X-men: First Class - Missing Scene - 'Nevermore'
[retitled from 'Leave Unsaid Unspoken']
Title: Nevermore.
Author: cakehole-cat
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Characters: Erik/Charles
Rating: PG 13, because I am a wuss.
Word-count: 2633.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, they own me. *whimper*
Summary: Sort of dialogue/script for a missing scene; I wanted to write something that could have fitted in with the movie-canon without going AU. So, this is what could have/should have happened after Raven and Charles' contretemps in the kitchen.
Notes: This was inspired by a couple of things (including this drawing) but primarily Sir Ian McKellan saying “It would be wonderful if the camera hovered over Magneto’s bed, to discover him making love to Professor X.”
‘Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
- The Raven.
[X-MEN FIRST CLASS: MISSING SCENE.]
Her fingers were already on the handle of her bedroom door when she changed her mind.
She stopped, glaring at the wooden panels as if they were responsible for the heat of shame in her cheeks. Didn’t know if it was the anger or the cold night air making her bare skin tingle. The way he’d cried out! When all she’d wanted to do was share her newfound pride with him, a new breed of happiness - maybe rub his nose in it a little. And he’d been repulsed. ‘For God’s sake Raven… put some clothes on. ’ How long, she wondered, how long had it been since he’d looked at her with anything but that vague, pitying disappointment in his eyes? She tried to remember, and couldn’t. Couldn’t recall a time. Back when they were kids, maybe. Well, Charles had it coming. He deserved to be shocked. If Erik could give her a wake-up call, why couldn’t she pass on the favour?
Erik.
Raven wheeled around and retracted her steps, feet padding soundlessly in the dark.
I’ll go back to him. To that long-faced hawk-eyed man. Go to him like this. As herself.
As she walked, a pale light flared up ahead, around the corner from Erik’s room. She heard his door opening, realised the light was his, and her heart lifted a beat. Then his low voice came rumbling out, speaking to someone else, and it was only then that she realised what she had been hearing- a third set of footsteps, an unmistakeable, shuffling gait.
For a second she just stood there, rooted to the spot as efficiently as if someone had slapped her across the face. But then reflexes kicked in; she ducked into a shadow and almost screamed when she saw someone appear in the doorway opposite - which wasn’t a doorway, but a long mirror. It reflected one half of the corridor beyond the corner, and Raven shrank back against the wall to see into it.
Erik was hidden from view, but she could see Charles, who must have been returning from the kitchens. He was walking down the narrow hallway, bathed in the soft yellow light of Erik’s open door. Head bowed in thought, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his half-buttoned sweater, and not paying attention. He started from his reverie when the other man spoke:
‘Charles.’
‘Mmm?’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Hmm?’ He looked distracted. ’What? Oh, no. Nothing.’ Charles grimaced, shook his head, not wanting the fuss. ‘I was just thinking about Raven.’
‘She was here.’ Erik said, late night accent curling around his r’s. Raven caught a fleeting look of brotherly disapproval on Charles’ face, and apparently so did Erik, because he added: ‘I sent her packing, Charles.’
‘I’m sorry, Erik.’ Charles sounded genuinely apologetic. ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately - I just caught her wandering around the house in the altogether. We had a bit of an argument about it.’
‘Not on my account, I hope?’ Erik drawled.
‘Oh no.’
Their voices were low; hushed out of respect for listening sleepers, and it gave the scene an odd feeling of intimacy, a sort of stifling hyper-awareness. Somewhere in the dark a grandfather clock struck midnight, and the strange feeling stole over Raven that this was the witching hour, the time for impulses.
‘She’s a good girl, Erik.’ Charles was saying. ‘She’s just a little-’ he chewed his lip, weighed his words, ‘-confused.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ said Erik. Though she couldn’t see, she could picture exactly the look on his face.
Charles smiled; more a bunching up of the lips than a smile, carving a crease across his chin.
‘Hmm. Yes, well. I suppose I’d better be off to bed. Unless there was something-?’
‘No. I just wanted to say good night.’
‘Oh right. Well, good night Erik.’
‘Night Charles.’
‘Good night.’
Any second now, thought Raven. Any second now he’ll turn the corner and see me. I’ve got to move!
But Charles had doubled back abruptly, addressed his friend before he could shut the door. The way he was shifting about on the spot, it seemed like he wanted to get something off his chest, put right some wrong.
‘Actually Erik, there was something. About our discussion earlier. I know we’ve had our differences, but I don’t want you to feel I’m not on your side about this.’
Deadly in earnest; he could have left it at that, but was obviously seized with the impulse to dig himself a deeper hole.
‘It’s just this matter of killing Shaw,’ Charles burst, then adopted that maddening ‘be reasonable’ tone. ‘I can’t condone murder, Erik. Not for the best of reasons, least of all revenge. And anyway,’ he raised a hand to point at Erik's chest, ‘you said it yourself, you’re the better man. And not because you’re stronger, but because you have a good heart. I can see it, even if others can’t. And whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that you’re welcome to stay here. With me - with all of us. You can build a better life for yourself. And I want that for you, my friend. Truly, I do.’
