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Erik hurt.

He didn’t have a bit of pain, he didn’t lightly ache, he didn’t feel warm, his skin wasn’t ‘somewhat itchy’ or any of the other ridiculously stupid things the stupid adults in his life told him he would feel at the onset of his first heat.

He fucking hurt.

If this was how heat made people feel it was no wonder so many of them never got off the pill. Not that Erik really knew anything about that since he’d never taken it. All he knew about the heat suppressants was what he’d inferred from his high school’s mandatory health education class. Most omegas started taking them in middle school, he was weird for not taking them, his parents were irresponsible for not making him take them (not that anyone would say that to their faces because Jakob Lehnsherr would melt the skin off anyone who had the audacity to suggest he didn’t take proper care of his family), and they made Massive Dynamic a lot of money.

“Erik!” Who was that?

It was stupid. People talked about The Change, and human sexuality, and birth control, and abortion, and teen pregnancy (actually that was probably the heart of the entire argument), but they wouldn’t talk about bonding ages or the pill. They weren’t in the Dark Times anymore. This, when Erik thought about it, wouldn’t have been bad if they were. The monarchy would probably have been headed by some Liberal who would have just ordered all teenage omegas to get on the damn pill and Erik wouldn’t be burning from the inside out.

But no. He lived in a democracy. So the Traditionalists and the Liberals were free to argue over the morality of allowing a minor to go into heat on C-SPAN every Tuesday without actually drafting any sort of decision into law. (Although the Traditionalists would probably argue that an omega stopped being a minor at the onset of estrus).

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Should we move him?”

“No! Don’t touch him. Someone go get a teacher. Erik?”

Erik’s parents were Traditionalists. He had met the man they picked to be his alpha four years ago. He’d been twelve and convinced his father had either blackmailed someone (because the Xaviers owned New York and were practically mutant royalty) or was being blackmailed (because Charles Xavier was a seriously sketchy looking college student. He wouldn’t stop smiling at Erik. Erik had feared for his virtue).

But Erik’s parents could have picked worse. As far as arranged heat bondings went, Charles Xavier was alright. He wasn’t a creeper like Erik first thought. He was just really excitable.

And smart.

And nice. And interested in Erik’s mutation. And he was a telepath (Um…I’m really sorry I thought you were a pedophile). And he wanted to know what Erik liked. And he sent Erik these really intricate metal puzzles. Erik had the best parents.

“Erik?” The voice made the tension drain out of Erik’s body. Someone (Erik thought maybe Azazel?) put an iPad in front of his face. He whimpered. “Shh. I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry.”

Thank god. Charles was coming. And there it was. Less burning and more warm ache.