Football Well Played

AU: The only two people at a bar rooting for the same football team. Because, well, I wanted to. Fluff, slash, modern universe, no powers, no warnings, unedited. (Also, yes, this is supposed to be in America, but I'M GOING TO CALL IT FOOTBALL INSTEAD OF SOCCER BECAUSE I'M EUROPEAN AND SO ARE THE BOYS SO DEAL WITH IT)

Based on this Tumblr post: post/93771441538/evelynwoe-finds-the-other-persons-wallet-on-the

Erik doesn't leave the house much. Emma jokes about how it's because of his awful social skills as an engineer, and he ignores her and pretends it's not even partly true.

Still, he has dedicated a fair amount of time to hone himself when it comes to human interaction, despite his intense dislike for being around people. Or people in general.

But when Azazel announces he and Janos are going to the bar around the corner after work to watch the football game, and Erik should come, he doesn't see a reason not to.

Germany vs. America. He really should have anticipated it, he thinks, when he meets Azazel and Janos outside the bar, and they raise their eyebrows at his shirt.

"Germany? Really?" Azazel asks mockingly. "Aren't you completely American now? Freedom and eagles and shit?"

Erik sighs.

"Not when it comes to a European sport, no," He says smoothly. "You call it soccer."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to," Janos says, pronouncing the same word with two different accents. He waves his hand dismissively and grins when Erik shoots him a glare.

They walk in to the bar, suffocating and loud and crowded and warm, and Erik's heart sinks. He can't spot a single German shirt - it isn't that there's no one rooting for the same team (not unexpected, being in an American bar and all) as much as the fact that when people start getting drunk, he's immediately going to become a target. He sighs, ignoring the curious looks people give him. The three of them order beers and settle down comfortably, turning to the screen.

Fifteen minutes in to the game, and absolutely nothing has happened. Erik is politely sipping on his beer to avoid the dull conversation between Janos and Azazel, who are complaining about work and whatnot. His mind wanders, and he doesn't snap back to reality until he hears a clear, male, accented (British?) voice announce behind him:

"I told you, you won't change my mind - Germany will win, and I refuse to cheer for any other team for this game, thank you very much."

Erik has to resist the urge to turn around and stare, so he settles with stiffening noticeably and sharpening his hearing as much as he can.

"You know you live in America, right?" A reluctant voice responds to him. "Like. This is America. You're an American watching America play soccer in an American bar."

"Football, my dear friend," The first voice says with a loud, frustrated sigh, and Erik smiles around the bottleneck. "It's football, Sean."

A female voice groans.

"Oh please, Charles, you've lived most of your life here, stop pretending to be a pretentious, British jackass."

"Raven, who are you trying to kid - he is a pretentious, British jackass," The guy called Sean remarks.

"I need another beer," Another one of their group mutters.

Suddenly, there is a light tap on Erik's shoulder, and he nearly jumps out of his skin after being so intensely concentrated elsewhere. He turns around and is startled by a pair of incredibly blue eyes. He blinks.

The young face in front of him is pale and framed by dark, thick curls, the bow of a mouth unnaturally red and curved in to a soft smile. Erik's breath hitches in his throat, and he lowers his beer.

And, he's wearing a shirt in the German colors.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help to notice your shirt," He says apologetically. "I'd guess we're the only people in this entire bar rooting for the winning team."

Erik instantly recognizes his voice as the man whose conversation he had overheard.

"Indeed," He says with a slow smile. He reaches out a hand. "Erik Lehnsherr."

"Charles Xavier," The other man replies. His voice turns curious. "Lehnsherr? Is that German?"

The German nods curtly.

"British," Charles confirms his accent cheekily. "Can I sit down?"

"Of course," Erik says smoothly, gesturing for the empty seat next to him. He suddenly remembers Azazel and Janos and turns his head to find them gone. He doesn't care.

The blue-eyed man sits down and flashes a grateful smile.

"How come you're here? I expected that I'd be the only one stupid enough to come to an American bar for this," He nods towards the screen.

Erik shrugs.

"A couple of friends dragged me along," He explains. "Don't know where they are right now, to be honest."

"Same here, and – ah, here they come."

A young, attractive blonde makes her way to them, three guys in her trail.

