangled Erik from the noticeably mouldy blankets. He undressed him and ran a damp washcloth over his burning skin. Erik muttered and made distressed noises.

"Shhhhh, darling, shhhhh. I'm sorry, almost done, almost over. Hush now, hush," whispered Charles, pushing soothing thoughts at him.

He dressed him in jogging pants and an oversized tee and covered him with clean blankets.

The wind was really getting up, battering at the door and the shuttered window. Charles peered through the shutters. It was pitch black outside. Huge snowflakes blew against the glass and stuck. He could feel the whole cabin shuddering with the force of the storm, creaking and groaning like a ship at sea.

Behind him, Erik sat up and cried out, "Burning, burning, all burning!"

"No, no, nothing's burning, we're quite safe," said Charles, sitting on the edge of the cot and taking Erik's face in his hands.

Erik stared at him, unseeing, then his gaze focused and he said, "Charles? No, you're dead, they told me you were dead. I killed you."

The metal lantern trembled.

"No, Erik, I'm alive and well, see? I'm right here with you and nothing can make me leave."

"I killed Nina and Magda," he said, tone flat and emotionless.

The lantern fell over and the pan skittered across the floor.

"No, you didn't, please believe me, that's not true." Charles put every ounce of conviction he could muster into his voice and his thoughts.

"Oh. What about mama? Did I kill her?"

He sounded almost childlike. Charles' watch tightened on his wrist and the coins in his pocket began to heat up.

"You loved her, you'd never have hurt her. Stop it, Erik, stop now."

Erik collapsed back on the cot, eyes closing. The various metal items in the cabin subsided into inanimacy. Charles bent and kissed his forehead, wishing he could take away all his pain, knowing that if he did, Erik would no longer be Erik.

Charles laid out his sleeping bag on the floor beside the cot and scrambled in. He didn't expect to get much sleep, which was just as well. The sounds of the storm kept him awake at first. Then, just as he was dropping off, Erik started shifting and babbling. Charles did his best to calm him with touch and words and mind. He checked his watch, gave Erik some more medication and coaxed him into drinking a little water.

He was falling asleep for the second time when he realised he needed a pee. Charles headed for the shed. Thank god it had a connecting door and he didn't have to go outside. The earth closet wasn't as well constructed as the main cabin and gusts of freezing wind howled through gaps in the planking. Charles did his business as quickly as possible and hurried back to the relative warmth of his sleeping bag. It took him ages to get warm again, at which point he noticed the fire was almost out. He piled on more logs and nursed them into a steady blaze.

His eyes were on the point of closing for the third time when he smelt something sharp and ammoniaic. He got up to investigate. Erik had pissed himself. Charles stripped him off, cleaned him up and redressed him, despite his incoherent protests and feeble struggles. Luckily the blankets seemed reasonably unscathed.

And so the night went on. Soothing Erik. Wiping the sweat from his face and body. Listening to the storm scream round the cabin. Tending the fire. Getting Erik to drink and take his pills. By the time daylight streamed through the shutters, striping Erik's sleeping form with soft radiance, Charles reckoned he'd had about two to three hours sleep.

He climbed out of his sleeping bag, went to the window and opened the shutters. The view was completely obscured by snow. Charles tapped on the glass, hoping to knock the snow off. It stayed put. He shuffled over to the door and, after a brief struggle with the latch, opened it. Six foot of snow fell in through the door. A blizzard of snowflakes tore into the room and swirled madly around the cabin. Charles forced the door shut and stared at his own indoor snowdrift.

"I don't think that was a very good idea."

Charles turned. Erik had one eye open and was looking at Charles with grave disapproval.

"Ah, I think you may be right."

"Don't do it again," said Erik, very sternly.

Charles stifled a laugh. "I won't."

"Don't. Goodnight, Charles Xavier."

"Well, actually it's morning."

Erik glared at Charles. "If it was morning, I wouldn't be going to sleep, would I? Goodnight."