There was enough faith in Charles’ eyes to inspire armies.
‘God, when I think what you could be capable of in future, Erik, if you just put your mind to it. I wish… I want so much for you-’
‘Do you want me?’
The words stung. They hovered in the air, clanged through the silence.
Charles blinked. His lips formed words and failed to say them. Raven held her breath. She could almost see the gears grinding together in his head as his brain caught up with his ears. His reply came like a sputtering engine, an immoveable object hammered by torque.
‘Well I- what?’
‘It’s a simple enough question, Charles.’ Said Erik, cutting straight to it, mind like an arrow. There was a sing-song in his voice, in his melodic accent.
He was playing; a cat batting at a bell with its paw, just to hear it chime. ‘Do you want me?’ He repeated.
And the silence before was nothing compared to the thundering quiet now. Behind his blue eyes, Raven could imagine Charles’ thoughts speeding ahead, a mile a minute.
‘Well, of course.’ He said, chiding gently as if he didn’t know better. ‘Of course I want you, Erik. You’re a valuable member of our team.’
The creak of a floorboard. Raven tensed as Erik’s reflection finally stepped into view. No longer wearing that black roll-neck she had seen him in minutes before. Now he wore a long dark bath-robe, knotted softly at the waist, a shard of bare chest visible above. And something else had changed about him, a shifting, a tipping, like a floodgate opening somewhere.
His step brought Erik closer to the dapper little man standing at his door, and he looked down at him.
There was no trace of the humour that been in his voice in his doleful eyes, hollow in their sockets.
‘That’s not what I meant, Charles.’ He murmured, and his voice seemed to come from deep within his chest, to reverberate in the air.
Charles cleared his throat, trying to keep things light.
‘Wasn’t it?’ But he sounded faint. Hypnotised.
Erik was surveying him closely, now, decoding his features with a predatory expression, tongue ticking thoughtfully over his teeth.
Not a cat; a snake. When he spoke his voice seemed to come from far away. ‘Tell me Charles…’ He said. ‘Did Raven know why I kicked her out?’
Raven thought she might collapse, wondered if Charles’ heart was pounding as hard as this, so hard it hurt.
She kept forgetting to breathe.
‘No.’ Charles admitted.
‘I didn’t think so.’ Erik said. There was a kind of danger in his eyes, a coiled menace.
Some ancient instinct urged Raven to run. He’s going to kill him. He’s going to kill him or…
Or something else…
‘What was the reason, do you think?’ Erik was asking. ‘Why do you think I kicked her out?’
‘Erik...’ His name escaped Charles in a hiss, irritated. He had closed his eyes. Why did he shut his eyes?
Erik had taken another step into the hallway, pushing into Charles’ space as if he wanted to start a fight. He had gone very still.
‘Tell me, Charles.’
‘Well…’ Charles seemed to be having difficulty speaking. ‘You wouldn’t take advantage of a young girl like that-’
‘I’m touched that you think so well of me, Charles, but no.’
Another step.
Charles’ breathing faltered. ‘You’re not the sort of man who goes to pieces, just because some nubile young thing throws herself at you.’ He managed.
‘True.’ Erik nodded, voice still distant. ‘But perhaps… perhaps it was because, while I was kissing her-‘
‘-Erik please.’
‘-I found myself… wishing she looked like someone else.’
Raven heard the air escape Charles’ lips, something like a sigh, while his mouth approximated appalment. He looked winded; could have been about to cry or about to shout, but Raven believed she could see him shiver, even in the dark. He was shuffling on the spot, uncomfortable, eyes on his feet, hands still in his pockets.
Why does he have his eyes down?
‘Charles?’ Erik’s deep, dry rasp, burrowing through his composure. ‘Charles…? Look at me, Charles. ’
Charles raised his eyes - those sad blue eyes that had all the humanity of the world in them - looked warily up at Erik, and said nothing. And Raven could see a look on Erik’s face she’d never seen before, such a terrible look. She didn’t know what it meant, but it hurt. He looked desperate, vulnerable. There were worry lines etched into his forehead, usually so smooth and unruffled. His eyes had darkened to bruises, eyelashes quivering as if in a high wind, and his lower lip had fallen to reveal that bar of teeth, like the tines of a gate. He looked like a man teetering over the abyss; like the wrong words now would destroy him.
It did something to Charles. A hand extricated itself from his pocket on instinct, and reached out.
‘Erik,’ he murmured thickly, distressed. He looked down and grasped at the front of Erik’s bath-robe as if to anchor himself there. His lips twitched, bitten back words of comfort. ‘Erik, why are you shaking?’
Erik’s voice fractured, came out as a growl. He put his big hands on Charles’ neck, cupping his face.
‘Don’t you know, Charles? ’
‘Yes I know.’ Charles whispered, urged. There was a sheen across his eyes, his voice sodden, their foreheads were pressed together, breath mingling. ‘I know exactly.’
And Raven knew it, too. They adored each other.
