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Logan settled back in his seat. It was too comfortable. It made him uneasy. Walking around the dilapidated Xavier mansion, he had almost forgotten how insanely wealthy Charles Xavier really was. But even in the mess, wealth was hidden everywhere. The dirty glasses were crystal. The dishes piled in the sink were fine china. There just wasn’t anything cheap in the mansion. There never had been. Even the scotch that the Professor had been drinking like water was single-malt, mostly imported. Just thinking about it made Logan thirsty again, and he reached out to pour himself another glass.
The plane was different. The Professor had his own jet. His own private luxury jet. Logan shook his head to himself as he slowly took a sip. The scotch on the plane was heady and rich. He inhaled the gentle caramel and peat smell of true Scottish Scotch, and took another sip, slowly and carefully, enjoying the taste. This plane did nothing to hide the Xavier fortune. It was everywhere. Logan smiled quietly to himself. Even the pens were gold-plated in here, the ones next to the fine paper notepads. Everything was stamped with the Xavier X. Here, in the year 1973, it meant wealth and industry. But to Logan, with the eyes of a man from a different time, that X meant safety. Friendship. Trust.
It was hard to see the old Professor in this - boy. He watched the younger Charles Xavier stand up after winning the chess game against Magneto - Erik. Erik Lehnsherr. Lehnsherr. Logan whispered the name to himself. For some reason, this Erik didn’t make him think of the Magneto he had known and fought for so long. This Erik made him think of the older, quieter man, standing next to and just behind the Professor. In the future, Logan had always wondered about that quiet closeness between two old enemies. But now?
“Thank you for the game, Charles.”
Charles - it was too hard to keep thinking of this boy as the Professor - nodded quietly and made his way to the back of the jet. He was walking slowly and carefully, and didn’t lean on anything for support.
But Logan could hear sharp intakes of breath as Charles fought to keep his balance. A stifled gasp of pain. Logan mentally calculated dosage times in his head. Yes, he realized, Charles was going for another hit. Logan sighed to himself, and settled back in his chair again.
Erik put the chessboard away, pointedly not watching Charles walk to the bedroom. He made small talk with Logan, amiable and polite. The talk faded away, so Logan settled himself to try and get some sleep. Erik sat in a different bank of seats, and did the same. Logan forced himself to take deep, regular breaths. It was too hard to sleep here. Too comfortable, too strange. He heard Erik stand up, but didn’t open his eyes. He just listened. Listened to the sudden tenseness of Erik’s breathing. Listened to Erik waiting, to make sure that the stranger was asleep. Clearly, he didn’t know how heightened the Wolverine’s senses were.
Satisfied that no one could see him, or perhaps suddenly finding the confidence to go anyway, Erik walked to the bedroom door and knocked quietly.
“Charles?” Erik’s voice was soft, trying to be discreet.
“Erik? Is that - the door’s open.” Charles’ voice was equally soft, half-asleep.
But Logan could hear Erik’s heart skip a beat. He could smell the slight difference in Erik’s body as the man who became Magneto opened the door. Erik closed the door firmly behind him, but this was a plane, not a hotel or a house. The seals were not airtight, the room was not soundproof. The Wolverine can still hear them, and Logan suddenly realized that they didn’t know that.
“Are you well, Charles? You look tired. Worn out.”
“I am,” Charles admitted. “I just wanted to lie down for a bit.”
“I was worried about you.”
“Were you?” Logan could hear an impudent amusement in Charles’ voice. “That doesn’t look like worry, Erik.”
“I wasn’t expecting - I like seeing you like this, you know that. Sprawled on the bed. All I have to do is lean over….”
“So you do.” Just from the words, Logan could practically see the smile on Charles’ face, and he was beginning to understand. “But you’re not.”
A slight rustle of silk and cotton. Sheets moving against the well-worn jeans that Charles was wearing, as another body comes in contact with the bed and the man in it. Only a Wolverine could distinguish and decipher these sounds. The sound of finely woven cotton against a small piece of shell. A button. Charles undoing the button at Erik’s throat. Soft, uncalloused fingers moving over skin, under the fabric of a button-down shirt. And over it all, the sound of kisses. Gentle, but passionate kisses. Erik’s clean-shaven skin against Charles’ deceptively scruffy yet immaculate beard. Erik’s breathing got faster, his body temperature began to rise. Logan could hear it all. He could hear Charles’ heartbeat, nervous and faster than normal.
“I missed you.” A simple phrase. Charles’ voice was soft. Nervous. Almost scared.
A kiss. Erik’s first response. A kiss that left Charles breathless and shaking. “And I you. And this.” Another kiss. Tailored wool slacks moving against worn jeans - Logan could tell which fabric was which by the sound of the heavy leather belt - and there was a quiet moan from Charles in response. Logan shifted uncomfortably. The scent of their desire was starting to affect him.
“I always wondered,” said Erik suddenly, quiet and sincere, “what it would be like knowing you had no power over me.”
“I never - ” Charles was honestly shocked. He had been expecting tender reminiscence, Logan guessed.
Erik cut him off. “I know. But I wondered all the same.” Another kiss. “I know. I trust you, Charles.” Another kiss, fiercer from Erik, more willing from Charles. “Let me.”
“Erik - ” The way Charles said the name, it was both a protest and a prayer.
Their bodies were still moving against each other, unless Logan’s ears were deceiving him. Erik responded with kisses again, instead of words. Some fabric shifted, and now Logan could hear Erik’s hands moving over Charles’ skin. A bitter groan, barely stifled passion wrapped in every breath. Erik tried to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to stop kissing Charles. The words were almost unintelligible. But the Wolverine understood the bitter words: “I’m sorry.” And from that, it was not hard for Logan to guess that Erik had touched the scar. Logan vaguely remembered the Professor - the older one - gently insisting that Magneto was not truly to blame for the old injury. The words were vague in his mind because he could still hear Charles - this younger and very different version of the Professor - he could hear Charles panting in passion now, slick wet noises. Logan forced himself to take a deep, slow breath. A sudden intake of breath, a single gasp of pain, the rustle of silk and cotton again as the two changed positions, being more considerate of Charles’ physical limitations, Logan guessed. A kiss instead of thanks, then the distinctive noises started again.
Logan gave up and took another sip of his scotch, then helped himself to another cigar. A full-flavored Cuban cigar, the kind that was meant for kings and dictators. He lit it carefully, glad to have something else to think about. “Should have figured that out years ago,” he muttered to himself.