Fic: An Impossible Task
Title: An Impossible Task
Rating: G
Summary: Erik tries to count Charles' freckles. For this prompt at the kinkmeme.
Warnings: Gratuitous German and unrepentant fluff. I regret nothing.
"Mein Gott." Erik muttered. "This is impossible."
Charles chuckled, cracking an eye open in amusement to watch Erik beside him. The light touch of Erik's cool fingertips contrasted deliciously with the sun that beat down upon his back, warming his skin. One of Erik's hands skated over Charles ribs and he stifled a laugh, burying his face in the blanket under them. He could feel the grass flattened underneath the fabric and a soft breeze ruffled the oak trees above, stirring the leaves and rustling them.
"Ticklish, are we?" Erik teased, his blunt fingernails dragging lightly against Charles' spine. He arched up under the touch, smiling, and started to roll over onto his back. Erik pushed him down gently.
"No. Stay on your stomach. I'm not done yet." He pressed the tip of his thumb to a cluster of light brown spots in the dip of Charles' coccyx. "Verdammen." He growled.
"Erik, it can't be done. I've tried. It's impossible."
Erik flashed him a toothy grin. "Three impossible things before breakfast, Charles. I'm behind my quota."
"But it's after lunch." Charles protested weakly as Erik's fingers kneaded the knots in his shoulder blades. "Oh, that's nice, do it again."
He bent closer, squinting at the pale, sun warmed-skin of Charles' back. "Siebenunddreißig, achtunddreißig... Jesus, Charles."
"I can't help it, I'm English." He murmured. "It's either this or turn into a lobster. It's a mutation, you know." He wiggled his eyebrows at Erik. "It's a very groovy mutation."
"Stop talking, I'm going to lose count. Where was I?"
"'Achtunddreißig'. What's that? My German is still fuzzy."
"Thirty-seven. Shhh." Charles hummed contentedly as Erik's lips pressed tenderly against the back of his neck. "Neununddreißig, vierzig, vierzig eins..." He whispered, then paused. "Wait a second. That wasn't there a minute ago." He glanced down at Charles, confused. "That wasn't there a minute ago, I swear!"
"Well yes, of course." Charles propped himself up on one elbow, smiling at his friend. "Freckles multiply in the sun. You didn't know that?"
Erik buried his head in the grass with a groan.
Rating: G
Summary: Erik tries to count Charles' freckles. For this prompt at the kinkmeme.
Warnings: Gratuitous German and unrepentant fluff. I regret nothing.
"Mein Gott." Erik muttered. "This is impossible."
Charles chuckled, cracking an eye open in amusement to watch Erik beside him. The light touch of Erik's cool fingertips contrasted deliciously with the sun that beat down upon his back, warming his skin. One of Erik's hands skated over Charles ribs and he stifled a laugh, burying his face in the blanket under them. He could feel the grass flattened underneath the fabric and a soft breeze ruffled the oak trees above, stirring the leaves and rustling them.
"Ticklish, are we?" Erik teased, his blunt fingernails dragging lightly against Charles' spine. He arched up under the touch, smiling, and started to roll over onto his back. Erik pushed him down gently.
"No. Stay on your stomach. I'm not done yet." He pressed the tip of his thumb to a cluster of light brown spots in the dip of Charles' coccyx. "Verdammen." He growled.
"Erik, it can't be done. I've tried. It's impossible."
Erik flashed him a toothy grin. "Three impossible things before breakfast, Charles. I'm behind my quota."
"But it's after lunch." Charles protested weakly as Erik's fingers kneaded the knots in his shoulder blades. "Oh, that's nice, do it again."
He bent closer, squinting at the pale, sun warmed-skin of Charles' back. "Siebenunddreißig, achtunddreißig... Jesus, Charles."
"I can't help it, I'm English." He murmured. "It's either this or turn into a lobster. It's a mutation, you know." He wiggled his eyebrows at Erik. "It's a very groovy mutation."
"Stop talking, I'm going to lose count. Where was I?"
"'Achtunddreißig'. What's that? My German is still fuzzy."
"Thirty-seven. Shhh." Charles hummed contentedly as Erik's lips pressed tenderly against the back of his neck. "Neununddreißig, vierzig, vierzig eins..." He whispered, then paused. "Wait a second. That wasn't there a minute ago." He glanced down at Charles, confused. "That wasn't there a minute ago, I swear!"
"Well yes, of course." Charles propped himself up on one elbow, smiling at his friend. "Freckles multiply in the sun. You didn't know that?"
Erik buried his head in the grass with a groan.