When he finds out he's pregnant, Erik keeps it to himself for the first three days or so. It's not that he doesn't want to tell Charles — he just wants to savor it for awhile, first. He keeps daydreaming about going to rallies with a baby carrier strapped to his front, immersing him-or-her in mutant rights and mutant culture from the beginning. It's going to be great. He can't wait to be a dad. He can't wait to make Charles a dad, too; he's even considering letting Charles hold the baby once in a while. Like when he-or-she needs to be changed or is about to spit up all over everything.
Charles will make a great dad. He loves kids. Erik ends up telling him sooner than he intends to just because he can't wait to see the look on his face.
He expects Charles to be excited; he doesn't expect for Charles to stop smiling as soon as Erik says the words. He doesn't expect for Charles' face to go blank, or for him to just sit there staring at Erik.
"Fine," Erik says, spitting the words out. "Fine. If you don't want to be involved, I'll raise it myself. I don't need you. We don't need you. You know what, fuck you." He stands up, balling his hands into fists. "I'm staying with a friend tonight. I want you and your shit out by the time I get back tomorrow morning."
And so saying, he storms toward the door, determined, absolutely determined to be in his car and on the road before he does something stupid like burst into tears. He's cried in front of Charles before, but not like this, not when his face is hot and his hands are shaking, and he knows that if he stays for five more seconds he's going to start.
"Erik, wait," Charles says, but Erik keeps going. He's halfway down the hall before Charles catches up to him, placing his hand on Erik's elbow. "That's not what I — let's go back inside and talk about this."
Erik shakes him off. "There's nothing left to talk about."
"Erik, please. I don't — I didn't mean — of course I want to be involved! I was just surprised. You said you were pregnant; you didn't say you want to keep it. I didn't know that. I had no idea you even wanted a family. Actually, I thought you didn't. I do. I mean, we don't have to, if that's not what you want. But I was trying to collect my thoughts so I could be supportive."
Erik turns around to look at him. Charles is red-faced and blotchy; he looks like he's about to cry, and he doesn't even have pregnancy hormones to blame it on.
"And if you change your mind, that's fine too," Charles says. "Whatever you decide, I'll be here for you. If you want me to be."
Then Charles pulls him into a hug.
Erik buries his head in the crook of Charles' neck. "Well, you could have just said that in the first place, you know."
The first time Erik brings Charles to his apartment, Charles feels like he's traveled to a different and not particularly friendly country. The hallway outside Erik's door is narrow and dark. The walls and floors are stained. Charles doesn't want to know with what, and he doesn't look any more closely than he has to.
Erik's apartment is small, with threadbare carpeting and furniture that, while clean, is mismatched and far from new. It's not quite as poorly-lit as the hallway due to several lamps in the corners of the living room. There are a handful of pictures on the walls — family portraits, looks like — and some carefully-lettered picket signs propped up against the television stand.
"Well, this is," Charles says, then cannot think of a word to follow up with. "This is very — very —"
Erik looks at him with a flat expression. Charles feels his face heating up.
"Very," he concludes.
"Isn't there usually an adjective?" Erik asks. "It's very what?"
'Tidy' is the first word that comes to mind. Somehow, he doesn't think Erik would take that as a compliment.
"It's very...nice," Charles says.
"Oh, really. Is that so? I know it's not a townhouse or anything."
Charles' face grows even hotter. He resolves to keep Erik from seeing the house he grew up in for as long as he possibly can.
"I love it," Charles says gamely. He resists the urge to glance around the room again, fearing his doubtfulness would show on his face.
Erik frowns at him, but before he can argue any more — Charles has already gotten it figured out that Erik loves to argue, but that while most of his arguing isn't serious, some of it is; he's fairly certain this would fall into the latter category — Charles kisses him to remind him what they came here for to begin with.
Later, lying in Erik's bed and on the verge of falling to sleep, Charles decides it isn't really so bad. The crack in the ceiling is interesting to look at, he supposes. At least they don't have to worry about Raven banging down the bedroom door.
