I originally posted this AU on tumblr, when I saw someone almost begging for a Cherik Football!AU. As someone who loves the sport, I decided to do it. The fact that Portugal won the Euro Cup helped me finish this.

This is my first Cherik and X-Men fanfiction ever, so please be kind.

Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr had met three years before at a football charity game. Back then Erik was Bayern Munich's rising star and Charles had just signed a pretty generous deal that transferred him from The Celts to The Red Devils. They clicked instantly. The two of them became good friends and always met to catch up and have a few drinks whenever they were in the same city (one played in Munich and the other in Manchester; meeting each other was difficult). The press and the general audience seemed to love their "bromance" so much that they even named it "Cherik". Their closeness was so obvious and natural that sports brands began requesting the two of them to star in their advertisement campaigns.

Their "bromance" intensified when, two years after Charles and Erik's first meeting, Chelsea FC paid a great sum for Erik's transfer fee; the two were now playing on opposing teams of the Premier League. Their friendship didn't interfere at all with their performances; in fact, they inexplicably seemed to have professionally evolved just from being around each other. They were happy… really happy around each other. It also became increasingly easy and frequent to find photos on social media of Charles and Erik with his children, posted by the two of them. Erik was a father of four from three different marriages: thirteen-year-old Nina, nine-year-old twins Peter and Wanda, and five-year-old Lorna. It wasn't till he moved to England, being closer to Charles, that Erik recognized that the reason why his marriages didn't work out was because Magda, Marya or Suzanna – his ex-wives – weren't Charles.

Soon enough there were rumors that maybe they were friendlier than what they let on. Charles and Erik never confirmed or denied such rumors, but the truth was that they were involved. As they never let their work and their personal life mingle, no one till this day had shown proof of their involvement. Nina was the only one who knew about Charles and Erik's relationship; she was the oldest and the least likely to spill the beans. Peter suspected it and poked fun of the whole situation, trying to get them to tell him the truth – to no success till today. Wanda also suspected that they were together and was always all giggles when Charles would come over to their house; she loved him and couldn't be happier that her father was "allegedly" dating him. Lorna loved Charles as well, but was oblivious of their relationship. However, she did insistently ask Charles to move in with them because she adored him so and wanted them to live happily ever after, just the five of them.

The Europeans were currently gathered around their TVs, watching the European Championship that was being played in Spain. Only Erik had been called to represent his national team. Charles, during the last match of the Premier League season, suffered a very violent foul; he sprained his knee (which forced him to use crutches) and therefore was discarded of the national team's manager's options. England had been eliminated in the round of 16 so now Charles could wholeheartedly support Erik's team, Poland, without feeling bad about it. The greatest thing about this year's Euro was that Poland was, for the first time in their history, in the finals. Charles was utterly proud, while Erik was about to die due to anxiety.

Erik, only in his boxer briefs, was lying in bed over, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He kicked back the bed sheets and rubbed his eyes, then let his hand slide down his face and scratched his stubble. He could feel anxiety curling into his stomach; tonight was the night before the big day. Swinging his feet off bed and down onto the floor, Erik started pacing around in the room. He heaved a sigh once, twice, three times, and realized that he really needed to make that phone call. He sat on the edge of the bed and dialed Charles' number. It was very late by now but he was hoping he'd pick up.

"Trouble sleeping?" Charles asked straightway as if he could read minds.

Erik took a deeper breath and fell back over the bed, "I feel like throwing up. What the hell is wrong with me, Charles?"

"You're nervous. It's a big game tomorrow."

"Thank you for the reminder," Erik mumbled sarcastically.

"Erik, calm your mind," Charles said softly and Erik could only imagine the adorable smile tugging on the corner of Charles' lips as he spoke. "It's all going to be alright. You've got nothing to worry about."

"I'm playing the Euro's finals. Almost forty thousand people are expecting me to do what I'm paid for, which is winning the Cup."

"And you will, my friend. You'll play a fantastic game tomorrow, I'm certain."

Erik heaved another sigh.

Charles frowned, "I'm not being successful at encouraging you, am I?"

"Schatz, I need a really good motivate to play well tomorrow and win."

"Well," he started, "I don't fuck losers. How's that for motivation?"

Erik smirked, "It's a pretty damn good motive… I wish the kids could be there; it'd be an extra incentive."

His personal assistant, Azazel, had told him earlier that Magda, Marya and Suzanna wanted to spend the first weeks of summer vacation with their children, so Erik would have to wait for a while to enjoy some time with them. Thinking it through, Erik realized that maybe it was best like this; he'd get a few weeks to relax after the Euro was over, so he'd be able to spend time with his kids by then without having his mind busy.