With that he turned over and pulled the blankets up to his ears.

"Goodnight, Erik Lehnsherr," said Charles, grinning widely.

Erik seemed a bit more lucid, which could only be a good thing.

What next? They were running low on bottled water. Might as well make some use of the indoor snowdrift. Charles scooped some snow into his shiny new pans and started melting it, one pan on his camping stove, the others arranged on the fire. He shoved the rest of the snow into a corner, unwilling to risk opening the door again. Time for breakfast. He'd bought packets of freeze-dried food at Churchill Falls. He selected "Healthy Honey Porridge", added some snow-melt and heated it up. It didn't taste like honey or porridge, it didn't taste of anything really, but it was warm and filling. Next he rehydrated some chicken soup for Erik. Getting him to eat it was a struggle. Half the soup ended up on Charles and the bedclothes, but Erik swallowed the rest so that was a win. The simple act of eating exhausted him and he went straight back to sleep.

The day followed the same pattern as the night. In between tending the fire and tending Erik, Charles entertained himself by reciting the periodic table. He always got stuck on Ytterbium. When that palled, he did sets of reps; press ups, tricep dips (using the settle), crunches, squats and lunges. He loved the leg exercises, the play of muscle in calf and thigh and the burn of lactic acid. He hadn't felt it in ages and he wouldn't have it for long.

He was doing some warm-down stretches when he felt the need to pee. Then he realised it wasn't him that needed a piss, it was Erik. He hurried over to the cot, not wanting a repeat of last night. Using a mixture of persuasion and coercion, he managed to get Erik to pee in one of the empty water bottles. After the excitement of successful piss disposal, Charles had a little catnap in front of the fire.

Magda and Nina were standing in the sunlit clearing, surrounded by spring flowers. Nina's animal friends stood at the edge of the trees. He reached out to his wife and daughter but they recoiled from him in terror. His hands were dripping with blood. He tried to call to them but blood started pouring from his mouth. The flowers were burning, Nina was burning, no, it was Anya, Anya burnt while Nina bled. Magda turned to him, face contorted with grief and sobbed:

"You did this, it's all your fault, you're to blame, I hate you, we hate you, everyone hates you, you should burn . . ."

She was right, he deserved to burn and he was burning, burning down to the bone, drifting away in sparks and ash.

Charles sat bolt upright, eyes wide, gasping for breath. He crawled over to Erik, who was writhing in the grip of his nightmare. Charles pressed his fingers to Erik's head and dived in.

Come back, Erik, come back to me. You're not burning, you're feverish, you have a temperature. Can you feel the cool water? Can you feel it washing over your skin? Cooling you, cleansing you, healing you. Come back to me, please.

Charles? Charles? Where are you? I can't see you.

I'm right here. Take my hand and come with me.

Erik clasped Charles' hand with bloody, burnt fingers. Charles led him through a shallow, chattering stream and out of the dream.

They opened their eyes.

"Charles? Is that really you? I, I kept seeing you but I thought I was dreaming."

He stroked Erik's cheek.

"It's really me."

Erik looked bewildered. "I felt you in my head but I saw you walking. You can't walk and be in my head, can you?"

"Yes, Erik, yes I can. Ever since En Sabah Nur enhanced my powers, even the serum can't entirely repress my mutation. My telepathy only works in close contact but it's still better than nothing."

Erik frowned. "You shouldn't take the serum, you shouldn't make yourself less than you are. Your telepathy is beautiful."

"Says the man who wore a telepath proof helmet. Besides, the Canadian wilderness isn't really wheelchair acessible."

"What does the Canadian wilderness have to do with anything?" asked Erik, looking baffled.

"It's where we are."

"Is it?"

Charles smiled and petted his hair. "Yes, but never mind that. Would you like a drink?"

Erik nodded. Charles got him some water.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Erik nodded again. "Talk to me while I drop off."

"Alright. I'll tell you about the school."