"Date night," Erik repeats skeptically as he shifts the baby's weight on his hip.
Charles nods. "It'd be good for us. I miss you."
Erik opens his mouth to scoff about how they see each other every day, so what's there to miss — but Charles beats him to it.
"I mean I miss getting to spend time alone with you. We haven't done anything for just the two of us in more than six months. I really think we should drop the kids off at your mom's once a week so we can have a night out. I'm sure she'd love to have them. Isn't she always complaining to you about how she never gets to see them?"
"She knows how to drive. She can come over here if she wants to see them."
"Well, now that you mention it, she'll be here in an hour to pick them up for the evening."
Erik just stares. He can't believe this. He finds himself fighting off a thread of panic and holding onto David just that much harder.
"Look, if you're that upset about it, we don't have to go out tonight. You can have a little more time to get used to the idea. What about this Sunday?"
"...I don't know." And he doesn't; he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to let David out of his sight for even one second. He never used to feel this way — when all they had was Lorna, he used to live for the times they could drop her off at his mom's or Sharon's and have some time to themselves. But ever since David was born, well...they never thought they'd be able to have any more kids. Lorna was a one in a million chance herself. Erik didn't feel like any of this was real throughout his entire second pregnancy. That didn't change until the first time he held David in his arms at the hospital; ever since that moment, some part of him has been convinced that if he lets go or turns away for one second, it won't be real anymore.
It's funny; he didn't realize how much he wanted more kids until they found out it was possible for them.
Charles sighs and says, "We'll talk about it later. Can I hold him?"
"Okay, buddy, go see your Dad," Erik says, handing David over. David is thrilled to go; he adores Charles, and seems to get a kick out of wheelchair rides around the house. Lorna always did, too. (Actually, she still does, though they usually involve her balancing on the back, nowadays.)
After a minute, Charles gives Erik a shrewd look. "You know, if you want more kids, we could try for them. But I'd have to put my foot down about those date nights."
Erik doesn't even have to think about it.
"...Done."
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no" — he pauses, takes a deep breath, and then continues — "no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, oh, and in case you were thinking I might change my mind, NO."
"But Daddyyyy," Lorna whines. "I really want one. I could keep it in my room. You won't ever have to see it. I would feed it and water it and everything. Pleeeeeeeeeease? They're so cyuuute!"
Erik had known taking Lorna to the county fair was a terrible idea. He hadn't realized how terrible until now. All she did last year was puke at the top of the ferris wheel, so he'd made a rule about not eating until they were done with the rides. He'd figured that would be enough to get him through this year's fair.
Lorna tries to reach through the fence to pet the brown-speckled goat kid she's had her heart set on since two minutes ago.
Erik reminds himself that he must be heartless or he's going to be cleaning goat crap off the carpet for the next ten or however many years. He grits his teeth and drags Lorna away. Unfortunately, the baby goats are smack dab in the middle of the Baby Barn, so there's no quick and easy way out.
They leave the same way they came in — best for her not to get a load of the baby llamas. When they get close to the entrance, Lorna pulls her hand out of his and runs to look at the kittens.
"Awwwww, they're so cute! Aren't they cute?" She looks up at Erik and sniffles. Her little face is streaked with tears. "Hi, kittens," she coos, and sticks her finger into one of the cages.
Half an hour later, carrying a mewing box with holes punched in it across the street to the parking lot, with Lorna skipping beside him, Erik has the distinct feeling he's been played.
"And what," Erik says, voice thick with incredulous disbelief, "do you think you're going to be doing with that?"
Charles' erection is hot and stiff in Erik's hand. Erik's not sure he believes this is really happening. There's no way some little blue pill can do this; he doesn't care what Charles' doctor said.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm going to fuck you with it."
There's something about the way he says 'fuck' that makes Erik's mouth go dry. Maybe it's because he can't remember the last time he heard Charles say it; for him to say it in this context is the hottest thing that's happened to Erik in a long time.
