For just a split moment after spotting the shadow outside of his bedroom window, Charles wondered if this might not be someone else, in a sincere kidnapping and/or assassination attempt. It had only been two months since the last time he'd seen Erik, after all; and they'd had a hideous fight, too, the kind that typically led to Erik not deigning to grace Charles with his presence for an average of six months.
Yet, when the curtains slid aside and the window opened, that silhouette could be no one else. For one thing, Charles had never met anyone other than Erik who was willing to wear anything quite that hideous on their head.
"What are you doing here?" Charles asked, a little stiffly; Erik wasn't the only one accustomed to needing half a year to cool off. "I didn't have Hank upgrade the security system again so you could just waltz right in, you know."
There was quite a bit more he could have said, especially when it came to Erik's activities over the past several months—they'd fought so harshly the last time in part because of what Erik had meant to do. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he meant to go to war, and if he'd freed more than few mutants from the labs where they'd been held, he'd done it in a manner that ensured people would continue to view mutants as dangerous, potential murderers all.
Charles would have repeated every bit of that, too, except that was when Erik removed the helmet. It was easier to be angry with Erik when he couldn't tell what Erik was thinking. It was much easier to be furious with him when there wasn't that so-familiar sense of want radiating from him.
Often, Charles had thought he was pathetic for not throwing Erik out on his ass. It wasn't as if he couldn't; when Erik was bareheaded, Charles could make him do anything he wanted. Yet somehow, conversely, that was always when he wanted Erik the most...
"Well, fine," he said, and scooted himself over, so there would be room in the bed. "We can quarrel more about it later, I suppose."
Erik closed the window and the curtains, then climbed into the bed. As usual, he didn't bother making small-talk; he'd always been as single-minded in bed as he was in battle, and wasted no time. In moments, his mouth and Charles' had met; within minutes, their clothes were piled on the seat of Charles' wheelchair.
Afterward, they lay there together, and when Charles caught his breath, he asked, "What brought this on?"
Sometimes, when Erik showed up unexpectedly, there was indeed some other reason. Some plot of his he wanted Charles in on, or some danger he'd come to warn of—no matter what it was, they always seemed to start in this same way. Whatever other order of business might come about, fucking was always first on the list.
Now, though, Erik was quiet for a moment, and then said, "I missed you."
"—Ah."
When they'd been younger, Erik had rarely answered that question—because he didn't know the answer, or because he didn't want to be laid even more bare than he already was every time they did this. In recent years, that had changed. As his hair had grayed, and as Charles' had thinned, they seemed to have each lowered some of their defenses, the ones they'd each erected after the beach. Not all. But some. Sometimes, Charles even dared to hope that someday they would...
For now, though, he'd settle for Erik's warm lean body next to him, and the promise of a good fight in the morning.