FIC: X-Men First Class - Anchors Aweigh ~ Chapter I
Title: Anchors Aweigh
Fandom: X-Men First Class/The Road to El Dorado
Pairing: Erik/Charles
In supporting roles: Captain (of all evil) Shaw, Raven, Emma Frost, Azazel, Riptide, and other assorted characters to a minor degree
Genre: Humour, AU
Rating: PG-13
Word count: overall ~ 13,270, posted in chapters for easier digestion
Chapter I: ~ 1,900 words
Jump to chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI
Disclaimer: I own neither the X-Men franchise, nor the movie The Road to El Dorado or its characters. No money made, for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue me, I have nothing.
Beta: The brilliant kentucka who smoothes my punctuation back into something that doesn't cause brain damage. Special thanks to andreaphobia who played lab rat and assured me this wasn't complete bullshit.
Summary: After accidentally boarding a ship headed for the New World Erik and Charles quickly discover that being gods is not all it's cracked up to be.
Warnings: Vague allusions to sexual situations of the m/m variety. This isn't just crack. It's worse - it's happy crack. Although I've been informed that there is a tiny smidge of angst in there too. FYI: All limbs and feeling therein are present and accounted for. Also, rocks aka the main cause of Erik's plight. And rampant movie references.
A/N: Based on this tumblr post and with friendly permission from the original poster. Thank you for this lovely idea! *tips hat* This started out as a ficlet and then blew up into my face. This happens to me a lot.
Vaguely follows the storyline of Dreamworks' 'The Road to El Dorado' but adjusted in many places as needed. If you haven't seen The Road to El Dorado some of this may make little sense or will be way less amusing than it ought to be. Although, I guess you can just ignore all of that and roll with it.
~*~*~
Anchors Aweigh
~ Chapter I ~
"I admit, that could have gone better."
"No, no, I think this is such an improvement to our previous situation."
Charles wriggles around in the narrow space of the crate until his knee ends up in Erik's stomach.
"Uh, so sorry," he apologises in this earnest tone of his that he adopts whenever he thinks all the misery in the world is his fault, "I'm afraid this isn't quite how I imagined our escape."
"Oh really?" Erik grumbles and helps Charles to rearrange himself so that they don't hit each other in the nose every five seconds.
"There is no need to be nasty, Erik." Charles is giving him the 'disapproving teacher' look, Erik is sure of it - despite the pitch-black darkness of their hiding place. "It was nothing but a simple miscalculation on my part. And I apologised."
"You mean you miscalculated not being able to speak bull?"
"I said I'm sorry."
Erik sighs; he is having a hard time staying angry at Charles. Not only is Charles his oldest and best friend - possibly the only one, if he's entirely honest - but he is also capable of sounding absolutely wretched. He has the urge to pat Charles but the only limb he can properly move is his right foot and he is not convinced Charles would appreciate the gesture.
"Alright," Erik concedes, "apology accepted."
"Thank you."
A few minutes of contemplative silence follow as various crew members go about their business outside their cramped confines. As far as Erik can see through a crack in the wood the cargo hold is cram-full - and sadly, very busy.
"You'll have to mind-control them out of here if we ever want to get back ashore before this ship clears port," Erik ascertains and he can feel the air in their little crate freezing over as Charles silently, yet resolutely disagrees. Erik has no qualms using his powers but Charles always hesitates. He still lives under the impression that everyone is basically a good chap and can be reasoned with.
Erik doesn't have the heart to tell him that he is probably the only good chap out there. It's too depressing.
"We can just wait until they are done loading their cargo," Charles muses. "They'll have to clear out eventually."
"Sure," Erik rolls his eyes, fully aware of the fact that Charles can practically feel him doing it, "once they're out at sea."
"You don't know that."
"As a matter of fact, I do," Erik grits his teeth. Sometimes it's really hard to argue with Charles, "or do you think they'll just wait for us to pop out of this thing and then kindly guide us back to the port?"
"Erik?"
"What?"
"Your negativity is not helping."
Erik gives in, "Fine. Then what do you suggest?"
"We'll wait a few more minutes, then we'll take a peek and sneak out while everyone is busy getting the ship ready."
"Alright," Erik leans back as best as he can while folded almost in half, "but if this goes wrong don't ask me to bust you out."
"Are you saying you wouldn't?"
