Everything was done, there was nothing else he could fiddle with, alter, or organize to make sure it was exactly right. No timid servers he could boss around; no tailor he could bitch to about the stray thread in the seam of his trousers. This was it. The end.

If he were there, Charles would hit him then; tell him it was a beginning, not an end – and, of course, he'd be right. But somehow Erik still felt as if he was walking towards his own execution.

Not that he was walking anywhere. In fact, he was stood perfectly still, counting the number of white versus red roses on the arch ahead of him, realising the ratio was unbalanced. (There were far more white roses than red, not that he could do anything about that now – but he had known he should have fired that florist when he'd had the chance.)

The discovery of the unbalanced colours and the itch of the loose thread against his thigh caused a tight feeling in his chest, and a steel band closed itself around his ribs and slowly contracted, pushing the air out of his lungs. Nothing was right. Nothing was done. Everything was wrong and there was nothing he could do. Great, now he was panicking – Oh, God, he was panicking. He was having a panic attack in front of hundreds of people and he didn't know what to do and oh God what if Charles sees him like this and doesn't want him anymore andwhatifhechangeshismindandhasalreadyleftohGodwashebeingleftatthealterwhatwouldhedowhatif-

A meaty hand slapped against his shoulder, forcing air into his unwilling lungs.

"Calm down, Erika," Logan hissed, nudging him from his 'best man' spot beside him, "lover boy's here now. Get a grip."

In the midst of his terror, he hadn't realised the music that settled in the corners of the large hall had risen and volume; ascending into a fanfare of violins which quietened into a soft melody that suited Charles down to the ground.

Erik looked over his shoulder with his breath caught in his throat.

At the end of the hall, Charles stood in a gun-metal grey three piece suit (the white, it turned out, made Charles' already lily coloured skin wash out – much to Erik's disappointment) paired with a cobalt blue tie that matched his eyes perfectly.

His eyes shone with emotion as he walked towards Erik, his pace in perfect time with the music swelling through the room. Their gazes locked, and Erik could have sworn the whole congregation held their breath in anticipation.

The calming effect of Charles' easy smile and eyes bright with emotion was immediate; a grin stretched across Erik's face, so wide, his cheeks began to strain. But he couldn't stop smiling. He felt like he would never stop. Charles' expression was fond as he reached for Erik's hand, coming to a stop next to him. Gott, Erik couldn't tear his eyes off him.

Logan let out a light chuckle beside him, as he took his place with the other groomsmen to his right. Charles heard and looked over at him, his face glowing with happy amusement before snapping his eyes right back to Erik's.

"You're okay now worry guts," he murmured with a wink, "I'm here."

Erik laughed, feeling tears begin to brim. Oh Lord, he wasn't going to survive this wedding, he just knew it. "I know."

They spoke their vows to each other – Charles in a confident, delighted voice which rang with conviction throughout the room – Erik in a quieter, more emotional tone that made his mother sniffle happily in the front row. The whole thing seemed to blur by and too soon, Erik was sliding a platinum wedding band onto Charles' ring finger; the perfect companion to the elegant engagement ring designed by Erik himself.

"I now pronounce you, loving spouses." That was it. It was done. They were married. He couldn't quite believe it; he felt like punching the air. But instead, he settled on kissing his new husband senseless in front of all their friends and family, 100% ready to begin their life together.

oOo

Charles watched in amusement as Erik struggled with the lid of the jam, his whole body curled around the jar and his face crunched into a snarl of effort. "You okay there, Erik?" He laughed aloud as his husband looked up at him with a pout, still bent around the glass.

"I can't do it," he complained, pushing his whole body into another attempt at loosening the lid.

Charles chuckled again, and reached for the jam, "here, let me."

Erik scoffed, "no offence, liebling, but if I can't do it, then I'm certain you can't."

Smirking, he took the jar off Erik and twisted hard whilst pulling upwards, grinning triumphant as it popped off with ease. Erik stared down at the jar as if it caused him a deep betrayal, "how could you?" he whispered to it, feigning hurt.

Charles just stared at him before cracking up; only laughing that much harder when his husband began giggling along with him, his face stretched into a shark-like grin. Charles had a deep fondness for that expression – the unbridled happiness and roughish look the smile portrayed.

Raven always insisted that the animalistic grin should frighten him, claiming that "all the evidence is there, Charles, you married a shark, and you're just too stubborn to see it." Oh he could see it alright; he just thought it hilarious. And adorable. And really fucking sexy.

Besides, he took great joy in informing her that he knew the reason Erik favoured turtlenecks was so he could hide his gills.

Erik didn't find it as amusing as they did.