Charles could talk endlessly about the school, his students and the faculty. He rabbited on until Erik's breathing was deep and regular, pretty sure he hadn't heard a word of it. He sat and watched Erik sleep, holding his hand, feeling the texture of his mind - forced out of its usual elegant order - listening to the fierce voice of the storm and wishing impossible things. One of his nannies, a Scotwoman, had a saying, "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride and all the world be drowned in pride". He'd always hated that proberb. What shouldn't beggars ride? Why would the world drown just because poor people got what they wanted? Why couldn't he get what he wanted? God, he was drifting into self pity. That's one thing you could say for Erik, he never indulged in self pity.

He got up and prodded at the fire, wishing - ha - he had something to read. He'd read the instructions for his camping kit. Never mind, he'd read them again. Once he'd done that, he ran through Hank's latest research in his head. Hank was exploring the hypothesis that omega-level mutants had a regeneration factor similar to Logan's, but to a lesser degree. It would certainly explain why he and Erik were over fifty, but looked as if they were in their thirties. Hank had a lot of work to do before he proved his theory. Charles spent an enjoyable hour considering all the directions Hank's work could take and the implications if he turned out to be right.

He went to the window. No, still couldn't see a bloody thing. He sat down beside Erik again. More nightmares troubled his sleep. Magda and Nina. Another Magda and Anya. Charles bleeding on a Cuban beach. Charles bleeding under a tangle of metal and concrete. Charles disintegrating into atoms under the onslaught of Jean's power. God, where had that come from? Gently but relentlessly, he wound himself into Erik's dreams and dissipated them like mist in sunlight. Very poetic, Xavier. How about some real poetry? Quietly, so as not to disturb Erik, he recited all the poems he could remember.

"Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!"

What about some romantic poets?

"I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils . . ."

"Hail to thee, blithe spirit!"

"And the enjoying of the Spring fades as does its blossoming . . ."

Charles couldn't help noticing all his choices had a decidedly spring-like theme.

"In this decayed hole among the mountains in the faint moonlight, the grass is singing," whispered Erik.

"Erik?" No response. "Erik?" Still no response.

Charles checked his mind. He was still asleep, though only very lightly. Charles smiled to himself. There was something pleasing about Erik quoting poetry in his sleep. Eliot and "The Waste Land" seemed highly appropriate.

He was changing Erik's dressing when he felt the touch of other minds at the edge of his awareness and a tingling numbness in his thighs. He finished what he was doing then gave himself a shot of serum. The numbness and the other minds faded. He ignored Erik's disapproving gaze.

Erik gradually improved over the next couple of days. His fever dropped. The inflammation reduced. He had fewer nightmares and slept less but better. His appetite increased. He was even able to get to the earth closet with a bit of support from Charles. However, he became very restless, wanting to stand and walk before he had the strength to do so. To distract him, Charles suggested a game of chess.

Erik was incredulous. "Don't tell me you brought a chess set?"

"Of course not. We'll have to make a one."

Charles carved a board into the table top. Erik sacrificed the largest pan to make the pieces. He heated one lot until they oxidised, turning them black.

"Clever," said Charles.

Erik gave no outward sign of having heard him, but Charles sensed a flicker of pride. Charles took black for a change. There was a chess club at the school so Charles got plenty of practice, through he invariably ended up getting annihilated by some twelve year old. Erik was obviously severely out of practice. Charles destroyed him.

"Yes! Victory is mine sayeth the Charles."

"I'll get you next time, you smug bastard."

That was not the case, though Erik put up a bit more of a fight. The third game was much more evenly matched. Charles won, but it was a close run thing.

"Three out of three. I am the champion of this cabin."

"I'm ill, so you had an unfair advantage. Plus, you were probably cheating by reading my mind."

"Hah! Don't think I didn't notice you levitating my queen when you thought I wasn't looking."

Erik gave him a charming smile. "That was entirely accidental. I was carried away by the excitement of the game."

Charles snorted. "Telepath, remember. I know you're lying."

Erik grinned and yawned hugely. He looked happy but exhausted.

