Stretched side by side on the king-size bed, they meet at the headboard in a tangle of arms and Charles’s head resting snugly against Erik’s broad shoulder. They started off as parallel lines, but Erik has a way of decreasing the distance between them--- a wandering hand, a shift of weight, drawing Charles into him like a gravitational force until they’re hopelessly tangled. Funnily enough, Charles doesn’t seem to mind. In the background he’s watching Some Like It Hot on the flickering television. In the foreground he’s watching Erik’s bare foot trace the edge of his own, stroking it idly the way one might stroke a cat snoozing in one’s lap.

“Such a lovely creature,” Erik sighs abruptly.

The film sharpens into focus as Charles returns his attention to the screen, realizing that Erik must be commenting on what it currently displays. It’s Marilyn Monroe, of course, glowing in close-up. Charles has always adored her, although he’s always felt that, even with all the time and space between them, he could somehow sense the terrible sadness that followed her like a cloud. Still, this is one of his favorites, and he’s moved every time by her performance, by how fervently she hopes for--- and believes in--- love.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he murmurs in agreement. “Positively radiant.”

“Radiant,” the other man repeats in an appreciative tone. “Radiant, yes. That’s just the word I was looking for.”

“It suits her.” Charles nods.

“Actually,” Erik says distantly, almost absentmindedly. “I was thinking about you.”

And Charles turns his head against his companion’s chest, hiding the smile and the blush that are rapidly spreading across his face as his fingers curl gently, possessively, into the soft material of Erik’s cashmere sweater.

Onscreen, Marilyn coos: I want to be loved by you.

i might have to take this one later

“Trust me, Max, you're gonna love it. It's a classic of Pre-Pulse entertainment. You've got your end of the world apocalypse, guns, hot guys – well, one hot guy, really – it's right up your alley.”

Max raised an eyebrow from her side of the couch as he slid the video in, Joshua sitting on the floor between them with a book in his hands. “Whatever. Just remember the deal, Pretty Boy.”

Alec waved her words off with a muttered “yeah, yeah,” eyes already glued to the television set. Max settles back into her seat, nursing a beer and wondering just how long she's gonna have to put up with this for.

Then Dean Winchester appears.

She can hear the sound of Joshua's book falling closed, sees him sitting up straighter as they stare at the man on the screen. It's not Alec – that's blatantly apparent – but it's Alec as he might look in ten, fifteen years, if they live that long. If the Familiars or the government don't kill them first. She starts paying more attention to the television, sees Alec leaning forward as his doppelganger throws a punch, vicarious longing obvious in the lines of his body. When the episode ends she has to blink, realizes that she's moved forward in her seat in an unconscious echo of Alec's pose, and tries to settle back casually without letting him know. From his grin as he turns to face her, she's unsuccessful.

“So? What'cha think? Not too shabby, huh?” She knows what he's fishing for, but there's no way in hell that she's gonna go there.

“The big guy's not too bad,” Max offers, and hears Alec choke on his beer.

“That Sasquatch?!” he sputters, turning around in indignation. “C'mon, Maxie, even you have to have better taste than that!”

She shrugs. “Reminds me of Joshua.”

The dogboy in question looked up uncomfortably as Alec stared at him in almost-betrayal before turning back to her.

“No. No, look, you're not allowed to think that Sam is the hot one. Okay? Dean is the hot one, Sam is the smart one...” His voice trailed off, and Max shifted uncomfortably in her seat as Alec's face started to light up. “Oho, I get it now. Got a thing for the brainy ones, huh Maxie? Shoulda figured.”

She slugged him in the shoulder as hard as she could, grinning viciously at his over exaggerated wince.

“Shut up and pass the popcorn.”