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schmericaCrossposting from tumblr for archiving purposes. ~600 words. Faerie AU, same universe as A World of Fire and Dew.
*****
Erik rarely asks questions of Charles. He did so more often in the beginning, though, before he decided the answers only made things more difficult.
There was a night - not their first night together, but one of the early ones. After they finished their lovemaking, Erik had risen from the bed, abruptly aching with hunger. He had ransacked his stores, still nude, feeling Charles's eyes on him from across the room. He wolfed down a hunk of bread, spread with sweet butter, in two bites, like a ravenous dog.
He didn't offer Charles any food; he knew too well already Charles would not take any. But if Charles would not eat his food, at least he could drink Erik's wine, and so Erik brought two mugs with him when he returned to the bed.
It was not a large bed; it was clearly designed for a single person. The two of them were a tight fit, curled together. Charles was halfway in Erik's lap, half on top of him. He rested his head on Erik's chest, his hand splayed wide across Erik's belly.
Charles's hair beneath his fingers was softer, finer than any fabric Erik had ever touched. He smelled like flowers and honey, sharp beneath the sweetness.
"How old are you, really?" Erik asked, as he wound his hand slowly through Charles's hair. He squeezed a fistful of the strands, clenching tightly around them.
"Mmm," Charles hummed, sounding thoughtful. "As time passes here, you mean? I was born the same year the comet last flared through the sky. The Court thought it was a good omen for a new child."
Erik had heard of the comet. His great-grandfather would have been a babe then. Erik let a small, breathless noise out through his nose. He thought it might be a laugh.
"I know what you're thinking." Charles raised his head so he could look Erik in the eye. His face was serious. "But I assure you, I've been told I'm very mature for my age."
"That wasn't what I was thinking at all," Erik said.
"No?"
Erik shook his head. "Do you know how old I am, Charles?"
"How old?" Charles said. Not interested in the answer, necessarily, but indulgent: playing along with whatever game Erik might choose to play.
"This last spring was the beginning of my thirty-first year."
Charles's mouth fell open in something akin to shock. It was oddly gratifying; Erik had never seen an expression anything like it cross Charles's face before. "But- But then you're practically an infant!"
"Unless I'm exceptionally lucky, I most likely have more years behind me than ahead of me," Erik told him.
This did not diminish Charles's surprise, but it did seem to darken it. Charles looked absolutely stricken. "But that's terrible. That can't be true, Erik. I won't allow it. I won't let you go so soon."
Part of Erik wanted to laugh, as he thought: What on earth do you think you could do about it?
Another part of him looked at Charles's face, flushed red with righteous anger, unearthly with beauty and electric with power, and thought that he did not want to hear whatever answer Charles might have.
And so he didn't ask. He tucked the question away in the back of his mind, to think on after Charles left once more. When Erik was alone with his own thoughts, undistracted by the magnetic pull of Charles's presence.
For the moment, he merely said, "Don't fuss so," and he pulled Charles back down to him, ending the conversation with another kiss.
*****
Erik rarely asks questions of Charles. He did so more often in the beginning, though, before he decided the answers only made things more difficult.
There was a night - not their first night together, but one of the early ones. After they finished their lovemaking, Erik had risen from the bed, abruptly aching with hunger. He had ransacked his stores, still nude, feeling Charles's eyes on him from across the room. He wolfed down a hunk of bread, spread with sweet butter, in two bites, like a ravenous dog.
He didn't offer Charles any food; he knew too well already Charles would not take any. But if Charles would not eat his food, at least he could drink Erik's wine, and so Erik brought two mugs with him when he returned to the bed.
It was not a large bed; it was clearly designed for a single person. The two of them were a tight fit, curled together. Charles was halfway in Erik's lap, half on top of him. He rested his head on Erik's chest, his hand splayed wide across Erik's belly.
Charles's hair beneath his fingers was softer, finer than any fabric Erik had ever touched. He smelled like flowers and honey, sharp beneath the sweetness.
"How old are you, really?" Erik asked, as he wound his hand slowly through Charles's hair. He squeezed a fistful of the strands, clenching tightly around them.
"Mmm," Charles hummed, sounding thoughtful. "As time passes here, you mean? I was born the same year the comet last flared through the sky. The Court thought it was a good omen for a new child."
Erik had heard of the comet. His great-grandfather would have been a babe then. Erik let a small, breathless noise out through his nose. He thought it might be a laugh.
"I know what you're thinking." Charles raised his head so he could look Erik in the eye. His face was serious. "But I assure you, I've been told I'm very mature for my age."
"That wasn't what I was thinking at all," Erik said.
"No?"
Erik shook his head. "Do you know how old I am, Charles?"
"How old?" Charles said. Not interested in the answer, necessarily, but indulgent: playing along with whatever game Erik might choose to play.
"This last spring was the beginning of my thirty-first year."
Charles's mouth fell open in something akin to shock. It was oddly gratifying; Erik had never seen an expression anything like it cross Charles's face before. "But- But then you're practically an infant!"
"Unless I'm exceptionally lucky, I most likely have more years behind me than ahead of me," Erik told him.
This did not diminish Charles's surprise, but it did seem to darken it. Charles looked absolutely stricken. "But that's terrible. That can't be true, Erik. I won't allow it. I won't let you go so soon."
Part of Erik wanted to laugh, as he thought: What on earth do you think you could do about it?
Another part of him looked at Charles's face, flushed red with righteous anger, unearthly with beauty and electric with power, and thought that he did not want to hear whatever answer Charles might have.
And so he didn't ask. He tucked the question away in the back of his mind, to think on after Charles left once more. When Erik was alone with his own thoughts, undistracted by the magnetic pull of Charles's presence.
For the moment, he merely said, "Don't fuss so," and he pulled Charles back down to him, ending the conversation with another kiss.
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