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Perturbation Theory

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Before anything else, the thought that he is incredibly grateful he didn't take any suppressants that morning shoots through Charles' head.

Raven would scold him for it, he's sure. But then, if there is ever a time when he's allowed to be impulse-driven, it's now, isn't it? At least that's his excuse, and he's sticking to it. In his own mind. Which is the only place where he needs to stick to it, because Raven doesn't actually know what he's thinking. Nobody does, on account of the fact that there isn't another telepath around, and even if there were, Charles is really quite ridiculously powerful.

It's possible his thoughts are a bit scattered right now. Understandable, he's sure.

It's more than possible he's staring. But that, also, is understandable, because the alpha who just walked into the physics department is gorgeous. Tall, slender and lithely muscled, with broad shoulders, long legs and a narrow waist Charles can't wait to wrap his legs around. And the face – those cheekbones, god. That chin. That fierce, fiery, intensely alpha scowl, brows drawn together forebodingly, wide mouth pressed into a thin, impatient line.   

"Oh dear," Charles mutters. He is so lucky! Only imagine if he'd had some conference this evening. If he'd been writing a paper. If he just hadn't been in the mood – hadn't been planning to drop by his favorite club tonight and live a little.

If he'd found this when his heat was chemically suppressed and he wasn't in any position to take full advantage.

"It doesn't bear thinking about," he mutters with increased fervor.

A student shoots him an odd glance before scurrying past Charles' vantage point on the stair's first landing. She's late to her class, an anxious little mantra skittering through her mind. oh no not again ten minutes almost oh no why didn't I take the earlier train I have no clue about Kirchhoff's laws either what if she asks me about oh she's going to be so

The entrance hall is deserted now, except for the alpha, who's stopped just inside the door. He hasn't seen Charles yet, which gives Charles a second to gather himself, and another second to hesitate.  

He isn't here to wait for fortuitiously passing alphas, regardless of how eminently fuckable they might be. Had that been Charles' goal, it would have been rather silly of him to lurk in the foyer of the physics department of all places. No, he's here because of his research.

Lehnsherr has to come through here on his way to his weekly meeting with his supervising professor, and Charles is bound to recognize him by his mutation. There aren't that many high-powered mutants around, and everyone agrees Lehnsherr's mutation is at least a 5 on the Xavier Scala, maybe a 6.  

Well… they agree that he's powerful. Charles' scala still isn't yet as widely used as it should be, considering it's the first objective scale of measurement of metahuman genetic mutations. It's early days, however, and the academical world can be a ponderous beast. It will not be a problem in the long run; Charles' next publication will be so ground-breaking nobody will be able to ignore it, or get around the implications.

The exquisite alpha pauses almost imperceptibly just inside the door and straightens further, shoulders going back, chin coming up almost belligerently. He takes a deep breath, and Charles' eyes wander down to his chest automatically. It's a shame the man is wearing such a shapeless t-shirt.

Really, there isn't much to deliberate here. Lehnsherr will be around for Charles to waylay tomorrow, too. The day after that as well. This delectable creature, on the other hand…

Charles focusses briefly on the low-level arousal simmering in his core. It takes hardly a thought before the familiar, subtle prickle rushes through his blood, sweeping outwards.  

He walks down the stairs in a cloud of pheromones, trailing one hand coyly on the banister. The alpha's head snaps up as soon as Charles moves. His nostrils flare; his eyes are wide and glued to Charles, tracking his every move as he descends the stairs.

It takes conscious effort for Charles not to smirk. That would just be gauche, and Charles – of course – is many things, but never gauche. Charles, you old dog, he tells himself happily. You've still got it.

He deserves a day off. He does. He's been working so hard. And with this lovely alpha in his bed, in his arms, between his legs… it'll be the best stress-reliever anyone could ask for. Oh, he can hardly wait.