"Oh, really," Erik says, running his hand up Charles' stomach. "Is that what you think?"
He leans in, positioning himself so that his thigh is pressed up against Charles' erection — a reminder; otherwise he'd have to keep glancing at it to make sure it's still there — and then starts working him over with his hands and his mouth, all those places that are good for him, his earlobes and the hollow of his jaw and that one place on his neck, his collarbone and his nipples...
They can't usually do it like this. Charles almost never manages to get more than half-hard on his own; when he does, they have to hurry or he'll lose his erection before they get anywhere with it. Erik can count on his fingers the times he's had Charles' cock in his ass in the last few years; he can count on one hand the times it's been satisfying for either of them.
Part of Erik wants to hurry now, just in case those pills aren't as good as they seem to be. But he wants to take his time even more, now that he has the luxury — and even more than that, he wants to make this good for Charles. It would be a shame if he got bored or fell asleep or something.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Of course it's going to be good," Charles says, scoffing — but he doesn't exactly try to rush Erik along, running his hands up and down Erik's arms, sometimes stroking the nape of his neck in encouragement.
Some time later, Erik shifts so that he's straddling Charles' lap. He glances down and tries to look shocked, like he's only just noticing their visitor.
"Is that for me?" he asks, his lips brushing the shell of Charles' ear. "I think it is. Oh, yeah."
"Uh-huh," Charles says, looking a little dazed, the way he always does when it's working for him, erection or no erection.
Erik rides Charles slow and thoroughly, then fast and rough when he's close.
Afterward, his ass is more deliciously sore than it's been in nearly a decade, and he's decided that he's definitely on board with this whole Viagra thing.
They're on their way back from yet another crappy open house when Charles says, "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way."
"Yeah. I definitely agree with you. We should just stay in the apartment for a few more years," Erik says, more to get a reaction than anything else.
Charles rolls his eyes. "What I mean is, we keep looking at all these one-story houses, and you've hated every last one of them. I haven't really cared for any of them either. So maybe we should approach this from a different direction. We could start looking at two-story houses."
"No way," Erik says. Charles can't do stairs. What's he trying to say, he doesn't mind being stuck using only half of the place they buy? That's not happening. "We'll just keep looking until we find something we like. We will, you'll see."
"That's not what I meant. I was thinking...well, no matter where we move, we're going to have to do all sorts of renovations anyway. We could even put in an elevator if we need to, so maybe we shouldn't limit ourselves while we're looking."
"An elevator." It seems like a really weird idea to Erik. Elevators belong in hospitals and fancy hotels, places like that. Their apartment complex doesn't even have one; that's why they had to move to the ground floor a few years back. "That sounds like it would be pretty expensive."
"Yes, well. We can afford it." Charles sounds vaguely apologetic, the same way he did the first time he mentioned his trust fund. Erik's still not sure if he's embarrassed about it as a general thing, or if he thinks he has to be because all that money makes Erik nervous. Like it's not bad enough that Charles' family is worth hundreds of millions (maybe even billions; Erik's never asked. He's better off not knowing). Now Charles has a seven-digit bank account, and Erik goes into a cold sweat every time he thinks about it. "If we still don't see anything we like, we could even have something built for us, you know?"
"I don't know."
"I might even prefer to do it that way. It would be nice to live somewhere that was built for me from the ground up, not just renovated to make room for me later. If that makes sense."
"It makes sense," Erik says. Actually, it sounds pretty similar to Charles' rationale for buying everything new instead of used, but he doesn't want to hurt his feelings. Besides, it's really not that bad of an idea, especially considering that a house is a way bigger deal than the used microwave they had a huge fight about last week. They're not looking for a starter home; Lorna's going to grow up in this house, so they had better be really sure they're both happy with it before they sign anything.