Erik is not sure if Charles is mocking him or if he is truly concerned that Erik might leave him behind. Seriously, what with all his mind-reading abilities Charles should know him better by now.
"I'm not even going to answer that," Erik concludes and refuses to say anything else. Charles’ oddly fond smile transpires through his thoughts anyway.
---
"Clear." Charles nods and Erik lets the lock click open with a flick of his wrist. They clamber out of the crate with some difficulty. Spending what feels like half their lives in a box barely big enough for one of them does horrible things to one's physique. For a few moments they wobble around like 80-year-olds.
Until somebody yells something in Spanish.
---
"How did you not see that coming?"
"I'm just as surprised as you are," Charles shrugs helplessly, the movement even more accentuated by the fact that they are both in shackles, "I thought he was one deck above us."
"You need to brush up on your Spanish, my friend." Erik shakes his head and concentrates to get rid of the irons. But Charles stops him.
"Someone's coming."
"Oh, now you're psychic." Erik huffs but refrains from losing the chains. He could easily get them out of here but Charles wants them to be civil and Erik can't help but indulge his friend.
"I'm not psychic, Erik," Charles corrects with surprisingly little scolding in his voice, "I'm a telepath. I can only do so much if people think in foreign languages."
"And what is this one thinking?" Erik inquires as the heavy door of their cell opens.
They both stare at the captain of the ship they have accidentally chosen as their escape vehicle and Erik doesn't even need an answer.
Next to him, Charles swallows. "Nothing good."
---
"You do know who Captain Shaw is, right?" Erik is pacing. The iron bars above them creak ominously every time he walks by. At closer inspection one may have noticed that they are bending towards Erik.
"Of course, I do." Charles sits in a large heap of straw and doesn't seem to be overly bothered. "He once had a man hanged because he stole an apple."
Erik raises his eyebrows in question. "Where did you hear that?"
"I didn't. I caught him thinking of it." Charles’ brow furrows. "He was strangely proud of it."
Erik nods, his lips a thin line. "Great. We're God knows where, stuck on a ship with a madman as a captain. In retrospect, we should have taken our chances with the bull."
"We could climb out at night and borrow one of the life boats," Charles suggests. It does not escape Erik's attention that Charles uses the word 'borrow'. He is probably determined on sending the boat back afterwards. Erik would laugh if it wasn't weirdly adorable.
"Sounds like a plan," Erik agrees and flops down on a second, much smaller accumulation of straw. It's cold and damp and not at all comfortable. Charles’ heap looks much more pleasant.
"Of course," Charles suddenly says and for a moment Erik is confused who or what he is talking about. Apparently, so is Charles.
"Oh," he gives Erik a sheepish smile, "sorry. I meant to say, of course you can sit over here."
He scoots to the left to make room. Erik hesitates but something wet and smelly is dripping onto his side of the cell and he is way too tired to continue being the realist in here. He crawls over to Charles and lies down next to his friend.
"Hungry?" Charles asks like he has a whole buffet to offer.
Erik is interested to see what will happen if he says yes, "Honestly? I could eat a bull."
Charles smiles in a way that indicates he has taken note of the bad joke but is willing to overlook it in favour of not mind-fingering Erik into believing he is a frog. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and when he opens them there are footsteps above them. Two apples tumble into their laps through the bars.
"Didn't you say Shaw had a man executed for stealing apples?" Erik picks up his dinner and rubs it against his shirt until it gleams in the fading daylight.
Charles takes a hearty bite out of his own apple and shakes his head. "Obviously, we didn't steal them. I just had them... redistributed."
Erik looks down at the apple in his hand and snorts. "Right. Nothing to worry about then."
---
Erik is really not the kind of person who enjoys being right all the time. Especially not when it means being right about floating around on the open sea in a stolen life boat with barely enough food to get them through the upcoming day.
"You know," Charles occupies the only other seat in the boat but desperately tries to make it seem like he is on the other side of the ocean, "not talking to me is not going to improve the situation. Besides, I can hear your thoughts."
Erik doesn't react; instead he thinks of ways to roast a seagull without setting their boat on fire.
"That seems like a bad idea, Erik," Charles butts in aloud, eyeing the flock of birds high above their heads.
"Charles," Erik shuffles back around to face his friend, "what exactly doesn't strike you as bad about our current predicament? Everything would be an improvement right now."