"They'll be supporting you," Charles said. "Wherever they are."

If Erik had listened attentively, he would have noticed Charles tone that let on that he was up to something.

They fell quiet for a while, just listening to each other's breaths. Charles could sense that Erik wanted to say something else so he purposely kept silent.

"Will you... be there?"

"'course I will," Charles assured. "Of course I will, Erik. It's going to be your night and I want to be there to witness it. Of course I'll be there for support."

"I'll score one for you," Erik promised.

"You – you should rest," Charles stammered, still taken aback by Erik's promise of scoring a goal and dedicating it to him. "Tomorrow's going to be a packed day."

"Alright," Erik played along with the sudden subject change. "See you tomorrow, Charles."

"See you tomorrow, Erik. בְּהַצְלָחָה," he said with a perfect pronunciation just before hanging up.

Erik left the phone over the bed and walked to the bathroom. His anxiety was nothing that Charles' wise words, a shower and a good night of sleep couldn't solve.

The Polish national team was the first one to come out of the locker room and made their way to the players' tunnel. Erik breathed in through the nose and exhaled deeply through the mouth a couple of times, feeling the anxiety of the big game kicking in. His palms were damp with sweat so he wiped them to the shorts. The little kids who will walk onto the pitch alongside both teams, – known as player escorts – start lining up on the tunnel as well, taking their time to greet the players and ask for handshakes.

Due to the anxiety and nervousness, Erik couldn't even recall having ruffled a few kids' heads when they came to greet him. It was a big responsibility to represent his country out there in the field, even if Poland wasn't Erik's birth country. His parents, Jakob and Edie, Polish, had been sent to the Auschwitz Camp when they were young. After the war was over, the two found out that they were orphaned and so they stuck together and managed to survive and make a life all alone in Germany. They eventually got married and had Erik, who, from a very young age, showed a passion and a talent for football. With his first paycheck, Erik bought a nice house for his parents and hadn't stopped rewarding them ever since. Like every other professional football player, Erik had his mind set on one day representing the country's national team. However, when that day came about, Erik refused the chance to play for Germany's team and admitted the Polish nationality. His parents' names, which he had tattooed on both his inner forearms, reminded him of his origins.

Erik did a few high knee jumps just as the Spanish team started to line up on the tunnel. The referees and his assistants walked past Erik and he felt his leg muscles quiver a little. His heart was achingly thumping in his ribcage and when he stretched out his hand to the little girl who'd walk onto the pitch with him, he was surprised by how much his hands shook. He breathed thoroughly and let Charles words ring in the back of his head.

Erik, calm your mind. It's all going to be alright.

They walked onto the pitch and strangely Erik seemed to have relaxed upon hearing the fans' chants and cheers. It felt like coming home. Still, he couldn't deny the anxiety and nervousness that took over him and that made it feel like he was going to faint on the field.

The players and refereeing team lined up on the pitch to listen to the national anthems. While Spain's "Marcha Real" played, Erik's eyes quickly scurried through the thousand faces of the people in the stadium until he found his personal assistant, Azazel, his sports' agent, Janos Quested, Charles… and his kids. Charles and Azazel had arranged it all, to surprise Erik. Charles talked with Magda, Marya and Suzanna, and even picked up the kids at the airport earlier that morning; Azazel got them all entrance passes so they were at the hospitality seats. The four children were ecstatic, eyes focused on the pitch, all of them wearing Poland's jerseys. Charles was standing, supporting his weight on the crutch he still used. With his free hand, Charles tapped his temple, reminding Erik to keep calm. Erik winked and offered a small smile in return, which he hoped that Charles had managed to notice from such a distance. Nina, Peter, Wanda and Lorna waved excitedly at him. Erik grinned, offering his "shark smile" as the kids called it.

When Poland's national anthem started, Erik closed his eyes and sang – practically shouted – the lyrics with all his heart and soul. He then breathed in deeply breath and took one last look at the hospitality seats again; there were the man he loved and his children. He was more than ready to play.

The game began with Spain's kick-off. The entire first-half was of Spain's dominance: they had the most shots (most of them on target), the highest percentage of ball possession, and so they had definitively created the most dangerous and flagrant opportunities to score. Poland's moral was slowly plummeting as the first-half of the game progressed. Erik, as team captain, tried to spur his teammates to keep up with the Spanish, but the truth was that they were fast and very good. Minute 43 was fatal for Poland; a defense error allowed a Spanish player to run freely along the left touchline, to cross to the box where one of his teammates showed up. He jumped higher than any of the Polish defenders and scored. One-nil just minutes before half-time... Erik shook his head and the manager shouted all the dirty words he knew in fifteen seconds. They were screwed and they knew it.

