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One Night in Westchester

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It's nothing out of the ordinary when Magneto lands neatly atop the windowsill of Charles' private bedroom suite; thick curtains billow softly in the light breeze, and Charles smiles at him from where he's propped up in bed, reading from a heavy tome. There's not a lot to say after they exchange pleasantries - Charles refuses to call this a "booty call," even though that's precisely what it is - and soon, Magneto has the other man tucked underneath him, his weight firm and precise.

He's mouthing his way down the curve of Charles' neck when he hears a soft tutting sound. "Did you bring condoms?" Charles asks, and Magneto freezes. It's not that he doesn't understand their necessity, of course - times have changed since they were young men in the '60s together, after all. Still, the question catches him off-guard.

"Can't we ... borrow some?"

Charles vacillates in his ear. "I believe Scott has figured out that I've figured out where he keeps his, er, stash," he says, sounding vaguely embarrassed. "They weren't there this time."

Magneto's brow furrows. "What about Wolverine?"

Charles glowers. "I'm not going to go around asking my students for prophylactic devices, Erik." He pulls himself into a sitting position with his considerable upper-arm strength and cocks his head. "There's a convenience store a few miles outside of Westchester. It wouldn't take you long." He pastes on a sunny smile. "Please, Erik?"

Magneto rolls his eyes. "We can't just ... you know, skip them? Just this once?" He begins petting at the exposed skin beneath Charles' open pajama shirt; Charles, however, stills his hand.

"No," he says firmly. "This is non-negotiable, Erik."

Magneto sighs and picks up his helmet from where it's rolled onto its side on the ground. "So you know, I blame your X-Men for this fully," he complains, and Charles picks up his book anew. "I have my phone on," he remarks absently as Magneto levitates himself grudgingly out into the crisp night air.


Charles is interrupted from his reading for the second time roughly twenty minutes later by an obsequious ringing sound. "Erik," he finally says, fumbling a little with the pocket-sized phone before speaking into the even tinier mouthpiece. "You made good time, I see."

"Yes." The other man's voice is clipped, wary, and Charles is immediately concerned. He asks what's wrong, and Magneto sighs. "There's just ... so many options, Charles."

"How do you mean?"

He can practically see Magneto grimacing. "Ribbed, not ribbed, small, medium, large, with lubricant, without, latex ... Charles, honestly, it's not as though we're worried about you getting pregnant."

"Erik, do you want to have sex with me tonight or don't you?"

Magneto grumbles and hangs up. Stuffing the phone into a pocket on his belt, he scowls at the nosy cashier who keeps craning her neck to watch him around the corner. He's willing to concede that his full battle regalia, complete with cape and helmet, no less, might be somewhat startling, but that doesn't mean that there was any reason to ask him whether he was "getting a head start on his Halloween costume" when he walked in, and ...

His phone is vibrating, now. "Charles?" he queries, floating it near his ear. Absently, he grabs up two boxes of magnum-sized condoms because he likes the name, and begins heading towards the register, assuming he's made himself too conspicuous to attempt to steal them. In his ear, Charles' soft lilt commands the bulk of his attention.

"Erik, I've just remembered that I've a few items to pick up. Since you're in town now anyways, perhaps you could get them for me? You haven't left the store yet, have you?"

Erik grits his teeth at the eager cashier and turns away again. "No, not yet," he balks, but then he reluctantly accepts a pen and a scrap of register paper from "Betsy" when Charles begins rattling off a litany of ridiculous items for him to add to the condoms. "Boy, she's got you whipped, huh?" Betsy chortles, and there's something stuck between two of her top front teeth.

Magneto shrugs, and then proffers the list a little helplessly. "Can you tell me where to find the baby powder?"


Nearly an hour passes before he's shrugging open Charles' bedroom window again, pressing his weight against it, his arms laden with (plastic; Charles had called him once more to inquire after canvas totes ["they're more environmentally friendly, Erik, you should know this"], and Magneto had promptly crushed the phone underneath the heel of his boot) bags. "Get ready, Charles," he announces before he's fully inside. "I have twelve extra-large condoms, and I'm not leaving until each and every one of them has been ..." He stops when he realizes that his audience does not consist merely of his lover.

"Hello, Erik," Charles greets placidly. To the right of his bedside, Scott stands, looking more than a little horrified, if his gaping mouth and rigid posture are any indication. "Scott was just leaving, I believe," Charles comments carefully, and Scott nods, furtively avoiding Magneto's bemused gaze as he marches out of the room.

Locking the door behind him with a wisp of magnetism, Magneto sets the bags down on an empty chair, and removes his helmet. "He brought it on himself when he decided to be stingy about sharing," he ventures, and Charles sighs and sets his book on an end table.