atthemercyof | but that's how we like it, and that's all we want

[ Laughing, he dips forward to press his lips to Charles' cheek. ] I'll be kind then, I want to see your childhood. Is that acceptable?

[ Melting on the spot would be out of the question, so Charles' hand strokes Erik's cheek before he's pulling back, the sunlight fluttering down from the tiny windows showing more and more golden. ] You aren't going to just back me into a bookshelf and fog up my glasses? [ He blinks and in the next moment there are a pair of librarian's glasses balanced on his freckled nose, thick framed and very much resembling ones he had to wear in college when the eye strain got too much. ]

Edited 2012-02-02 15:51 (UTC)

[ Well.

His gaze turns a little more earnest, a little dark. It's attractive, sparks a feeling Erik hasn't had much. Charles is certainly attractive in them. ] You're trying to distract me.

[ Who, Charles? Never has there been a more innocent, positively angelic guide. Genuinely surprised, but he sounds intrigued. ] Why Erik, I didn't know you had an affinity for glasses. Uni memories are looking better and better.

[ Tucking them away, he's crowding into Erik's space, gesturing at the stairs languidly. ] Up you go. Keep your thoughts pure in the reading room, would you? Those memories will be all of ten year old me or so and things would get a trifle awkward.

[ In a fit of immaturity, Erik sticks his tongue out at Charles. Then he smiles, takes the steps when commanding. ]

I do know how to behave myself.

[ Grinning back is second nature, Charles laughing softly at this lighthearted side of Erik. Bracketing Erik in with hands on both railings, the steps protesting both their weights, they make their way easily out of the unsorted storerooms, air close and cramped and musty in the tiny stairwell. ] A little too well, I'd normally complain.

[ Moving up carefully, cautious with the creak but still fascinated. ] Only normally, my my, you've changed.

Hmm. I didn't think you'd appreciate the constant harassment, but if you're sure...

[ Grinning behind him, he gives Erik a light tap to the small of his back, ushering him up toward the top of the landing. The path gives way to an unusually curvaceously shaped reading room, small but evenly spaced shelves lining the oak walls, broken only by a moderately sized mantle, a roaring fire underscoring several gleaming silver-gilded photos resting atop it. The most ornate the four bears a worn picture of a middle aged man with tidy brown hair, cut to be easily combed away from kind blue eyes - a familiar sight to Erik, he hopes. Charles inherited much of his appearance from his father, the telepath sending up a warm hullo, Dad when he passes the picture; he only regrets that there wasn't enough time for them to spend together.

Gesturing to the overstuffed, horrifically ugly couches, Charles turns, hooking a hand on the ladder's grip. ] Be respectful to the man of the house, now. He was a good man, never held any of the bigoted beliefs many of his peers did around the time the war broke out. He would have liked you very much, Erik.

[ His gaze drifts to the photo frames, falls on the one of Charles' father. ] He sounds like a wonderful man.

[ There's something intimate and sweet about this, Erik held in Charles' mind and kept there, seeing into him. Everything seems so much softer. ]

He tolerated my antics - if that isn't enough for sainthood, then the book needs to be rewritten. [ It's fond, enough to speak volumes about his admiration for his father, what's left that he'd like to share with another soul. Yes, this seems like a good starting line to let Erik in at.

Leaping aloft the ladder like he weighs barely a feather, Charles climbs toward one of the oldest books, its cover desaturated of colour and steadily frayed at its corners, but he focuses on the memory he wants, the spine's lettering now shining in gold leaf. ] Mum tried sometimes, but father was always the one closer to me. The distance from having to travel for work must have done it, made him want to try harder to give me a normal life, but she never knew what to do with me, not like he did.

[ Climbing back down, an understanding smile on his face while he holds the tome between his hands. ] Not her fault. In the end, we never did do right by each other. But Father was kind in many ways.

[ Erik's still stood, taking in everything with a level of interest, keen gaze flickering from thing to thing. He turns on his heel, watches Charles for a second. ]

Are you like him?

I hope. [ Turning the book over, his palm runs along the gleaming lettering. ] I hadn't unlocked my gift until he died, so. I had no insight into anything but the kind of hero worship a son has for his father.

[ Judgement impaired or not, Charles has no doubt there was an innate goodness to his father and that this memory contains some of it. He offers the book to Erik. ] See and judge for yourself.

[ Taking it, holding it very carefully in his hands, Erik looks over to him. ] Are you sure?

[ Rocking back on his heels, hands in pocket, Charles looks quite certain of his decision, the fire in the hearth seeming to grow warmer with the action of entrusting precious rare things to Erik's care. Softly. ] If I weren't, I wouldn't have invited you to stay in here. And, in fact, nor would I have allowed you to handle a very personal possession of his.

[ Eyes raking over the way the fire's glow turns Erik golden, even more lovely than he usually is, making a tight, hard lump of affection swell within him. ] I know so much about you. I think it's only fair that you start to receive some of that in return, don't you?