"That is just as ridiculous as it was the last time you brought it up," Charles says. "We can always move again in a few years, if we want to. I'm not sure why you think we can never move again after we buy a house."
*
Later that evening, once they've picked up Lorna from Erik's mom's, eaten dinner and put her to bed, Charles says, "The more I think about it, the more I like the elevator idea. We could get stuck in it and be basically forced to have sex to kill the time anytime we wanted to."
Erik thinks about it. "I'm sold."
"Really?"
"Completely."
They really should have known better than to ask Lorna to babysit the twins when they went out for their anniversary dinner, but Erik hadn’t expected to return home to this.
"You didn’t have to do this," he says, shrugging off his coat and hanging it in the hall closet before heading into the kitchen. Their organized, mostly clean kitchen, with all sorts of counter space that definitely wasn’t there when they left earlier in the afternoon. If anyone had asked him five minutes ago, he wouldn’t have been able to remember whether the countertop is green or blue, but turns out it’s kind of in the middle, at least in this lighting. And, now that he thinks of it, nothing fell out of the closet when he opened the door, which probably indicates that there’s at least fifty percent less stuff in there than there was when they were leaving. "In fact, I seem to recall explicitly telling you not to do this."
"Yeah, well, I don’t listen," Lorna says. She’s digging around in the fridge with a pair of elbow-length blue gloves on. As Erik watches, she pulls out something moldy-looking and tosses it into the garbage can. "Seriously, you should hire a cleaning service or something. I know you guys can afford it."
It’s not the first time she’s suggested it. Every single time she’s over here—which is a lot for someone with a career, a clingy husband, and an eight month old of her own—she’s always going on about how she and Alex have someone come over to their apartment every Tuesday to dust and vaccuum, scrub the bathtub and so on, and how wonderful it is, and how much easier it makes everything, and how everyone else should do it too.
When she was growing up, she never seemed to notice if they fell down on the cleaning for a while, but ever since this past summer it seems like she notices everything. Erik would really be fine if she noticed a little less now, too. He hates it that she might be looking back the way things were when she was younger and seeing all the tarnished places. He hates it that she keeps going out of her way to help out, even now that they mostly have it together again (at least as much as anyone can have it together when they have two seven-month-old babies scooting around, not to mention a sixteen-year-old who’s constantly locked in his room and a ten-year-old who’s still having a little trouble with her schoolwork, if not as much as she was last spring.)
"Hey, we could be broke for all you know," Erik says after a moment, because that old joke—they haven’t been broke since Charles’ twenty-fifth birthday; Lorna was four at the time, so there’s no way she remembers anything about broke—is probably better than deciding this is some sort of commentary instead of just their great kid doing something nice for them. (Anyway, he knows from commentary; it’s what he always got from Mom when she would come over to help clean up after he had each of the kids. It’s funny, he hadn’t even thought to miss that until this exact second.) "Where are the babies?"
"The twins and George are sleeping," Lorna says, gesturing at the baby monitor on the counter. Erik didn’t even realize they still had one; maybe it’s hers and she brought it with her. "Dave’s still out. And before you ask, no, Anya hasn’t called or anything."
Anya’s spending the night at a friend’s, which puts Erik on edge even though he knows Charles is right that they can’t—and shouldn’t—keep her wrapped up in wool all the time.
"Okay," Erik says. "Okay, good. Now why don’t you go sit down or something? I can finish that."
She protests, and scoffs, and rolls her eyes, but Erik wins on this one. He has twenty-two years on her when it comes to stubbornness. Anyway, she may not idolize him the way she did when she was little, but he can still distract her with a slice of her favorite cake, expertly doggie-bagged when he remembered that he always used to bring some home for her when she was younger. It always cut way down on the whining when they dropped her off at her gran’s.
Charles sneaks in from the garage eventually, quiet the way he is whenever he’s trying not to interrupt a moment. The effect’s kind of ruined when his voice comes on the baby monitor, cooing something too low to hear at one or all three of the babies, but it’s a nice thought.