Charles spent most of the time standing and letting out groans as he clenched his fists; it was painful to watch Poland trying their best but being crushed by such a powerful team as Spain. He, however, had faith that they were going to turn things around. The referee terminated the first-half after only a minute of extra time. Charles could see in the anger and pain dawning on Erik's face; he really wished he could tell him something that would settle his heart, but, no matter how much he shouted, Erik would never hear him.

The second-half was a whole different story. Poland stepped onto the pitch with the determination to show Spain how they had earned their place on the finals. It was the minute 64 by now when Erik assisted his teammate for goal. The game was back on: one-all and they still had almost another half an hour to reverse the score. Yet, the most memorable moment was still to come.

The game was developing normally, the statistics being now more balance than before, when the ball ended up crossing the touchline. The Polish lost the ball but won the throw-in. Once the throw-in was received by a Polish player, the ball was kicked to the box where Erik was standing, heavily covered by three Spanish players. He received the ball on a beautiful and perfectly succeeded chest trap. He let the ball drop on the turf, evaded the players that were covering him and ran to the goal.

Everything seemed to have frozen in mid-air, giving Erik enough time to clear his mind of any irrelevant thoughts. The only sound that he could hear was his heart thumping in his ears and Charles' words in his head.

Erik, calm your mind.

It's all going to be alright.

It's going to be your night.

He took a deep breath and shot. The ball only stopped when it was at the end of the net.

Erik shouted so rapturously that the veins on his neck popped out and his throat felt scratchy on the next day. The crowd loudly cheered. Erik ran to the corner while pulling the jersey over his head and celebrated his goal with a flying kick on the corner flag. He knew he'd be getting a yellow card – which he did – for having stripped off his jersey, but he didn't even care about it.

"This one's yours," he managed to shout, pointing at Charles and the kids, before collapsing on the turf with the weight of his teammates jumping on his back.

Once Erik scored, Charles and the children let out a festive shout as well and they turned to the nearest person and pulled them for a hug. Charles couldn't wait for the referee to end the game; five more minutes and he could give Erik and tight hug, congratulate him on his astonishing performance, on his amazing goal, and on winning the Cup, obviously (five minutes till the end, two to one; of course Poland was going to win!). He was so happy for him that he couldn't even put to words what he was feeling. Charles just wanted to kiss him senselessly but he knew he couldn't do it in front of everyone. Even though he believed that everybody would accept their relationship, Erik always called him naïve, reminding him that it was a big deal for any sport's player to announce that they were homosexual, let alone to announce that they were in a relationship with another sport's player.

When Wanda wrapped his arms around his side and gave him a rib-crushing hug, Charles snapped out of his thoughts. The referee had just ended the game. The eruption of chants and cheers entered Charles' ears and breathed in the festive air, almost feeling everyone's happiness in his head. When he directed his attention to Erik, he saw him kneeling on the pitch with his arms wide open. He had his eyes closed and was mouthing something to himself. He then kissed both of his tattoos and bowed down. Charles realized he was praying.

Beside him, Nina was laughing out loud as Lorna grabbed her hands and bounced excitedly. Peter was letting out wild, howling shouts, fists thrown in the air; Charles smiled… like father, like son. Nina, Peter and Lorna, along with Wanda who was still holding onto Charles' side, playfully threw themselves over the man. Luckily Charles fell back and ended up seated on his seat again and his knee didn't get hurt in the process. They were all laughing. Looking down at the four laughing kids in his arms, Charles felt inexplicably happy. That was the kind of life he wanted: just him, Erik and the kids.

"You can go down there," Azazel said, practically shouting in Charles' ear. "Take 'em too."

Charles only nodded and managed to untangle the kids from his embrace, beckoning them to follow him. It took them so long to go from their seats down to the pitch that when they got there the Spanish had already received their runner-up silver medals, and Erik and his teammates and their coach were being awarded with their gold medals. Charles motioned with his head for the kids to follow him. He made the way to the bench and they all took a seat, witnessing a few minutes later a swarm of reports walking onto the pitch, following the Polish players that ran around the pitch like madmen, carrying the Cup.

Peter scrambled to his feet and ran onto the pitch once he realized that his father had noticed them. His sisters got up as well, and so the four kids outran Charles and reached Erik before he did. The kids wrapped their arms around their father's torso and babbled all at the same time. He was grinning like a fool, which was something he only did when they were at the privacy of their home. The moment was fitting for such smile, though.

"You were the best," Wanda said.

"Congratulations, Papa," that was from kind and mature Nina.

"I missed you, Papa!" Lorna happily chirped.

Peter grumbled, "I wanna see the Cup!"

