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skull_bearer) wrote2007-11-14 09:25 pm
Past Tense Part Four, chapter two
The screams dragged him back to reality and for one horrified heartbeat; Charles thought it had happened again. But though his whole body hurt it was his pain, that which he lived with daily, rather than someone else’s.
Then he saw the lights.
The searchlights in the camp were always burning, but there seemed to be more of them than usual tonight. And still his ears rang with the screams. Whenever the routine in the camp was interrupted these days, it was always met with excitement rather than fear, but tonight, Charles felt nervous. The screams heralded nothing good.
At the first crack of a gunshot, fear kicked in full force and Charles was wide awake. He forgot the splitting pain in his back and the clenching claw of hunger in his stomach, and the way his head spun when he sat up. Erik was already awake, unsurprisingly, and was leaning dangerously far out of the narrow bunk, craning to see out of the grimy window. The dazzling searchlights glared through the glass and threw his face into sharp relief, the dirty shadows tracing impossible tattoos across his taut skin. If it wasn’t for the sharp spike of pain in his shoulders as he crawled over next to his friend, Charles would have wondered if this was a very strange dream.
Erik’s head snapped around, the same short, jerky motions he had been affecting lately. Charles raised his eyebrows in question, but Erik shrugged one shoulder in a half desperate, half helpless gesture- he had no idea.
Charles could pick out the distinctive voices now, women and woman and children. Some just howling and wailing incoherently, others shrieking in a tongue Charles had never heard before, or jabbering in German, probably directed at the guards. They were answered with snarls and shouts, and more gunfire. Charles started to shake at the sound of their dogs. He was on the top bunk, they couldn’t get him.
Erik braced himself with one hand on the windowsill and tried to reach over to comfort Charles. Six months ago, he might have managed, but now his arm gave way. His balance lost, Erik slipped off the bed with a shriek and an answering cry from those he landed on. On any other day, that would have caught the attention of the Kapo, but tonight… what was one more scream?
Charles opens his eyes, his ears hurting from the din. For a moment it’s impossible to differentiate from dream and reality, and he closes them again tightly, covering his ears against the gypsies’ screams-
Gypsies?
How did he know that? It hadn’t been until the next morning that they realized it had been they who had been taken that night- the fear of waiting in the dark, uncertain if it would be their barrack that would be the next one raided and fed to the gas chambers- but how did he know that if-
Charles opens his eyes again, the real world reasserts itself. He is in the tent, in the hospital. There are no searchlights, just a pitch-blackness than looks no different viewed with eyes open or closed. The constant aching pain is gone, replaced with the bone-deep weariness that never seems to fade no matter how much he sleeps. And the screams are only one scream now. A long, drawn out howl that seems to come from only one throat. Charles sits up, rubbing at his useless eyes and feels Erik turn over next to him, his friend groans slightly as he wakes, then tenses instantly and practically springs upright to confront whatever threat faces them. Charles reaches out instinctively to steady him.
Charles grabbed the thin bundle that was all they owned, eased himself off the bed and dropped jarringly to the floor. His legs tremble warningly beneath him. Erik looked shaken, and the constant screams around them aren’t helping, but when Charles looked at him he inclined his head, he wasn‘t hurt.
Erik shifts. Charles can’t see his expression, but he hears the slow exhalation and feels him relax under his hands, and when Erik breathes in again, he hears the slight hitch of irritation. The scream is breaking now, cracking and growing hoarse. A woman’s voice, Charles realizes. High-pitched and hysterical. Another voice joins in, a man’s voice, and shouting words- “Shut up!”
Charles helped Erik to his feet, and started the painfully slow climb back into their top bunk, but as soon as his fingers closed on the wood of the frame, a hand came down and struck them. Charles lost his grip, and fell back down, and this time it was Erik who caught him. The men in the bunk below them had stolen their place, and it was absurd that now, in this situation when he didn’t know if they would be the next ones taken, that this would so anger him. He wanted to shout and demand that they leave, but even if they could hear him over the din, it wouldn’t make any difference.