Charles peers over the edge of their rocky boat and points at a couple of telltale fins circling them. "I guess the sharks agree with you."
Erik goes back to decidedly not sulking and tries to come up with ways to fry a shark without incinerating their rescue vessel.
---
"If it's any consolation to you," Erik mumbles while clutching at Charles’ arm, "without you I would have become the most feared pirate in all of the seven seas."
Charles frowns. "You make it sound like meeting me was a bad thing."
"No, no," Erik waves his arms around, uncertain of what they are talking about. The sun is merciless and it feels like they haven't eaten or drunk anything in days. The boat is gently rocking from side to side like a cradle, lulling them to what Erik is pretty sure will be their ultimate and last sleep.
"So, you don't regret not becoming a villainous pirate?"
"What?" Erik blinks and then dismisses the remark altogether. "You are using too many words."
It's funny how slowly dehydrating and starving to death feels like being drunk. He could really do without the hallucinations though. The image of broad, white shores with palm trees, bushes and lazily sloshing waves is bringing him close to tears. The least Charles could do is to make the taunting remains of hope go away.
But apparently, Charles is busy being excited. He is shuffling around the boat, hanging halfway over the railing and splashing water left and right with his hands. They lost the oars in last night's storm, which Erik firmly claims to have been Charles’ fault.
"What are you doing?" Erik raises his head from where it's been propped up against Charles’ leg.
His friend gestures fervently, "Land!"
"You're seeing it too?" Erik arches one eyebrow and squints against the tormenting sun towards what he has previously thought to be a near-death hallucination.
"You're not imagining it!" Charles shouts and somehow manages to make them go in circles. He is clearly not cut out for the nautical field.
Erik finally scrambles up and peers at the stretch of beach that lies about half a mile ahead of them. As much as he rubs his tired eyes it doesn't disappear, which can only mean...
"Get out of the way," Erik shoves Charles away from the stern, "let me take care of this."
He holds his hand above one of the planks that serve as seats and the screws practically soar off into the air. He does the same with the other panel and kicks it towards his companion.
"Row," he tells Charles, "row like your life depends on it."
"Well, it sort of does-"
"Don't make me beat you over the head with this, so close to our rescue, Charles."
"Alright, alright, I'm rowing."
~*~*~
On to --> Chapter 2
Fandom: X-Men First Class/The Road to El Dorado
Pairing: Erik/Charles
In supporting roles: Captain (of all evil) Shaw, Raven, Emma Frost, Azazel, Riptide, and other assorted characters to a minor degree
Genre: Humour, AU
Rating: PG-13
Word count: overall ~ 13,270, posted in chapters for easier digestion
Chapter I: ~ 1,900 words
Jump to chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI
Disclaimer: I own neither the X-Men franchise, nor the movie The Road to El Dorado or its characters. No money made, for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue me, I have nothing.
Beta: The brilliant kentucka who smoothes my punctuation back into something that doesn't cause brain damage. Special thanks to andreaphobia who played lab rat and assured me this wasn't complete bullshit.
Summary: After accidentally boarding a ship headed for the New World Erik and Charles quickly discover that being gods is not all it's cracked up to be.
Warnings: Vague allusions to sexual situations of the m/m variety. This isn't just crack. It's worse - it's happy crack. Although I've been informed that there is a tiny smidge of angst in there too. FYI: All limbs and feeling therein are present and accounted for. Also, rocks aka the main cause of Erik's plight. And rampant movie references.
A/N: Based on this tumblr post and with friendly permission from the original poster. Thank you for this lovely idea! *tips hat* This started out as a ficlet and then blew up into my face. This happens to me a lot.
Vaguely follows the storyline of Dreamworks' 'The Road to El Dorado' but adjusted in many places as needed. If you haven't seen The Road to El Dorado some of this may make little sense or will be way less amusing than it ought to be. Although, I guess you can just ignore all of that and roll with it.
~*~*~
Anchors Aweigh
~ Chapter I ~
"I admit, that could have gone better."
"No, no, I think this is such an improvement to our previous situation."
Charles wriggles around in the narrow space of the crate until his knee ends up in Erik's stomach.
"Uh, so sorry," he apologises in this earnest tone of his that he adopts whenever he thinks all the misery in the world is his fault, "I'm afraid this isn't quite how I imagined our escape."
"Oh really?" Erik grumbles and helps Charles to rearrange himself so that they don't hit each other in the nose every five seconds.
