Charles finishes tying his tie, then turns from his reflection in the mirror to Erik. "How do I look?"
Erik, for his part, looks disgruntled—not that he ever doesn't when they're in Washington. He barely glances at Charles, even to criticize his tie. "Why do I never get to speak in front of Congress? I'm perfectly capable."
"Well," Charles says, trying to think of a diplomatic way to point out that Erik tried to kill the president forty years ago, "you do have a tendency to get off-topic, dear." It's not what they need when they're asking for money—and quite a bit of it. Enough to open four schools in states that still have none, to open a handful more X-Corp offices in major cities around the globe. "Anyway, it would hardly be appropriate. It doesn't matter how many pardons you've gotten, you still tried to kill the president. It makes people nervous. I really can't say I blame them."
"It was only Nixon," Erik says.
"It still counts."
Erik sniffs. "Barely."
"Still." Charles turns back to the mirror to inspect his tie again.
After a moment, Erik says, sharply, "What are you trying to do? Let me see that."
Charles turns back around, and this time Erik bends down and redoes Charles' tie, all the while muttering under his breath about men born with silver spoons in their mouths who have somehow never learned how to tie a decent tie.
"That's much better. Thank you," Charles says when Erik's finished (though in all honesty it looks exactly the same to him as it did before). "Now, how do I look?"
"Convincing," Erik says.
"Let's hope so."
"Sexy," Erik adds, leaning further down and in, this time in order to kiss him.
Charles allows it, though after a few minutes he has to push Erik away to keep him from wrinkling the suit. There'll be plenty of time for that kind of thing later, once they're home.