The screaming stops, Charles hears what sounds like a strangled sob, then it starts again, so high and piercing that it feels as though his head is splitting in half. He pushes himself off the rickety bed and stands up. The night air is like ice against his bare skin, and the tent is so dark that he has to make his way to the opening by memory alone. Luckily, it’s been almost a month since they moved out here, and he could do this while wearing a bag over his head- which he may as well be doing.
It hadn’t been quite as dark, between the searchlights and the hand-held torches the SS were waving everywhere, but it didn’t help much. One moment the barrack was in full glare of the search lamps and everything was so bright Charles couldn’t see, then it was gone and he was equally blinded by the afterglare.
Outside isn’t much better; although it’s a clear night, the moon is little more than a finger-thin sliver in the night sky, and gives off very little light. The stars seem frozen, like specks of ice, and any light they give is negligible. The grass is damp under Charles’ bare feet, and the cold breeze on his naked body makes him shiver. He wraps his arms around himself in a futile attempt to keep warm.
The cardboard and tarp creaks as Erik gets up in turn, and cloth rustle when he draws his coat around his shoulders. His feet make little noise on the floor, inaudible under the screeches. It’s impossible to tell which tent it’s coming from, but it’s nearby. It doesn’t sound so loud now, while the sound easily fills their small tent, the fathomless sky swallows the screams.
It didn’t before, not with so many voices screaming themselves raw. The noise was unbearable, and there was nothing to do but crawl into the rotting, stinking bunk, a tier down now, and try to sleep. It was impossible. The screams were too loud, and even pulling the foul blankets over their heads didn’t do anything. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming, and Charles could feel Erik trembling next to him, the fear that they would be the next ones taken a crushing weight. Even if all had fallen silent in the next moment, he doubted they would be able to sleep anyway, with that fear hanging over them. He slid one arm around Erik’s chest, and felt his friend draw him closer, holding onto each other tightly in the darkness. The only security that felt real now.
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Erik slides an arm around Charles’ bare shoulders and as his friend leans in against him, Erik pulls the warm fabric of his coat around them both and rubs his shoulders. It might be mid May, but the night is cold and the breeze sharp. Charles’ hand finds his and squeezes. His fingers are like icicles, thin and brittle and freezing.
There are other voices now, and Erik thinks he can see people moving around a tent on the far right. Since the tents have been turned over to the camp survivors, they’ve been moved around. Charles and Erik haven’t bothered, they’ve barely been well enough to move themselves, let alone a whole tent, and they don’t care to be near anyone but each other. But in the last week or so the neat, straight lines of the army tents have crumpled and entangled into small groups and gatherings, mostly along religious or national lines. The screams, as far as Erik can see, are coming from a huddle of lopsided tents nearby.
These people are the main reason Erik is considering asking Charles to move. The patients who live there are German, and despite that they are Jewish, Erik and Charles avoid them whenever they can. Just listening to their language is like nails on slate to their shattered nerves.
There are people outside the tents, Erik can see them moving. None of them have lights, the hospital is short of candles- and almost everything else- with none to give to the patients. A blur of shadows moves away from the tents, heading towards the hospital, probably to get help.
Charles is shivering from the cold, and pulls away from Erik, heading back to bed. Erik follows, there’s nothing to see, although there’s far too much to hear.
He should be more afraid, and if this had happened a few weeks ago, he would have been. In fact, he would probably even have joined the woman in screaming if his nightmares had been especially bad.
He can’t remember what he was dreaming about before being so rudely awoken, he’s still only half-awake and between that and the strange sense of security the hospital still casts over them, even now, fear doesn’t really register after the first shock.
The bed creaks under Charles, and Erik pauses only to strip off his coat and toss it on top of their bedding before joining Charles under the covers. It’s still warm, and if it wasn’t for the racket outside, it would be pleasant. Arms wrap around his chest, and he leans down and smiles against Charles’ bald head. His arms reach over to hold Charles in return, his bony body is wonderfully warm and Erik rests his head against his friend’s chest, still smiling. A renewed scream erases that smile. God, won’t they be able to get any sleep tonight?
