#They stop to make last minute preparations and Charles uses his telepathy to slip him and Erik out of sight. There must be better ways to spend their time then cooped up in the back of an army truck, chocking on the smell of gunpowder and grease. They have been travelling from city to city for months, searching for more of their kind, and Charles misses the English countryside and the feel of soft earth beneath his feet. It is quiet here in the outskirts of Moscow, safe from the constant chaos of minds in the big cities, and for the first time in a long while, Charles feels like he can hear the sound of his own voice. So he talks. About what he plans to do when they get back, about the benefits of crisp mountain air, about how much better their matching pants look on Erik than himself. And Erik listens, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers as Charles rambles on about everything and nothing, the coin in his back pocket completely forgotten. Erik leans over and kisses Charles gently before pressing him onto the soft grass. They kiss slow and deep, like they have all the time in the world. Sprawled out under the late morning sun, Erik thinks, enveloped by the scent of the crushed yellow wild flowers tangled in Charles’ hair, that this is the closest to peace he has ever been. And in that moment Charles smiles, whispering against his lips as they part, “It could be like this, just like this, always.”
These comment fics will be the DEATH of me.