"I scarce esteem location's name," Erik murmurs, grinning; as a rejoinder it would make no sense or at least be strangely stilted, except that he knows Charles' familiarity with Dickinson. Mostly, as ever when he says these things, he's just pleased for his own sake to be educated enough to make the reference, but lest we forget that particular piece also includes a lot of treacle Erik won't directly express about home as a person's simple presence. "Don't start picking out curtains. I promised I'd get you out of here."
There's some indefinable flicker at that, as he hasn't exactly succeeded so far, has he? If anything they've gotten further in, as the events of the last few days have proven. So instead he extends his own concentration to pushing back that balm, not sharp but meaning it; he can deal with a headache. Charles would perhaps be well within his rights to point out that he doesn't have to, and is therefore too stubborn to be alive, but if nothing else at least that probably proves beyond a shadow of mental doubt that Erik isn't a pod person.
He rests linked arms on Charles' knees a while, quiet, just--looking at him, just looking even if everything roiling underneath his skin craves something less wildly romantic and more straightforwardly... just pushing the telepath down for some probably ill-advised sex on the steps, but--they should talk, and Erik is, frankly speaking, a romantic. Often good at hiding it, although maybe not when he's quoting 19th century poetry at people. "How long has it been?"
Not 'how long have I been gone,' notably; he turns the question away from himself, makes it neutral.
no subject
There's some indefinable flicker at that, as he hasn't exactly succeeded so far, has he? If anything they've gotten further in, as the events of the last few days have proven. So instead he extends his own concentration to pushing back that balm, not sharp but meaning it; he can deal with a headache. Charles would perhaps be well within his rights to point out that he doesn't have to, and is therefore too stubborn to be alive, but if nothing else at least that probably proves beyond a shadow of mental doubt that Erik isn't a pod person.
He rests linked arms on Charles' knees a while, quiet, just--looking at him, just looking even if everything roiling underneath his skin craves something less wildly romantic and more straightforwardly... just pushing the telepath down for some probably ill-advised sex on the steps, but--they should talk, and Erik is, frankly speaking, a romantic. Often good at hiding it, although maybe not when he's quoting 19th century poetry at people. "How long has it been?"
Not 'how long have I been gone,' notably; he turns the question away from himself, makes it neutral.