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Erik pulls away with a sigh, and pulls the pillow over his head, clamping one arm over it to keep it crushed to his head. Charles can’t help but chuckle, running one hand gently down Erik’s arm.
Erik is looking better, his limbs no longer seem so distorted and flesh is starting to fill in the sharp contours of his body. It’s strange to feel flesh where there had previously been little more than bones, but Charles is certainly not complaining.
He can feel the tendons in Erik’s arms standing out as he keeps a hold on the pillow. He traces them out, and feels Erik relax a little, although a new howl makes him tense again. Charles feels a flash of irritation, where are the nurses?
Erik has a different view on things. “Why can’t they shut her up!” He snarls.
Charles shrugs, it’s maddening, but what can they do? “What do you want them to do?” He asks.
Erik snorts, “Put a pillow over he face, that usually works.” With that, he rolls over, and jams the pillow back over his head.
Charles sighs.
He used to be shocked at how callous Erik could be towards their fellow ex-inmates, until he realized that his friend’s angry words were little more than that- angry words. For all his snarling, he was certainly not about to smother the woman, no matter how much noise she was making.
All the same, by the time the hospital staff made their way to the tents, lighting their way with lamps, Charles is just about to consider doing it himself. The woman is well on her way to screaming herself hoarse, the dry cries reminding him of the squealing of rusty hinges, and he breaths a short sigh of relief when the lights outside dim- the staff are inside the tent with the screaming woman. Hopefully they would quiet her and he and Erik could finally get some sleep.
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Erik knew now he’d been naïve to believe that the hospital staff could shut the woman up. The wails had gone on for what seemed like hours, occasionally broken by loud words from the nurse and orderlies sent to calm the woman down, and shouts to be quiet from the unfortunates who, like them, had to listen. By the time the nurse had realized there was nothing they could do for the woman here and ordered her taken up to the hospital by car it was almost morning.
The fact that it had turned out to be the very girl who had been sent out of the hospital last week makes it especially galling. He hopes the hospital staff didn’t get any sleep either.
Charles had fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards, but Erik couldn’t. Despite his exhaustion he was wide awake, and by the time the sun had risen, he had given up any hope of getting back to sleep.
He’d always had problems sleeping, it was never bad enough to see a doctor for- unlike an insomniac in his old village who claimed she hadn’t slept for ten years- but it was always difficult for him to get to sleep, and if he was woken up during the night, that made it even harder.
Charles had had no such trouble, and Erik had left him to sleep with more than a little envy. It’s too early for food yet, but the water has been heated for washing, and he may as well get there first.
For all the hospital staff’s best efforts to keep the water clean; by the time half the tent’s inhabitants have taken their share, what’s left is distinctly murky from the buckets they dip into it. Because of this, there’s always a scramble to be first in the line.
At this time, there’s almost no-one there, even fewer than usual. Probably they’re all catching up on their sleep after last night. Erik is third in line, and the water he receives is clear as a mountain stream, and so hot that it raises steam even in the warm morning. Holding it by the handle, the only part not too hot to hold, he starts back towards the tent.
He’s getting stronger, they both are. To begin with they couldn’t carry the pail back without having to put it down several times, even while working together. Now, Erik, knows he can manage with only one rest; at least he could if Charles had been there to share the load.
The pail is fuller than usual, or Erik is weaker from lack of sleep, but it keeps pulling him off balance. The sheer exhaustion blinds him to the rut in the path before it’s almost too late; a rut probably left by the jeep sent to carry the girl to the hospital.
His foot slips, the worn sole of his boot finding no purchase on the crumbling dirt, and Erik stumbles forward, losing his balance. He tries to keep himself from falling forwards, clutching the pail against his chest in a probably futile attempt to keep it from spilling. Landing on his knees would hurt, but if he loses the pail, he doesn’t know if he has the strength to go back and do this all over again. The metal is sharp through his thin shirt, the edge biting in painfully as he strains to keep his grip on it.
The hard, jagged edge of a spade.
And suddenly, suddenly, something catches and the pail stops abruptly in mid air, as though held firmly in place by something invisible. It doesn’t even move when Erik collapses on top of it, the metal rim knocking the wind out of him. Stars explode in front of his eyes and all his breath is exhaled in a rush, rolling off the bucket and landing heavily on his side, gasping for air.
