"I don't see why we have to have a reception at all," Erik said, for the thirtieth time at least. (Today. He had repeated it several hundred other times over the course of their two-week long honeymoon, which had unfortunately just concluded.) Surely none of the two hundred people Charles lived with wanted their nose rubbed into the fact, anyway.
"I should think rubbing people's noses in would be a plus, for you," Charles said, sounding remarkably unaffected by Erik's opinion. When, exactly, Charles had stopped taking his objections seriously, Erik could no longer remember.
"Oh, I've never taken you seriously," said Charles, which was a bald-faced lie. He'd taken Erik seriously on any number of occasions. Stop it, Erik. Don't kill innocent people, Erik. Actually, don't kill guilty people, either, Erik. Erik, please don't. "You know what I mean." He lay his hand on Erik's knee, which was as completely unfair and distracting as it had been on their road trip fifty years ago, if less dangerous to both their health, since Erik was no longer likely to startle and drive off the road at the unexpected (though never unwelcome, then or now) touch. "Anyhow, it's two hours with friends and family, and then I'll never subject you to another party. I mean, except for my birthday. And graduation. But this is the only wedding reception I will ever expect you to attend. Well, unless someone very close to us gets married. Anyway, this kind of thing won't happen that often, promise."
Erik sighed, giving in not so much because he couldn't make Charles regret this if it had to happen, as because he'd spent too much of his life already making Charles regret things having to do with Erik. He didn't particularly want marrying him to be one of those things, if it wasn't already. "If we have to have a reception, I don't see why my children have to be there."
"Because they love you," Charles said, which was overstating the case considerably, Erik felt. Erik's relationship with the twins tended to be stormy—it was the rare year he was on speaking terms with both of them at the same time—and things with Lorna were still incredibly awkward. "And you're their father, so of course they're coming." A pause, and then: "Pietro's giving the toast, by the way, so if you're going to get into it with him, best wait until afterward."
At this, Erik nearly did run the car off the road, only managing to correct it with an instinctive application of his gift. "You asked Pietro to give the toast? That was stupid."
"...Why?" Charles asked.
"'The first time I met my father, I was helping break him out of the Pentagon. The first time I saw he and Charles together, Charles punched him in the face.' You know he won't be able to resist." In fact, Erik would be surprised if he didn't try to reenact it.
Charles laughed. "Well, you have to admit it's a good story. It certainly shows how far we've come, doesn't it?"
Erik sniffed, but when Charles reached to take his hand, Erik allowed it, winding their fingers together in a peace that lasted about as long as any of them ever had—which was five minutes or so, until Charles happened to mention that Logan was going to be in attendance. That one was good for half an hour's bickering, and was followed by an argument about the color scheme, on which Erik had not been consulted, and no he didn't care that that was because he'd repeatedly stated that he had no opinion and wanted nothing to do with the preparations.
By the time the mansion came into view, Erik was nearly eager for the reception. Arguing with Charles tended to have that effect, though this probably also had to do with Charles' own enthusiasm and affection bleeding over. Erik's objections never had been able to stand their ground in the wake of Charles' joy, and perhaps that was the way it should be. Perhaps it was the way it would be from now on.
Erik hoped so.