"There is no need to be nasty, Erik." Charles is giving him the 'disapproving teacher' look, Erik is sure of it - despite the pitch-black darkness of their hiding place. "It was nothing but a simple miscalculation on my part. And I apologised."
"You mean you miscalculated not being able to speak bull?"
"I said I'm sorry."
Erik sighs; he is having a hard time staying angry at Charles. Not only is Charles his oldest and best friend - possibly the only one, if he's entirely honest - but he is also capable of sounding absolutely wretched. He has the urge to pat Charles but the only limb he can properly move is his right foot and he is not convinced Charles would appreciate the gesture.
"Alright," Erik concedes, "apology accepted."
"Thank you."
A few minutes of contemplative silence follow as various crew members go about their business outside their cramped confines. As far as Erik can see through a crack in the wood the cargo hold is cram-full - and sadly, very busy.
"You'll have to mind-control them out of here if we ever want to get back ashore before this ship clears port," Erik ascertains and he can feel the air in their little crate freezing over as Charles silently, yet resolutely disagrees. Erik has no qualms using his powers but Charles always hesitates. He still lives under the impression that everyone is basically a good chap and can be reasoned with.
Erik doesn't have the heart to tell him that he is probably the only good chap out there. It's too depressing.
"We can just wait until they are done loading their cargo," Charles muses. "They'll have to clear out eventually."
"Sure," Erik rolls his eyes, fully aware of the fact that Charles can practically feel him doing it, "once they're out at sea."
"You don't know that."
"As a matter of fact, I do," Erik grits his teeth. Sometimes it's really hard to argue with Charles, "or do you think they'll just wait for us to pop out of this thing and then kindly guide us back to the port?"
"Erik?"
"What?"
"Your negativity is not helping."
Erik gives in, "Fine. Then what do you suggest?"
"We'll wait a few more minutes, then we'll take a peek and sneak out while everyone is busy getting the ship ready."
"Alright," Erik leans back as best as he can while folded almost in half, "but if this goes wrong don't ask me to bust you out."
"Are you saying you wouldn't?"
Erik is not sure if Charles is mocking him or if he is truly concerned that Erik might leave him behind. Seriously, what with all his mind-reading abilities Charles should know him better by now.
"I'm not even going to answer that," Erik concludes and refuses to say anything else. Charles’ oddly fond smile transpires through his thoughts anyway.
---
"Clear." Charles nods and Erik lets the lock click open with a flick of his wrist. They clamber out of the crate with some difficulty. Spending what feels like half their lives in a box barely big enough for one of them does horrible things to one's physique. For a few moments they wobble around like 80-year-olds.
Until somebody yells something in Spanish.
---
"How did you not see that coming?"
"I'm just as surprised as you are," Charles shrugs helplessly, the movement even more accentuated by the fact that they are both in shackles, "I thought he was one deck above us."
"You need to brush up on your Spanish, my friend." Erik shakes his head and concentrates to get rid of the irons. But Charles stops him.
"Someone's coming."
"Oh, now you're psychic." Erik huffs but refrains from losing the chains. He could easily get them out of here but Charles wants them to be civil and Erik can't help but indulge his friend.
"I'm not psychic, Erik," Charles corrects with surprisingly little scolding in his voice, "I'm a telepath. I can only do so much if people think in foreign languages."
"And what is this one thinking?" Erik inquires as the heavy door of their cell opens.
They both stare at the captain of the ship they have accidentally chosen as their escape vehicle and Erik doesn't even need an answer.
Next to him, Charles swallows. "Nothing good."
---
"You do know who Captain Shaw is, right?" Erik is pacing. The iron bars above them creak ominously every time he walks by. At closer inspection one may have noticed that they are bending towards Erik.
"Of course, I do." Charles sits in a large heap of straw and doesn't seem to be overly bothered. "He once had a man hanged because he stole an apple."
Erik raises his eyebrows in question. "Where did you hear that?"
"I didn't. I caught him thinking of it." Charles’ brow furrows. "He was strangely proud of it."
Erik nods, his lips a thin line. "Great. We're God knows where, stuck on a ship with a madman as a captain. In retrospect, we should have taken our chances with the bull."
"We could climb out at night and borrow one of the life boats," Charles suggests. It does not escape Erik's attention that Charles uses the word 'borrow'. He is probably determined on sending the boat back afterwards. Erik would laugh if it wasn't weirdly adorable.