[ The look he gives Charles is incredibly fond, just fixed on him for a moment, bursting force with an affection he's never quite going to get a handle of. He takes the book carefully over to one of the couches, sits on the edge of it, makes sure the precious thing is safe for him to hold. He doesn't open it though, just touches the front, and then with his other hand, pats the seat beside him, quirking his lips up at his friend. ]

[ Tipping his head to the side, Charles nonetheless does as he's bidden, swinging around in one sway of his hips - a little fun on his part, as he misses walking like any sane person would - and settling in close to Erik, crossed at the knee and arm draped quite lightly around Erik's waist. All of it's instinctive, like a dance that one doesn't forget even after long years of going without it, with Erik imprinted in him. Erik could see that room too, once specifically formed for him, but Charles wants to wait and work from the ground up.

Dropping a kiss on his shoulder, he murmurs lowly, still audible over the crackle of the fire. ] Once you open it, it'll be a trifle disorientating. It's an old memory, and worse, indistinct, but it will project on you. The way words paint stories for you on the insides of your eyelids.

[ He relishes in this, being allowed inside Charles' very thoughts and see into his memories, being trusted with this. It's fascinating, and touching all at once, and Erik leans into him for a brief moment before opening the book. ]

[ Charles knows this by heart. The bits that fuzz out and disappear through the frailty of memory, and the stronger, more clear parts of the scene unfolding before both of them.

There's the heady anticipation he felt as a child, bouncing on the balls of his feet for most of the day because Mum said it, told him that his father was coming home (Only if you practice your archery, Charles she'd chided, and the boy spent hours impatiently knocking the arrows into the bow because he wasn't old enough to let them fly yet). But once he did sweep into the foyer, Charles had launched himself into his arms and was lifted with a squeal, and Father's laughter was like church bells, clear, deep, and true. Things blur from there, but many of the images are still known to him: the small, ornately-threaded robe brought for Charles, the baubles he brought to the servants in the house, all uniquely suited to the women while Mum looked on disapprovingly. That, too, was wiped away with a pair of expensive-looking earrings, and no further protest was heard from here as the servants compared and cooed at Charles' robe in equal measure.

And in Father's favorite study he laid out maps, guiding Charles' tiny hand over the parts he'd traveled to this time with his business partners, marking out the spots where he'd picked up the gifts and a small summary of what his work there meant. Charles didn't understand those bits, he just enjoyed his father's scent and the low timbre of his voice, sitting with him in a deep sense of peace and love, listening to his speech's cadence until Charles is lulled asleep, the memory fading out until it's a simple book once again. ]

[ His breath catches in his throat as it unfolds before him. It's beautiful, carries with it the feeling of love and adoration, and Erik can understand why Charles cherishes this so dearly. It touches him down to the very core of his spirit, pressed up against Charles' side, he can feel him as though all of this is real, but the ethereal aspect still twists around him. He bows his head, flashes Charles the softest of smiles, eyes a little damp with the echo of his friends childhood still imprinted on my mind. ]

Thank you. [ It's the echo of Charles before, Erik's mind unlocking to them, and it feels right to mimic it. ] He seemed like a wonderful man, and you were very precious, weren't you?

[ A small huff and Charles is ducking his head, knowing exactly what sentiment is Erik is echoing, yet is still slightly abashed when he smiles, blinking the moisture away. ] To Father? He told me there was no greater treasure. Imagine when I said surely gold must be a better treasure than a child. [ He laughs sheepishly, recalling the abstract, narrow thinking he used to get up to. ]

Edited 2012-02-04 00:57 (UTC)

Adorable.

[ Erik says the word with relish, part tease, part honest affection. ] That's precisely what you were.

Then I grew up - oh the horror. Where did that precious face go? [ His cheeks are reddened, but he's clearly pleased with such flattery. ] It'd be an entirely different reaction now if I dashed between servant's skirts and hid behind them for fun.

I'd break you out from solitary confinement, dear.

Ah, my thanks for the good care. [ Sighing shortly, he rests against Erik's shoulder and breathes slowly, still apparently gathering himself from seeing his father once more and missing him every second since. Almost nothing had hurt so deeply as when Charles lost him, and it pushed him to do things he wasn't proud of for reasons he thought his father would have understood. In life, he protected Charles from pain and loneliness, and the young boy wanted to pass that on to his mother so she wouldn't suffer. But, oh his failure.

Mumbling into his shirt. ] So, verdict? Am I anything like him?

I think so. [ Wrapping an arm around Charles' shoulder and squeezing. ] I can see the similarities. He seemed kind, and you are very much the same.

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SORRY MY LOVE, I AM HERE NOW.

OH GOOD, IT WAS SO DARK AND NOW, THE LIGHT

/SWOONS

N'AWW

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bb, I'm going to bed because people suck BUT ILU.

I wish people around you would stop being so fail ;_; ILU BE WELL /GLOMP

I wish so too. I may become a hermit sometime soon, it sounds like a reasonable use of my time.

we could be part of a group. Hermits United. We'll meet once a year.

I am an awful person.

if by awful you mean badass, then sure!

;; /rows boat to america

COME TO USSS. you can live in my drawer >.>

hooraaaaah, sounds like a wonderful place to set up shop

I hear it's quite cozy this time of the year

It would be nicer than my room though, that's for sure.

what is it, the size of a shoebox?

yes, also MY MATTRESS IS POSSESSED. so I never go into my room unless I am about to pass out ;;