And perhaps he’s not as secure in this place as he thinks, when the first thing he thinks of is the crushing blows of the Kapo’s clubs- the first blow catching you in the stomach, making you double over, giving the man choice as to where to strike next- and the next thing he expects is a bullet from an SS gun.
Erik draws in a second, ragged breath, and wishes, as he always does when the memories claw their way into his mind, that Charles were here. A third breath, and he rolls over onto his back, looking up.
It takes Erik a few moments to realize what he is looking at, and a few more to realize it isn’t normal for objects to hover patiently in mid air. When he sits up, still gulping in air in an effort to stop his head from spinning, it seems to make perfect sense that the metal should react that way, by the same integral sense by which he knows that objects fall when you drop them. Despite the fact that this is precisely what the pail isn’t doing.
Erik stares at the pail. His mind warring against his eyes, one certain that this was perfectly normal, the other insisting otherwise. He takes a deep breath, his ribs complaining loudly, not taking his eyes off the bucket. It doesn’t move. It’s about a foot off the ground, and Erik feels an absurd flash of anger at it for hovering there so smugly while he’s lying in the dirt.
As though in answer to his annoyance, the pail drops, gravity reasserting itself with a jolt.
For a moment, he doesn’t move, staring at the bucket. It’s on the ground now, but how could it have fallen so perfectly? And surely it should have spilt on hitting the ground? The ground is rough and rocky, the pail should have tipped over. Instead, it is balanced neatly on the rut, and Erik can feel how steady it is, held in place by something other than gravity.
Erik feels his breathing quicken.
The bullets twisting away from him. Three bullets that would have killed him, shot at point blank range, not only missing but curving away from him as though unable to come near. Knowing, even as he was pulled into the pit, that what had happened was impossible.
Charles’ voice quavering, unable to believe what he was saying, telling him how the SS had sent dogs at him and his family, how they had died, but he had survived, the dogs refusing to come near him despite the snarls and curses from the Germans.
Charles’ screams in Auschwitz, as people died in the gas chambers and smoke rode the air above the crematorium chimneys.
Erik gets to his feet, his legs are shaking and it feels as though he‘s run a mile, as though what had just happened had been drawn from his own body. His head spins, and Erik suspects it’s not entirely due to the pain in his ribs. He stretches upright for a moment, working out the pains that seem to set in the moment he gives them an excuse to.
The wooden handle feels perfectly normal in his hands as he braces his feet under him and levers the bucket off the ground. For a moment he feels something catch- a faint tether as frail as spiderweb- then give, and the weight almost pulls him over again.
Erik rests the pail on the ground- smooth ground- and takes the chance to look around. The thought that someone might have seen this frightens him as much as it ever scared him in Auschwitz.
Charles had once asked, in a voice that made it clear he was talking more to himself, if he should tell the hospital staff about his dreams. This had been before the Dachau survivors had come, when Charles had been determined to prove that things were different here.
Erik suspects his expression had said more than he weak grasp of English ever could. Charles had smiled miserably and shaken his head. No. Obviously even his trust didn’t extend that far.
The dirt track that serves as a road is empty, and the tents around are silent. He’s out of sight from those dealing out the water, and everyone else seems to be asleep. There is no-one to see, and even if there was, after last night the hospital staff are not likely to listen to impossible stories.
Erik hauls the pail back up, and hurries off as quickly as he can. The weight drags heavily on his aching shoulder blades, and the uneven ground constantly threatens to trip him. Erik pays it no attention, focusing only on getting back to the tent, and the only security he knows.
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Charles feels rather proud of himself that he didn’t panic when he woke up and found himself alone in the tent. He’d lain back down and forced himself to breathe evenly, trying to stop his heart from racing quite that madly, telling himself that Erik had only gone to fetch the water, he had not been taken by anyone or anything, he was not going to be hurt, he was not going to be beaten, he was not going to be shot. He was fine.