"You need to lie down and rest for a while."

Erik complained a bit but lay down willingly enough and was soon asleep. When he awoke, they had dinner - Spaghetti Surprise - and chatted idly about the countries Erik had visited since leaving Westchester. He neglected to say exactly what he had been doing in all those places.

"What happened, Erik? Who hurt you? How did you end up here?"

Erik shrugged. "You don't want to know."

"Yes I do, that's why I'm asking."

"Let me put this another way; I'm not going to tell you."

"Fine."

"Of course, you could always dig around inside my head and find out for yourself."

Charles was sick of this. "Yes, I could, but I won't. I could turn you into my puppet, but the very idea makes me feel physically ill. Stop using my telepathy against me. You can't rail at me for taking the serum, then attack me for using my powers."

There was a long silence.

"I'm . . . sorry. It's just that there's something uniquely invasive about telepathy."

"Bollocks. Raven's ability to mimic someone absolutely perfectly is invasive. You could pierce me through with every scrap of metal for miles around. That's pretty f*cking invasive."

Erik sighed. "I suppose I've had so much taken from me that sometimes my mind seems like the only thing I have left. I find it disturbing to think of someone violating that final sanctuary."

Charles put his hand on top of Erik's.

"I understand that and respect your desire for privacy, but don't you see how it leaves me hamstrung? These last few days I've been picking up your surface thoughts and feelings. That's as natural to me as breathing. I've gone deeper into your consciousness to stop your hallucinations and nightmares. Should I have let you suffer? You never had any problem with sharing sensations when we f*cked."

"Those are all valid points." Erik's serious expression changed to a dirty grin. "Especially the one about f*cking."

Charles shouted with laughter and smacked Erik's arm. Unfortunately it was his right arm. Erik clutched his shoulder and swore. Charles apologised profusely.

Day four had started well. Erik had managed a complete circuit of the cabin all on his own. Their lunchtime lamb curry had actually been quite palatable. Charles was convinced the storm was dying down a bit. Then something had changed. Charles had no idea if it was something he'd done or said. Most likely it was nothing to do with him and was entirely down to Erik. His mind had been darkening all afternoon. Clouding with guilt and regret. Guilt, not for the lives he'd ended, but for the deaths he couldn't prevent. Since this was Erik, the guilt soon turned to anger. Anger at himself for his many abject failures. Anger because he was alive when so many were dead. Anger at Charles for being so heedlessly hopeful. Anger because he wanted Charles and he shouldn't, couldn't have him.

"What are you dong here?" he asked, voice flat.

Charles tried to keep it light. "Playing ministering angel?"

"No, I mean, why did you come?"

"You, you called me. I felt your pain. The burning cold. You called and I came."

"I wasn't in my right mind," he said, dismissively.

Charles could feel his own temper rising. "Well, perhaps neither was I."

"Why didn't you send someone?"

"Even with my enhanced powers, mind control over a distance of a thousand miles is a bit of an ask," said Charles, troweling on the sarcasm.

"Why didn't you send your X-Men?"

He tried to deflect. "We've renamed them the X-Force. As Raven quite rightly pointed out, half of them are women, so X-Men seems a bit ridiculous. Not that X-Force is much better, but at least it isn't sexist."

Erik smiled a vicious little smile. "You're avoiding my question."

"Look, the younger team members are little more than children and most of the older ones have history with you."

"Really, Charles? You couldn't find anyone who'd have been willing to come on your behalf? Or to come with you for that matter?"

His temper was near the surface now. "Half the world thinks you redeemed yourself by turning against Apocalypse. The other half believes once a terrorist, always a terrorist and can't forget or forgive what you've done. I didn't want to involve anyone else in your affairs."

Erik laughed contemptuously. "You're a liar."

Charles lost it. Four days of fear and worry and sleeplessness overwhelmed him.