He wonders… will this gorgeous creature be loud? Will he groan and pant in Charles' ears as he fucks him, fills him up – will he clutch at Charles helplessly when he comes, trembling and desperate? Will he growl with mindless need as he presses Charles tightly to his body, forcing him down to the bed, pressing him down and keeping him still while he swells deliciously inside of him…

"I'm Charles," he says as he reaches the foot of the stairs, smiling. His voice is a bit husky, but all in all he sounds remarkably collected, given that he can feel himself growing wet. Another minute and he'll be completely hard, too – inconvenient for the drive back to the mansion. Maybe a quickie to warm up and take the edge off, if the alpha can keep from knotting inside Charles this once. There's usually a small lull after the first coupling of a heat.    

    The alpha in question is narrowing his eyes at Charles, stepping further into the hall but, oddly, away from the stairs. Away from Charles. His lips are curling slightly. He doesn't seem to be one of the very forward ones, because he's making no move to come and get Charles yet; on the contrary, he's looking distinctly unimpressed. If Charles didn't know better, he'd almost say the man seemed displeased.

    But that can hardly be the case, can it? Here Charles is, a young, healthy and – if he does say so himself – not at all unattractive omega in heat, practically drenched in pheromones and already so wet for the alpha that the man could take Charles right here in the entrance hall, right now, just grab him and tear off his jeans and bend him over his arm and shove himself into Charles hard, oh god.

    He's stepped forward before he even knows he's moving. Two quick steps, three – light, almost dancing. Charles is never usually this graceful. But the alpha steps back just as quickly, just as gracefully, brows drawing together darkly in what really does look astoundingly like anger. 

    Charles has to clear his throat a little. "Excuse me for being bold, but I couldn't help but notice what a groovy mutation you –"

    And that is when the bone-deep, thrumming mental echo of a mutation that has nothing to do with the enticing alpha's lovely storm-blue eyes hits. It's low, almost subtle, but vast and wild; it rushes through Charles and makes his gut clench, sets his teeth on edge.

    "– ergh," he finishes, somewhat less intelligently than anticipated.

    This is not a 6. This is nowhere near being a 6. And what are the chances of another man with a mutation as powerful as this just happening to be where Charles was waiting for the first such man? Vanishingly small. No, this is… has to be –

    "Mr Lehnsherr," Charles manages at last.

    "What the hell do you think you're doing?" growls the really quite distractingly attractive alpha, who is somehow, implausibly, Erik Lehnsherr. "Stay right the fuck where you are. Are you listening to me?"

    He's an alpha? But –

    This must have been why Professor Thomson had smiled that weird smile when Charles spoke to him about Lehnsherr, asked Thomson to send the man over. An alpha –

    Sheer amazement clears Charles' head enough that he remembers the oddly contemptuous edge to the professor's projected emotions about his student, the mocking drawl in his voice when he'd promised to tell Lehnsherr that Professor Xavier from Genetics wished to see him at his earliest convenience. "Don't expect him to actually show up, though, Xavier," Thomson had added, smirking as though at a joke too absurd to actually be funny. "Lehnsherr is… the perverse type. If you know what I mean."

    Charles hadn't had any idea what that was supposed to mean. Thomson really was a humongous, pompous arse – Charles had always thought so, and this just confirmed it. He could have just said Lehnsherr was an alpha. Had he been trying to prank Charles, or something equally infantile?

    Charles shakes his head, tries to clear some room for thought.

    "I don't –" but Charles doesn't actually know what to say, and just breaks off with another shake of the head. An alpha studying engineering? Well, it's unexpected, but Charles guesses there's no reason why Lehnsherr shouldn't try, if he wants to. No harm in trying, is there.

    "I, really – at this point I feel that, uhm. Mr Lehnsherr, I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that I am very taken with you. Please come home with me, because I would quite like to have rather a lot of sex with you."

    Not the most urbane speech in the history of omegas trying to bag an alpha, certainly. It may, perhaps, be termed gracelessly direct even by Charles' standards, which Raven tells him are sadly below par. But even so, Charles does not expect the delectable Mr Erik Lehnsherr to go pale with rage and make angry jazz hands at him, causing Charles' belt-buckle to first punch him in the gut and then drag him several meters to the side before spilling him to the floor.     

      By the time Charles has picked himself up, somewhat rattled and considerably less turned on, Lehnsherr has stormed off.

      Charles guesses that this is a definite "no".

      Maybe Charles should have asked Lehnsherr to participate in Charles' research first.