But when Erik shoves his way into the tent, practically throws down the pail and fastens the tent flaps at top speed, Charles knows he’d been too optimistic.
Erik collapses on the bed, the springs screaming, and drops his head in his hands. He’s breathing far too fast and- to Charles’ shock- he’s trembling.
“Erik?” Charles can’t quite keep the quaver of fear out of his voice. Oh God, have they found out about them? Did the gypsy woman talk and are they going to be taken away too?
The threat of prison would have seemed laughable a few months ago, and it still did, but for one thing; that he would be alone. The thought of facing life without Erik is more terrifying than he could ever have imagined.
Erik takes a deep breath, and lifts his head. His lips move silently, shaping words that he discards in the same heartbeat. He swallows; “It happened again.” He says finally.
Charles feels his stomach drop sickeningly, God, not that, please, and rests a hand on Erik’s shoulder. Erik reaches up and clutches at it with impossible strength. Whatever happened, it’s shaken his friend to the core, but since Erik isn’t panicking or dragging Charles out of the tent, he hopes it means they‘re not the intended targets.
“Did they take someone else?” Charles whispered, somehow it seems right to whisper.
Erik turns to look at him, “What?”
Charles slid his legs over the side of the bed, he’s naked, but the tent is warm and they’ve never bothered with modesty.
“The police, did they take someone else? Someone…” He doesn’t dare say the word. “Someone… like us.” He finishes in an even lower voice.
Erik’s lips draw back in a smile that looks more like a snarl. “There are none like us.”
Charles stares, “Erik-”
“I dropped it.” Erik waves a hand towards the pail. “I tripped and I dropped it.” He takes a deep breath; Charles doesn’t blink, waiting for Erik to go on. The pail is full to overflowing. Erik closes his eyes. “I dropped it and it didn’t hit the ground.”
Whatever Charles is expecting, and he’d thought he had considered just about every option up to and including their own execution, this isn’t one of them. It feels as though he’s just grabbed hold of an electric fence, and for once, fear isn’t the only emotion. “Did anyone see you?” He wonders if Erik even hears him, his mouth’s gone so dry he can barely make a sound.
Erik’s lips twitch into a far more honest smile, though still bitter. “No.” He looks as though he’d like to add more, but just swallows and shakes his head. “No.” He says again.
Charles allows himself to relax a little, but the fear is still there, deeper. What if it happened to him again?
This isn’t Auschwitz, however people might behave, and even if he had another dream, surely the worst he could see-
The worst he could see would be what drove the girl mad last night, and that would be every bit as bad as what he had felt before.
He thought he’d gone mad, after feeling those people burnt to death. If they had stayed in the camp much longer, Charles suspected he would have. There was another transport to be rid of, and if it happened again, he knew he’d not survive it, even if by some miracle he retained his sanity. He would have ended up screaming, and for that he would have been shot. Even as it was he’d bitten Erik’s hand almost to the bone.
He can’t remember how he’d been able to make it to the empty field the SS had led them to, but it had been far enough from the main camp that by the time they arrived there, only echoes rang in Charles mind, and the pain was slowly fading from his limbs. His mouth was full of Erik’s blood, and when he looked back, the last shreds of ash were blowing away. He thought he was going to be sick. He couldn’t stop shaking. Charles pressing as close to Erik as he could, huddling as far from the kapo as the overgrown field allowed. The man ignored them and ordered them to clear it, it was overrun with brambles. Even from where they were, they could see the thorny tangles like green barbed wire, blackberries hanging in heavy clusters. Anyone caught eating them would be shot, the kapo nodded.
The moment the work started, Erik dragged Charles to a particularly overgrown corner of the field, which the other prisoners avoided. He crouched down beside the thick wall of thorns, and told Charles to go in as far as he could and calm down.
The thorns had torn his already tattered clothes and drawn blood, and when he stopped he was breathing so fast he couldn’t even cry, and shaking so hard his teeth were chattering.
“What happened?” Erik whispered from outside, “Did it happen again?”
Charles didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know where to start, even if his voice could work, which was doubtful. He nodded frantically, although he didn’t know if Erik saw it.