"f*ck you, Erik, f*ck you! I came because I love you, no, love's the wrong word. I came because I feel incredibly strongly for you. Sometimes that feeling's love, sometimes it's hate, often it's both at once. I've known you for twenty years and we've been together for a month or so before Cuba, a week leading up to Washington - oh, Christ, what week that was - and eight months after Cairo. I toted up the days you know. Two hundred and eight five days. Less than a year. But you're still the most significant relationship in my life. More significant than Raven, any of my other lovers, my friends or my students. So when you called, I came. I'll always come when you call. f*ck it, I'll come even if you don't call. I'm sick of denying whatever this is between us. I'm sick of you denying it, minimising it and always putting everything before us."

He thought Erik was going to respond with anger. Instead a flood of remorse cascaded through his mind. He looked gaunt and vulnerable and oddly young.

"I'd never deny you, Charles, how could I? I'd never deny us. Come here." He held out his arms.

It was too little, too late. Charles would be a fool to fall into his poisonous embrace again.

"No, Erik, this is a bad idea. You're not fully recovered, we're both all over the place emotionally, this is a bad idea."

"Sometimes it seems to me that all our ideas are bad ones, at least mine are. Come here, Charles."

Charles felt himself dragged towards Erik by his watch, his belt buckle and the zipper on his jacket. He could have resisted. He should have resisted. He didn't.

Erik shuffled back in the cot. Charles lay down facing him. They were pressed against each other from shoulder to ankle. Erik began kissing him, hesitantly at first, then with increasing confidence as Charles responded. Erik tasted of reconstituted lamb curry. He smelt a bit off, his sweat tainted by his illness. Charles probably didn't smell much better. Erik ran one hand down Charles' back and dug his fingers into his buttock.

"Careful of your shoulder."

"Shut up."

Charles got a hand to Erik's narrow waist and squeezed. He felt so fragile under Charles' fingers. Erik started grinding his hips against Charles, who moaned and ground back. He felt Erik's co*ck begin to harden. His own co*ck began to respond to the friction. Charles shoved his hand into Erik's crotch and rubbed him through his pants. Erik groaned. Charles spat in his hand, reached into his sweatpants and, oh, Erik's prick was hot and damp and heavy in his hand. He started pumping; long, firm strokes. Erik gasped, breath hot on Charles's neck.

Please, oh, please . . .

Erik was projecting "tighter, faster". Charles tightened his grip and sped up, sweeping his thumb across the head on the upstroke, spit and pre-come easing the way. His fly suddenly unzipped itself and Erik's spit-slicked fingers were tugging at his prick. Charles' wrist was killing him, the angle was all wrong. Erik's fingers were cold and his touch was too rough. It was perfectly imperfect. Charles lost himself in heat and sweat and friction and pleasure and pain. He was coming and he was taking Erik with him.

They lay there, softened co*cks pressed together, fingers smeared with come, arms wrapped around each other, Charles being careful to avoid Erik's shoulder, breathing gradually returning to normal.

This is hideously uncomfortable.

Yes.

Neither of them moved.

He tucked his head under Erik's chin. He'd had a lot of sex over the years, but not nearly enough with Erik. Charles was adventurous, a telepath and his partners had often been mutants, so some of those sexual experiences had been pretty exotic. Jerking each other off like horny teenagers was still up there in his top ten. He luxuriated in the swell of satisfaction emanating from Erik. There was a twinge of pain mixed with the satisfaction. The position they were in was hurting Erik's shoulder. Better move. Charles hitched back, realised he'd underestimated just how small the cot was and lost his balance. He landed arse first on the floor with dull thud.

Erik leant over the edge of the cot and looked down at Charles. He started laughing, helplessly, happily. Just for a moment his mind radiated sheer, unalloyed joy. Charles gazed up at him, trying to look offended but unable to keep a huge, stupid grin off his face. He'd suffer a lot more than a bruised arse to make Erik happy.