But she had had no idea, no conception of the pain she could see in them, these two men pulled apart by the equal and opposite forces of love and idealism. It was a pure, desperate agony that took the breath away, as offensive to the heart as the image of an abandoned child. So tragic it was beautiful. And she knew her friend. She knew his empathy, and that Erik’s pain was Charles’, knew how he’d do anything to relieve suffering whenever he saw it. She knew it before they did, and barely needed to hear Erik’s last question, which was almost incomprehensible in any case, a guttural vibration of feeling between their lips. ‘And am I alone? ’ She thought he said. ‘Am I alone in that? ’
‘No, Erik.’ Charles’ voice was heavy with grief as he shook his magnificent head. She could see Erik react to hearing his own name, and knew the feeling- the thought on his face that went something like It didn’t feel like I had a name until he said it.
Charles looked up, as twin teardrops fell from his eyes.
‘Erik.’ He said, and he was smiling. ‘You’re not alone. ’
And that was it. A choked-off sob and in a split second they were together, mouths opening on each other as if to quench a bottomless thirst. Charles moaned on Erik’s tongue and Erik lifted him, bodily, and pressed him into the opposite wall, one hand nestled in the small of his back, the other sheltering the crown of his head. Charles’ fingers were running down the grooves of dark material, taut across Erik’s biceps, holding on tight as they hit the wall, rebounded, teeth grating, mouths reconnecting desperately. They made such a striking image, an odd combination of hard male bodies and soft pliant mouths… soft wet sounds.
But there was still something - she could see it on Charles’ flushed face that something was wrong. His eyebrows arched upwards, aggrieved. He placed the flat of a hand to Erik’s chest and, amazingly, pushed him back; the shorter man wrenching away from their kiss with an audible smacking sound, licking his tingling lip.
‘Mmf- Erik, stop. ’
She could understand Erik’s thwarted animal arousal; his face seemed almost magnetised to Charles’s mouth as he looked down on him. Still had him in his arms up against the wall. Not about to take no for answer.
‘What?’ He panted, voice rough, radiating disappointment. ‘I thought you wanted this, Charles?’
‘I do,’ Charles’ lips on those words were red and swollen and yearning. ‘But not if it’s out of some-‘ he waved a hand, ‘-some misplaced sense of obligation!’ Charles clicked his tongue, shook his head as if to throw off an unwanted thought. Raven thought she recognised that look. It was his principles, his stupid British Manners. They’d left him distraught, guilt-ridden. Sure enough, he explained - was almost pleading to be understood:
‘You don’t owe me anything, Erik.’
Erik froze, stunned.
Charles thought… thought this was some sort of quid pro quo, on his part? A thank you for services rendered?
Incredible.
A change began on Erik’s face, a complex shivering expression like warm summer rain. A great, blazing, scornful fondness shone from his eyes, amusement flickering at the corners of his mouth; a cat once again, the cat that got the cream. He huffed out a laugh that drew his mouth back at the corner, eye-teeth flashing.
‘That’s not what this is, Charles.’ He purred. ‘But I do owe you something. Everything that I am now is because of you.’
‘Erik-‘ Gratified but embarrassed.
‘No. No more talking.’ Yes, Raven thought. She definitely recognised that voice. That was Magneto. ‘Just tell me what you want, Charles.’ No longer talking of emotional wants. He had buried his face in Charles neck, was squeezing up against him. ‘Tell me what you want.’ Quiet, probing, insistent; planting kisses down the column of Charles throat, exposed above his unbuttoned shirt-collar, as he eased his head back to the ceiling.
‘I want…’ Charles started. Stopped. Gulped. Adam’s apple bobbing. Unable to voice these truths, for all that he could flirt at the drop of a hat. He snarled, banged his head against the wall in frustration, forced the words out. No time for half measures now, none for embarrassment. This was the witching hour.
Erik got his reply, and it was so like Charles to be genteel, even while oaths were forcing their way through his well-mannered lips. It came in a fervent whisper, as he clapped a shaking hand to the back of Erik’s head:
‘UghGod- make love to me Erik.’
And that was that. Erik was dropping his athletic shoulders, reaching down and under, plucking Charles into the air with disarming ease. He was carrying him through the open door, where Charles reached a steadying hand to the lintel. And then they were through. And the door was closing. And Raven couldn’t breathe. . .
[FADE TO BLACK]
[END SCENE]
[NEXT SCENE: MORNING, HANK'S LABORATORY.]
This soppy thing came out of nowhere last night, over about the course of an hour or so.
I'm really hoping for feedback since it's the first thing I've written in years, (and my first time in this fandom).
Please be gentle with me. >_<
ps. I realise that me posting this coincides with me replying to a couple of other peoples' fics, which might seem a bit suspect, but I just want to stress that this isn't a quid-pro-quo! If I commented on your fic it's because you did a good job and deserve to know about it. Please don't think I only commented in the hopes of a return- I reply because I mean it. It's just that me-writing coincides with me-getting-into-fanfic for the X1C fandom and reading all over the shop to get inspiration. In fact, if I've commented on a fic of yours, you're probably the reason behind this happening at all. ^_^' Hope that's clear, anyway. >_<.
That being said, comments are still ♥ Lol! ^_^
*goes to calm mind with gifs*
Toodlepip,
-CC.