“What happened?” Erik insisted, then swore in Polish as a thorn gashed his hand.
“God…” Charles’ voice cracked, and tears stung his eyes, “They were burning… they were burning people in there. They were burning them alive...” His voice failed and tears ran down his face. “I could feel it…” He could still feel it. “They couldn’t wait until they were dead. They burnt them alive. Oh God.”
“You felt it?”
“They burnt them. I could feel it. Oh God, am I going mad?”
“In this place?” The black humour was oddly soothing, and Charles drew in a deep, ragged breath. “You know what has happened to me- Shh!” The sharp, measured tread of an SS strode past his hiding place. Erik said nothing, but worked harder, and from where he was Charles could see his hands bleeding, both from the thorns and Charles’ teeth. Then, once the danger was past- “I don’t understand what‘s happening to you, but you’re not mad.”
It was strange, but even then, a bare few months since they’d first met, there was a note of deep concern in Erik voice. So alien, in this place, and even more so considering that Erik would have to do Charles’ share of work as well as his own, since he was in no state to do anything.
It was several hours before Charles calmed down enough to crawl out of the bush and help Erik, and by that time his friend was exhausted. Even from so far away, Charles could see the smoke as the second transport was murdered. He thought he could hear the screams, but they were faint and distant, and Charles hoped it was just his imagination.
They’d stripped brambles of their leaves and eaten the blackberries until they felt sick, and afterwards had rubbed their bloody hands over their clothes and chewed bramble stems to draw blood and hide the stains.
Erik has pulled his necklace free from his shirt and is holding the shards of metal, staring at them as though he has never seen them before. They tremble in the still air, as though terrified of Erik’s presence.
He jumps when Charles touches his shoulder, so absorbed in the metal that he’s forgotten he’s not alone. “Can you-” Charles starts, and doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.
Erik understands anyway, and shrugs. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” At least, that’s what Charles thinks he’s saying, he’s slipped back into Polish again. He stares helplessly at the broken pendant.
“What did it feel like?” Charles can’t help but ask. Three years on, and scientific curiosity still hasn’t left him completely.
Erik had asked him that once, the night after his first dream. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and had huddled against his friend, terrified that it was going to happen again.
-“What did it feel like?”- Erik had asked in stilted, halting English, and Charles had felt like being sick. It had been like waking into an even worse nightmare. It had been like gaining new senses to perceive the hell they were in even more intensely. It had been like going mad. It had been like going sane. It was the most horrible thing Charles had ever touched and if he’d had the water he’d have washed himself until he bled to try and get the feeling of it out of his skin.
-“Like dying.”- He’d answered. Like dying a thousand times at the same time, because that was what it was.
But it had not been like that for Erik, and despite the fear on his friend’s face, the bewilderment at just what the hell was happening to them, he can see the curiosity dawning in Erik’s eyes. His hands clench on the necklace, he wants it to happen again. He wants to do it again. “Like…” Erik trails off and shakes his head.
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It’s like explaining sight to a blind man, sound to a deaf man. For a moment it felt like he was perceiving the world through completely new senses, something that wasn’t sight or touch but something like both, and everything, especially metals, had been edged in a corona of light.
He wants to do it again. They need every tool they can get here, and if he could… Erik can’t even describe what it was in his own mind, but if he could do it again, it could help them. Just how, Erik hasn’t a clue, but they need all the help they can get.
“It was like I caught the pail,” He attempts again. “But not with my hands.” It hadn’t felt like that, though it’s the best approximation he an come up with. “It was like there was a…” He doesn’t know the English word- “a p-”
“A spider web,” Charles supplies.
“Yes, a web, around me.” He spreads his fingers, trying to explain what it had felt like, to have been able to feel things around him, for just that split second. It had been the easiest thing in the world to stop the pail, as though all he’d needed to do was reach out and stop it. He could probably have stopped himself from falling too, if he’d known how. “I could feel things I couldn’t touch.” Erik knows it’s a ridiculously poor explanation, but there are no words. No words can exist to explain this.
“Did it hurt?”
Erik gives Charles a sharp look. His had hurt, whatever it was they had, although whether the pain had come from the action or what he’d seen was a mystery Charles is certainly in no hurry to clarify.