They cleaned up and spent the rest of the day pottering around the cabin. They couldn't stop touching each other, nothing sexual - Erik was too worn out for a re-run, though Charles would have been game - just brief, affectionate touches, like an old married couple. Well, an old, happily married couple. Erik criticised Charles' housekeeping. They argued about which dehydrated meal was the least disgusting. Charles updated him on the progress of the school and his students. He was enthusing about a girl who could make plants grow when he caught a wave of amusem*nt from Erik. He was sitting on the settle, Erik lying down with his head in Charles' lap. Walking and standing tired him and he needed frequent rests.

"What?"

"I was remembering our CIA sponsored recruiting trip. How enthusiastic you were about our targets' mutations. There was one girl, all she could do was raise the temperature of her fingertips by a few degrees. You got so excited anyway. I watched her blossom in the sunshine of your attention. We'd been sleeping together almost since you dragged me from the ocean, but that was the first time I realised I loved you. When I felt . . . jealous."

"You didn't need to feel jealous. You never need to feel jealous."

"I know."

Charles could feel the certainty in his mind. Buried beneath anger and grief and guilt, the certainty of his love for Charles and Charles' love for him.

When night fell, they disassembled the cot and laid the base down in front of the fire. They spread it with blankets and draped the unzipped sleeping bag over their naked bodies. Erik was too tired to do anything but press against Charles, whisper his name, kiss his forehead and fall into a dreamless sleep. Charles lay awake for hours.

The instant Charles woke he knew something was different. Milky light crept through the shutters. Erik was sleeping soundly, mind quiet and ordered, shoulder just a faint prickle of discomfort. Something was different. What was it? He looked round the cabin. The fire flickered and crackled in the hearth. Everything seemed the same. Then he realised. It was quiet. The wind had dropped. The storm had blown itself out. His Inuit guide had been right.

"Erik, Erik, wake up. The storm's over."

Erik surfaced from sleep, blinking and tousled.

"Shall we have a look outside?"

Erik rubbed his stubbled face. "OK, but first - "

He kissed Charles on the mouth. His breath was disgusting. Charles didn't care. They kissed for a while, taking their time, lazy and luxurious. Charles felt his prick stir. Erik's co*ck pressed insistently against his thigh.

"Turn over," said Erik.

Charles did as he was told. Erik draped an arm over Charles' flank and grasped his co*ck. Charles shuddered. Erik explored his prick with those long, elegant fingers, toying with Charles' foreskin, dragging his little finger nail over the slit, tapping at the underside and pinching his balls.

"Don't be a co*cktease," moaned Charles.

Erik laughed and took a firm grip, working his co*ck from base to tip, slow and sure. Once he had Charles begging and cursing, he tightened his hold, shortening and speeding up his strokes. Charles came, twisting his head to nip at Erik's throat.

When Charles came to his senses, he reached back for Erik's prick. Erik gently pushed his hand away and pressed his massively erect co*ck against the cleft of Charles' buttocks.

"Want to rub one off on your perfect ass."

Charles knew his arse was far from perfect. Even the most rigorous physiotherapy regime, including the weird but effective electrical stimulation exoskeleton dreamt up by Hank, couldn't undo years of sitting in a wheelchair. But if that's what Erik wanted, that's what he was going to get. Charles pressed back against him and wriggled his arse. Erik groaned and clamped his hands to Charles' hips. He started thrusting his co*ck between Charles' buttocks. Charles clenched for all he was worth, matching Erik's rhythm. Erik pumped frantically, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He sank his teeth into the back of Charles' neck as he came. Charles came a second time, pushed over the edge by Erik's climax.

The sensation of Erik's come trickling between his arse cheeks was at once satisfying and repulsive. Charles staggered out of their makeshift bed and heated water on the camping stove. He wiped himself down, a "faff" wash Raven called it; face, armpits, fanny and feet. Then he cleaned Erik up, who reclined on his blankets like a Roman emperor being washed by his body slave. They peed, dressed, ate a bit a breakfast, then gathered their courage and opened the cabin door.