"Charles, you can't just take off like that," She complains, and Erik realizes this must be Raven. Then her eyes travel to Erik, and she groans. "Oh my God, you found another one."

Charles sends the German a sheepish look before introducing them:

"Erik, this is my sister Raven. That is Hank," He points at a man with glasses who smiles mildly, "Alex," A young guy with a rugged appearance nods grimly, "and Sean," He finishes, nodding toward a redhead with curly hair.

"And who's this loser, then?" Raven asks, eyeing Erik up and down without appreciation.

"Nice to meet you too," Erik replies, just as Charles' eyes widen and he opens his mouth to say something.

Raven's gaze lingers on him for a moment, but then she shrugs.

"Okay. We'll leave you two alone – have fun watching what will be the worst soccer game of your lives," She says with a smirk.

"Football, dear, it's football," Charles calls after her. He turns back to Erik with an apologetic smile. "You'll have to excuse my sister. She has no manners."

Erik frowns slightly.

"She doesn't share your accent," He notes curiously.

"Ah, yes – my family left England when I was very young, but I latched on to the accent nonetheless. They didn't adopt Raven until we arrived here, in the U.S.," He explains and smiles. "It's a question we get a lot."

Erik nods to show that he understands. His eyes fix on the screen again, which he admittedly stopped watching a long while ago, but nothing seems to have happened – especially since the crowd hasn't reacted and the people around him are looking slightly bored.

"Not much of an interesting game, is it?" Charles remarks mildly. "I'd think we'd been leading now, at least."

"Doesn't matter, as long as we beat them," Erik says with a half shrug.

Charles offers a smile, and Erik lets himself smile back.

Then something changes. The crowd stiffens for a brief second, and then people start calling and screaming madly. Erik's gaze snaps back to the screen to see a German player getting closer to the goal, the ball between his feet. He lowers his beer. He spares Charles a glance, to see him gripping the counter with white knuckles and sparkling eyes.

And then, suddenly-

The booing is overwhelming, but Erik doesn't care. He smirks, taking a long sip of his beer. Charles erupts in to cheering next to him.

"Did you see that? That was stunning," He exclaims happily. "1-0. Now the fun begins."

And he's right. The next half hour left of the game is madly played, with fouls and injuries and most importantly goals. 1-1, 1-2, 2-2, 3-2, 3-3.

Two minutes left of the game, and now bar is silent as everyone holds their breath. Charles is leaning forward, eyes alight and wholly focused on the screen. Erik watches it warily, waiting-

"Oh!" Charles says, eyes widening. "Oh-"

The entire room explodes, not a single happy noise to be heard, but Erik grins widely. Charles is clapping his hands next to him and laughing.

"That was intense," He tells Erik brightly, and runs a hand through his floppy hair. The German has to refrain himself from staring. He raises his bottle. "To Germany!"

Erik taps his beer to Charles', and they share a grin before drinking.

Suddenly, a voice interrupts them from behind.

"Well, congratulations, Lehnsherr," Erik turns around to see Azazel's grumpy face. "We're heading home. You coming?"

His eyes land on Charles briefly, and he raises an eyebrow. Erik hesitates.

"I think I'll stay here for a while longer. Take part of the celebration," He gestures to the disappointed – and in some cases tearful – people with a half smile.

Azazel and Janos shrug and tell him they'll see him on Monday. As they leave, Charles curiously asks:

"Your friends?"

"Colleagues, really," Erik says. "We're not very close."

"Well, fortunately, my sister and I are, which means I will get to gloat for the next few days," He grins. "I better go find her. It was nice to meet you, Erik."

Erik ignores the way his heart sinks.

"Likewise, Charles," He says coolly.

Charles hesitates, chewing his lip anxiously.

"You know, there's another game soon – Germany against Brazil. That ought to be interesting," He says carefully. "If you'd like-"

"Sure," Erik says in a rush. He feels himself going slightly red, but Charles is blushing too. He grabs a napkin, plucks out the pen he always has in his pocket and scribbles down his phone number. "Here."

Charles' face lights up as he takes it.

"Great. Thank you. See you soon, then."

"Looking forward to it," Erik replies, and it's true.

Charles smiles sheepishly, red still splashed across his nose and cheeks, and pockets the napkin as he disappears in to the crowd.