Erik pressing a kiss into their heads and gave a wider smile when he saw Charles standing right behind his children.

"Mom wants us to take a photo with the Cup," Peter insisted.

"Yeah, Mom asked the same," Nina told him.

Lorna nodded her head, "My mommy too."

Erik looked around the pitch. His teammates were running around with the Cup, taking photos and passing it around like it was a baton in a relay race. He then saw Azazel coming out of the players' tunnel with hands comfortably resting in his pockets.

"Why don't you ask Azazel to take a photo and send it to your mothers?" Erik suggested and then pointed at his personal assistant. "He's right over there." The four were poised to run to Azazel when Erik left a few warnings, "Nina, don't let Lorna leave your side. And Wanda, keep an eye on your brother."

The two girls nodded their heads; Wanda ran after her brother whilst Nina grabbed the youngest by the hand and followed her younger siblings.

Now with the kids away, Charles closed the distance between him and Erik. He was suddenly pulled for a hug. Charles didn't care about the sweat that wetted Erik's skin and jersey. He liked it, not to mention that his embrace felt different… the good kind of different; warmer, tighter and filled with such caring and love that made Charles' legs feel like jelly for a moment.

"I told you you'd do alright, didn't I?" Charles mumbled into Erik's neck, discreetly pressing a kiss on his shoulder over the fabric of his jersey.

"You know I don't listen."

Erik parted the hug to put his winner's medal around Charles' neck.

Charles looked down at it, grabbing the gold medal in his hand, "What are you –"

"If I won tonight, it was because of you," Erik said, holding Charles' hand, not letting him take the medal off from around his neck.

"I hardly did a thing."

"You did more than enough. You came, your brought the kids, you helped me keep my focus, helped me calm down. You always have faith in me... And you love me far more than I deserve."

Erik's face was coming closer to Charles and he felt a mixture of lust and nervousness pooling in his stomach.

"Erik," Charles managed to say on a breath, "there are a lot of people here."

It was true that it was Charles who believed that people would accept their relationship, but he also knew that people could be cruel. The last thing he wanted was to ruin Erik's night by making the next morning's headlines with their gay kiss.

A smirk crept across Erik's mouth, "I don't a give fuck."

Erik tugged on the ribbon of the medal and pulled Charles for a kiss. Their foreheads bumped against each other's until Erik tilted his head. One of his hands slid down Charles' sides and rested on his waist, pressing him closer against his body, and the other cupped his face. They shared a deep, passionate kiss for a few seconds until Erik began pecking Charles' lips so gently and slowly that Charles melted and gave himself in to everything Erik had to offer.

Their kiss was cut short by the giggly sound of Erik's children coming closer and closer to them. One of Erik's teammates, still in a playful mode, chased after Peter who had snatched the Cup from him. His sisters ran after him. The boy reached his father and his boyfriend almost out of breath.

"We want a family photo with the Cup."

Erik rolled his eyes, "Alright, fine."

When Nina, Wanda and Lorna reach them, Charles took a step to the side, allowing the family to pose for the photo. Azazel walked to them leisurely, phone in his hand, clearly not in the mood to run after four hyper kids.

"Can you pick me up for the photo?" Lorna asked, already stretching out her arms to him.

"Oh – no, I - I'm not part of the family and this is a –"

"This is a family photo," Peter reinforced, tugging on his shirt sleeve so that Charles was standing in the photo by their side, "which means you also take part in it."

Charles smiled and positioned himself by Erik's side. He picked up Lorna in his arms and perched her on his hip, supporting their weight on the crutch. Peter was standing in front of him, happily holding the Cup– but already struggling with its weight. Wanda placed herself right next to her brother, standing in front of her father. Nina stood by Erik's side, putting her arm around him; Erik, in return, put his arm around Nina's shoulders, cuddling to his side. Azazel snapped the photo and then helped Peter passing the Cup onto another player. The girls dispersed quickly and so Erik and Charles were left alone again.

"I guess everyone knows about us by now," Charles commented.

He wasn't only talking about the photo they just taken (that would later be posted with a caption that said "Celebrating the Euro Cup win with the family"). The reporters hadn't yet stopped snapping photos of everything and everyone; it wouldn't be a surprise that they had captured Erik and Charles' more intimate moments on camera.

"I don't need anything else if I have you and the kids," Erik admitted. "I don't care about what they do to my career, but if they screw up yours –"

"If they screw up my career, it'll be their loss, not mine. I love you," he looked into Erik's eyes. "Bashing me – bashing us – on the front page of their newspapers and magazines won't change my feelings for you."

Erik offered a smile and pressed a kiss on the side of Charles' head. "Love you too."

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