As before, huge chunks of snow fell into the room. Erik formed the frame of the cot into a shovel and used his powers to shift the snow. Charles helped by using a plank from the settle to attack the drift. They stepped outside. It was desperately cold but the wind had dropped to nothing, the sky was a brilliant, madonna-blue, and the sun dazzled their eyes. The storm had blown the snow off the frozen lake. The vast, smooth surface glistened in the sun. There was a punctuation of snow covered trees on the far shore. Snow was piled up around the cabin and on the roof. The surrounding trees bent and creaked under their heavy, white coats. The air was filled with glittering, sparkling particles, shining and winking in the light. They drifted out of the sky in a slow, magical swirl, flickering like microscopic heliographs.

"Diamond dust," whispered Charles. "It's a cloud, a ground-level cloud, made up of tiny ice crystals."

"Diamond dust," repeated Erik, voice soft and awed.

Charles felt as though they were on the brink of something wonderful. Then Erik's stance changed. He stood up straighter. His expression hardened. His mind started closing down, compartmentalising the past few days into a box that had nothing to do with the rest of his life, putting Charles safely away like some precious thing too delicate for everyday use.

"We have company," he said.

A dog team was speeding across the lake towards them.

They parted at Wabush Airport. The guide had taken them to Churchill Falls. From there, Charles had chartered a light aircraft to Wabush. At first they'd told him no aeroplanes were available. Charles had kept offering more and more money until a pilot changed his mind. His private jet was waiting at Wabush.

He and Erik had scarcely exchanged a word since they'd left the cabin. Erik had put on his mask of pride and confidence and deadly calm. Everything about him screamed "danger". Charles was too dispirited to do anything but soak up every last impression of Erik that he could. They stood in the main airport building, looking out at Charles' jet, fuelled and provisioned and ready for take off.

"Do you need a ride?"

Erik shook his head.

"Well, I suppose this is goodbye."

"Goodbye, Charles."

They shook hands like a couple of businessmen parting after a not entirely successful conference.

f*ck this. Charles was sick and tired of pretending. He turned away the attention of the passers-by, shoved all his love and frustration and sorrow at Erik, grabbed his face and kissed him bruisingly hard on the mouth.

Erik staggered, kissed him back all too briefly, then turned and walked away without a word. His mind was locked down so tightly Charles could barely feel him. He stood and watched until Erik disappeared round a corner. He wanted to run after him, to kiss him again, to slap him, no, to punch him like he'd done in the Pentagon. Instead he walked across the tarmac to the waiting jet.

It had been three months and no word from Erik. Charles was vaguely aware of him somewhere in South America. He seemed fine. Charles wheeled himself away from his desk and looked out of the study window at the garden. Spring was running riot in the flowerbeds and among the trees. Green, yellow, white and purple. Some of his students were running riot too, crashing through the rose bushes. Oh well, the roses were pretty tough, they'd survived the destruction of the entire school so they'd probably survive a few young mutants. They were thorny too. Serve the little devils right.

There was a knock at his door.

"Come in."

Zaira skipped into the room. The younger students took it in turn to deliver his mail. Today was her turn.

"Good morning, Professor," she chirped, brown eyes bright beneath her hijab.

"Good morning, Zaira."

"You have a parcel today. I like parcels. Māmā and bābā always send me such nice parcels."

Charles spotted the Valparaíso postmark.

"I like parcels too. Thank you for delivering it."

"You're welcome," and off she skipped.

Charles tore off the brown paper to reveal a red silk pouch with fuchsia ties and a folded note. He opened the pouch and tipped out a fine chain and a small pendant in some silvery grey metal. The pendant was about the size of his little finger nail and shaped like a snowflake. The detail was extraordinary. He unfolded the note and read:

"This won't melt. I expect you to be wearing it next time we meet. E."

Right at the bottom of the page, in very small, very neat, very precise writing, was the word "Soon".

Charles curled his fingers over the snowflake, gripping it so hard the edges cut into his palm.

Soon . . .

Snowflake Pendant by JackyJango (u r a *)