There is something infinitely sweet about the moment, something that turns his head and makes him want to twist the two of them together like the falling of leaves. Charles lets Erik kiss him the way he need for a moment, a heartbeat more, affection spilling from lips while his hands settle around the ever endearing shape of his waist. That might be something he'll bring up later, the way Erik is built like a greyhound, how the vulnerable looking parts of him caught Charles first - hands itching to slide against his spine, lips to his ribs, the map of the man that burst into his life. But Charles is, well, there are things that he craves and this is one of them and he won't interrupt that by speaking when he can just as easily press up against him.
It's the barest brush of his body but it does enough, his eyes closed and close enough to feel the heat. He's careful not to box Erik against the counter, cautious because as much as he trusts this is what he wants there still needs to be an out. He's not sure of Erik's past when it comes to this - to something other than the infernal scream he was at the beginning - but if Charles' pulse is pounding it doesn't mean he can't be gentle with it. So he keeps his weight to the toes and hums a little, a quiet, earnest sound. What he loses in not communicating he makes up for in the bubble of his thoughts, not pushing but very much there. It brings with itself a certain level of soft fondness - how warm the world had felt the day they broke away from everyone to talk in the grounds, the burn of interest from nightly chess games, the spark of pride when Erik had moved the satellite.
It's a catalogue of Charles' heady descent into his need for Erik and fingers curl against his shirt, anchor themselves there as he breathes.
"You -" A smile, a slow blink and he's breaking through the haze to laugh, delightedly molding closer, "You could have said. You say everything you mean."
And Charles feels everything which might explain the way even though he's trying so hard to keep his ground, to let Erik stand his, his touch keeps shifting as though to keep Erik solid and real.
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It's the barest brush of his body but it does enough, his eyes closed and close enough to feel the heat. He's careful not to box Erik against the counter, cautious because as much as he trusts this is what he wants there still needs to be an out. He's not sure of Erik's past when it comes to this - to something other than the infernal scream he was at the beginning - but if Charles' pulse is pounding it doesn't mean he can't be gentle with it. So he keeps his weight to the toes and hums a little, a quiet, earnest sound. What he loses in not communicating he makes up for in the bubble of his thoughts, not pushing but very much there. It brings with itself a certain level of soft fondness - how warm the world had felt the day they broke away from everyone to talk in the grounds, the burn of interest from nightly chess games, the spark of pride when Erik had moved the satellite.
It's a catalogue of Charles' heady descent into his need for Erik and fingers curl against his shirt, anchor themselves there as he breathes.
"You -" A smile, a slow blink and he's breaking through the haze to laugh, delightedly molding closer, "You could have said. You say everything you mean."
And Charles feels everything which might explain the way even though he's trying so hard to keep his ground, to let Erik stand his, his touch keeps shifting as though to keep Erik solid and real.