“No,” He said slow. “But it was tiring.” And more so now, now the adrenaline’s worn off and he’s finally no longer shaking. He is far more tired than he should be, even after a sleepless night.
He holds his hands up, wondering if he could be able to…
It’s like flicking a switch, like a part of his brain twists and there’s a crash as the pail just tips over, as though someone had just kicked it. Charles only just manages to catch it before all the water spills.
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The metal is warm, although whether that’s from the water or from… whatever just happened, Erik doesn’t know. The ground under his knees is also warm, and damp, the wet earth squeezing through the gaps in the tarp. Erik stares at the pail in shock, as though frozen in place. Whatever he was expecting, in wasn’t this. His lips move soundlessly; ‘jakze…’ -how…-
Then the shock shatters and he doubles over, clutching at his temples. Charles gets up so quickly he almost upsets the pail, and sits beside Erik. He’s afraid to touch him, “Are you…” He risks a brush on Erik’s shoulder.
There’s a faint twinge of pain and Charles glances at his hand in surprise, static electricity. He doesn’t remove his hand though, and after a few moments Erik’s comes up to cover it.
“I’m alright.” He murmurs. “Just tired.”
“Do you want to sleep?”
Erik nods, and Charles shifts to allow him to lie down. He doesn’t close his eyes though, watching Charles through his lashes. The sight sends a jolt through Charles’ stomach, quite a bit like a static charge, and his hands reach almost of their own accord to stroke Erik’s hair. The lashes flutter, and his friend’s mouth pulls into a smile. The tension’s in his groin now, and Charles feels his cheeks burn when he realises he’s getting aroused. He lies down quickly, burying his traitorous face and treacherous body under the blankets before Erik notices. It’s strange, he loves Erik, loves him far, far more than he’s ever loved anyone, but this is the first time his body is really taking an interest.
The last time he felt sexual attraction towards anyone was in England. They’d stayed there for several months, while Kurt Marko sorted out the next stage of their journey- over the channel and into France. Charles had transferred to Oxford at the time, and while there had met a young woman, a Scottish girl by the name of Moria.
He still looks back on their time together fondly, despite what happened afterwards, or perhaps because of it. But it seems as though he’s remembering someone else’s life. He can’t remember what it felt like to kiss her, can’t recall what it felt like to hold her. But he can’t imagine that it had felt any better than kissing Erik did.
He remembers one night when he and Moria had a bit too much wine, and had indulged in a bit of drunken groping. He can’t remember much about it now, only that her mouth had tasted of Guinness and his fingers had been sticky afterwards. Anything else, the excitement and the arousal, was long forgotten, but Charles gets a strange feeling in him stomach at the thought of what it would be like to do that with Erik.
Their relationship hadn’t progressed any further than that. In fact, it had been mostly to impress Moria that Charles had agreed to follow Marko all the way to France. It had been stupid, and if Charles had had a chunk of bread for every time he’d cursed himself for it, neither he nor Erik would have starved these past three years.
And that particular memory is enough to kill any desire Charles might feel, and he feels no shame in rolling closer to Erik, more comfort rather than pleasure. Erik’s half asleep already and just grumbles softly before wrapping an arm around his waist and burying his face into Charles’ neck.
And that feels better that anything else, in a way that has nothing to do with sex or comfort.
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When Erik wakes up, the sun is high enough to beat directly on the roof of their tent, and the air is hot and stifling. He uncurls from around Charles and rolls over on his back. The pail is where they left it, and if it wasn’t for the lower level of the water inside it, Erik could imagine it had all been a dream. He removes his arm from Charles’ waist, and holds his hand to the green sunlight. The shadows play over the thin fingers, and Erik flexes them, trying to recall that feeling, as though a switch had been flicked and everything seemed somehow to make more sense. It doesn’t come.