"Sounds like a plan," Erik agrees and flops down on a second, much smaller accumulation of straw. It's cold and damp and not at all comfortable. Charles’ heap looks much more pleasant.
"Of course," Charles suddenly says and for a moment Erik is confused who or what he is talking about. Apparently, so is Charles.
"Oh," he gives Erik a sheepish smile, "sorry. I meant to say, of course you can sit over here."
He scoots to the left to make room. Erik hesitates but something wet and smelly is dripping onto his side of the cell and he is way too tired to continue being the realist in here. He crawls over to Charles and lies down next to his friend.
"Hungry?" Charles asks like he has a whole buffet to offer.
Erik is interested to see what will happen if he says yes, "Honestly? I could eat a bull."
Charles smiles in a way that indicates he has taken note of the bad joke but is willing to overlook it in favour of not mind-fingering Erik into believing he is a frog. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and when he opens them there are footsteps above them. Two apples tumble into their laps through the bars.
"Didn't you say Shaw had a man executed for stealing apples?" Erik picks up his dinner and rubs it against his shirt until it gleams in the fading daylight.
Charles takes a hearty bite out of his own apple and shakes his head. "Obviously, we didn't steal them. I just had them... redistributed."
Erik looks down at the apple in his hand and snorts. "Right. Nothing to worry about then."
---
Erik is really not the kind of person who enjoys being right all the time. Especially not when it means being right about floating around on the open sea in a stolen life boat with barely enough food to get them through the upcoming day.
"You know," Charles occupies the only other seat in the boat but desperately tries to make it seem like he is on the other side of the ocean, "not talking to me is not going to improve the situation. Besides, I can hear your thoughts."
Erik doesn't react; instead he thinks of ways to roast a seagull without setting their boat on fire.
"That seems like a bad idea, Erik," Charles butts in aloud, eyeing the flock of birds high above their heads.
"Charles," Erik shuffles back around to face his friend, "what exactly doesn't strike you as bad about our current predicament? Everything would be an improvement right now."
Charles peers over the edge of their rocky boat and points at a couple of telltale fins circling them. "I guess the sharks agree with you."
Erik goes back to decidedly not sulking and tries to come up with ways to fry a shark without incinerating their rescue vessel.
---
"If it's any consolation to you," Erik mumbles while clutching at Charles’ arm, "without you I would have become the most feared pirate in all of the seven seas."
Charles frowns. "You make it sound like meeting me was a bad thing."
"No, no," Erik waves his arms around, uncertain of what they are talking about. The sun is merciless and it feels like they haven't eaten or drunk anything in days. The boat is gently rocking from side to side like a cradle, lulling them to what Erik is pretty sure will be their ultimate and last sleep.
"So, you don't regret not becoming a villainous pirate?"
"What?" Erik blinks and then dismisses the remark altogether. "You are using too many words."
It's funny how slowly dehydrating and starving to death feels like being drunk. He could really do without the hallucinations though. The image of broad, white shores with palm trees, bushes and lazily sloshing waves is bringing him close to tears. The least Charles could do is to make the taunting remains of hope go away.
But apparently, Charles is busy being excited. He is shuffling around the boat, hanging halfway over the railing and splashing water left and right with his hands. They lost the oars in last night's storm, which Erik firmly claims to have been Charles’ fault.
"What are you doing?" Erik raises his head from where it's been propped up against Charles’ leg.
His friend gestures fervently, "Land!"
"You're seeing it too?" Erik arches one eyebrow and squints against the tormenting sun towards what he has previously thought to be a near-death hallucination.
"You're not imagining it!" Charles shouts and somehow manages to make them go in circles. He is clearly not cut out for the nautical field.
Erik finally scrambles up and peers at the stretch of beach that lies about half a mile ahead of them. As much as he rubs his tired eyes it doesn't disappear, which can only mean...
"Get out of the way," Erik shoves Charles away from the stern, "let me take care of this."
He holds his hand above one of the planks that serve as seats and the screws practically soar off into the air. He does the same with the other panel and kicks it towards his companion.
"Row," he tells Charles, "row like your life depends on it."
"Well, it sort of does-"
"Don't make me beat you over the head with this, so close to our rescue, Charles."
"Alright, alright, I'm rowing."
~*~*~
On to --> Chapter 2