Wanda had cold feet. Not metaphorically. Literally. She’d tucked them under his thigh when she’d curled up with her doll (a one hundred dollar pledge had netted him the plush Henrietta Beastlycat Doll and a migraine – one doll plus two children equaled unforeseen family strife). Pietro played with his dolls (Erik wondered if he should call them action figures but, really, that was just gendered marketing – they were dolls) on the back of the couch.
They’d seen this episode.
The Lady Emma Frost had turned herself into a diamond. And King Banshee XIII was trying to add her to his treasury.
Erik had seen the episode just as many times as the children. There was no real reason to be watching it; he had papers to grade and Az had popped up on chat earlier to catch up and see how he was doing. But the three of them had gotten used to spending the time together – Erik hated to cut it short.
He wouldn’t have predicted it, before, but he… liked being with his kids. Huh.
And, though he’d never admit it out loud, probably, Erik liked watching the floppy-haired host. Mr. Xavier had a low voice that just seemed gentle. It was soothing. And, okay, yes, Erik needed to get out more but Erik was secure enough to admit that it was just nice to watch someone who seemed so relaxed and happy.
If he had the occasional thought about how relaxed and happy he could make the man through the liberal application of orgasms, well, Erik was a man. And men had urges sometimes.
Wanda kicked him in her sleep; Erik winced and patted her ankle until she settled back down.