“Are you trying again?” Charles’ voice makes him jump. Doing this is making even more jumpy than usual, and Charles notices because the next thing he feels is his friend’s warm hand stoking over his shoulder. He turns to look at him, Charles’ eyes are half-closed, blue peering between black bars, and a sleepy smile on his lips. A tongue comes out to lick over those lips, and Erik completely forgets what he’s trying to do. He can’t help himself, closing the last few inches between them and covering Charles’ mouth with his. His friend’s lips are warm and slippery against his, and his hand comes up to cup the back of Erik’s head. The warm burn that always ignites in Erik’s stomach when they kiss intensifies, and when Charles’ lips part and his tongue brushes over Erik’s, it’s an almost electric blast that sets all his nerves tingling. His tongue feels rough, like a cat’s, a strange contrast with the smooth surface of his teeth.
Erik wishes he could know what he was doing. He wishes he has some kind of experience in doing this. He’s afraid of doing anything that could make this any more awkward than this already is, and the only relief is that Charles is equally clueless and wouldn’t know if he were doing anything wrong either. Not that he is, his hands is tracing patterns over the back of his neck and his mouth is incredibly warm. Again, another warm burst of electricity- not so unlike the strange seeing-touch of this morning- and his wraps his arm around Charles’ neck, pulling him closer. He’s still dressed, while Charles is naked. He doesn’t know where he should put his hands, worries that he might touch… something… he shouldn’t. But Charles’ mouth is so warm, and the heat of his thin body almost burns Erik’s fingertips, one arm is wrapped around Charles’ back, the other is tucked in front of him, and he can’t resist the urge to run his hand down his chest. The skin is heated, and Erik barely notices the prominent ribs his nails skate over.
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“Erik!” Charles’ voice is more a yelp than anything else, one muffled by Erik’s lips. He pulls back, confusion flickering for a moment and Charles’ treacherous mind can’t think beyond how he looks, eyes bright and half-lidded, lips swollen from kisses. Then, if anything the view gets even better when Erik flushes, and despite the incredibly awkward circumstances, Charles grins. Erik is normally so pale his skin’s almost colourless, and seeing him blush is… well, it’s beautiful.
Erik looks away, looking as though he’d like to say something but unable to find the words. At least he’s stopped pressing himself against him, which is a relief since obviously Charles isn’t the only one to be effected by the other’s presence. A relief, but it was flattering, even if Erik is now so mortified he can’t even look at him.
Erik’s cheek is as warm as it looks when he kisses him, a wordless it’s okay. His eyes flick towards him, then his face turns and they kiss again.
Charles wonders what it would have been like had he let Erik continue. It would have been even worse afterwards, but… it would have felt nice, and surely, after everything they’ve suffered they should be allowed some pleasure? The feeling of his friend’s erection pressed against his hip, hot breaths filling his mouth. He could have let him continue, could have enjoyed it too, the thick fabric of Erik’s coat maddening against his skin. He should have…
But he couldn’t because it was too dangerous. It was the middle of the day and if they made any noise, if someone came in… he couldn’t forget about it, and couldn’t seem to unhook his mind as Erik did and pay no attention to anything but this.
And perhaps, because it felt too strange, even after all this time.
It had felt too strange to begin with, back when all they could do was kiss. If he was tired or worn out or sick he generally couldn’t bring himself to care, but other times… he couldn’t forget. Unlike Erik, he had seen other homosexuals, and it was bizarre to consider himself one of them. Also unlike Erik, he had grown up hearing nothing but scorn where they were concerned, and he can’t just forget that.
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Erik stares up at the canvas, and tries to will the blood away from his face. He’s no longer so aroused, but the ache’s still there, and he wishes Charles could at least move away, because he can still feel him there in a way that has nothing to do with webs. But at the same time… if Charles really was disgusted by what he’d done- stupid stupid stupid didn’t think didn’t consider stupid idiot- why isn’t he moving away?
Then Charles’ lips touch his cheek, a wordless brush of forgiveness. Erik turns his head a little, and their eyes meet, then a little more and their lips touch again, and the hard knot of tension in Erik’s stomach relaxes because it’s okay. Because it seems they think the same way in this as well, and if this is strange, then so everything else. Erik sighs, and moves a little closer, resting his head on Charles’ shoulder. This time, Charles doesn’t pull away.
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