Drift
Erik drifted backwards through the water, feeling self-conscious. He told himself that there was nothing improper about appearing in front of the children in a bathing suit, and that if he was self-conscious Charles must be even more so. Charles was sitting on the edge of the pool watching Jean float, her arms outstretched and her eyes closed, her hair swirling around her. The curves of her red swimsuit shed the water, and Erik was not quite sure where to look.
You've seen girls in bathing suits before, Erik, Charles said in his head, amused.
This felt different, though, and Erik was a little relieved when she climbed out of the water and stretched out on a lounge chair by the pool, turning over so she could sun her white shoulders. The pool was the first new thing at the mansion since the hurried installation of ramps and handrails and the wheel-in shower that had replaced the claw-foot tub in their bathroom.
Scott was stretched out a few chairs away from Jean, reading a book. He seemed less self-conscious himself than Erik expected in the presence of a teenage girl. He sprawled on the chair, looking genuinely unconcerned about whether anyone was watching him, occasionally reaching up to touch the temple of his glasses as if to reassure himself they were still there.
He's twelve, Charles said. He's too young to care what he looks like to girls.
Erik looked up at him. Almost thirteen. He wasn't sure the children's interest in each other would stay safely childish much longer.
Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
It was one of great many bridges that Erik felt they could not eternally postpone crossing, but perhaps this was not the moment. There were too many small questions always hanging in the air these days for him to really want to deal with larger ones.
At the moment, there was the question of whether Charles was planning to send the children inside before asking Erik to help him back into his wheelchair. Erik was never sure whether he was supposed to keep them out of the way at awkward moments or help pass the awkward moments off as not worthy of comment. There were so many awkward moments, and whatever he did it was hard for one of them not to end up feeling bruised.
Jean solved the problem by sitting up and picking up her towel. "It's getting cold," she said, in defiance of all observable reality. "Let's go in."
"Sure," Scott said, and picked up his own towel without protest, trailing after her toward the house like a puppy. Jean turned to smile at him over her shoulder. Erik hoped that the eventual introduction of more students would prevent the boy from continuing to imprint on her like a hand-reared chick.
"A flawed analogy," Charles said.
"True. He is at least her species."
"Let's not start."
Erik turned up his hands in agreement to leave the question of homo sapiens vs. homo superior until he returned to dry land. "Did you ask Jean to go in?"
"I wanted her to go in," Charles said. "I'm never sure how much difference there is."
Before Erik could decide how much that ought to worry him, Charles grasped the edge of the pool and slid into the water, splashing as he slipped below the surface. Erik couldn't repress his stab of alarm, although he could feel that Charles was pleased with himself despite the awkwardness of surfacing.
"I'm not going to drown," Charles managed, and then laughed as he seemed very nearly in danger of doing so. "Erik--"
Erik caught him by the elbow and towed him into shallower water, steadying him against the edge of the pool. "I'm not sure you're well-equipped for swimming."
"I'm not sure I'm well-equipped for treading water," Charles said. "Actual swimming I may be able to manage."
A wheelchair lift for the pool would be best in the long run, Erik thought. He considered the problem, confident that he could construct one himself but wondering if it might not be simpler to turn to some ready-made solution.
"You don't have to treat everything involving me as a series of problems to be solved," Charles said, leaning back in the water experimentally; he floated, although without a great deal of stability in the water.
"I can't help it," Erik said, stung into honesty.
"I know," Charles said, in a tone suggesting that he considered that a problem to be solved. Erik resisted the urge to slide his hands under Charles's shoulder blades and take some of his weight. The water was doing that. Erik tried to relax and let it take some of his own.
"You can," Charles said. Erik ran his hand under Charles's back, his fingers sliding across wet skin. He tried not to react to the touch and failed utterly.
You can, Charles said in his mind, leaning back against his hand and opening to Erik's sensations instead of pulling away. Erik spread his other hand against Charles's chest, feeling what Charles felt as he moved his hand, cool water and warm sun and the brush of fingers against a hardening nipple, raising the hairs along his arms pleasantly.
"This has potential," Erik said.
"It does, doesn't it? Of course, we're a bit exposed here."
Perhaps a poolhouse, Erik thought.
With doors that lock.
Absolutely. He tried not to wonder whether it was possible to make their way out of the pool and back into the house without breaking the fragile mood.
"We can try," Charles said. "Not that having two teenage children in the house might not have a dampening effect on anyone's enthusiasm."
"Surely they can find something to occupy them for a few hours."
"I thought that was what you were afraid of," Charles said with a crooked smile. Erik recognized it as the offer of a chance to retreat.
"I'm not worried yet ," Erik said. He kicked against the bottom of the pool, steering them slowly toward the steps. There was no fast way of moving through the water without letting go, but that was all right; for the moment, they were both content to drift.