[x-men: first class] fic - charles/erik - the right time is the least appropriate moment
I was talking with enthroned, about various things, and ended up challenging myself to write a story in which the beach debacle is diverted by. Well. It says it all in the summary. Also at AO3.
Title: The Right Time is the Least Appropriate Moment
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Word Count: ~2000
Rating: R
Summary: Someone travels back in time and leaves Charles whisky-flavoured condoms, since they don't exist in 1962. This is how World War III is avoided.
Note: This started as a joke, and now exists somewhere between crack, introspection, and porn. There is at least a happy ending.
It is a most peculiar discovery, since the whisky-flavoured condoms weren't there before Charles got in the shower, and yet here they are by the time he comes out. They come complete with a note, typed and in all capital letters that reads: "YOU'LL KNOW THE RIGHT TIME TO USE THEM". Charles wonders if this is one of the children's jokes, but he isn't sure where they would come from in the first place, since the expiration date reads as far ahead as 2014.
It seems one of those things it's better to not think deeply about, and there are plenty of other things to occupy his mind. He shoves both into the top drawer of his bureau and gets dressed.
--
Things have gone both better and worse than expected. Better in the sense that none of them are dead (Shaw is, but that isn't surprising, despite his entreaties to Erik), or even badly injured, with the fighting and the plane crashing from the sky; World War III has not begun. Yet. Worse in essentially every other way, since Charles now knows what it feels like to have a coin shoved through his brain, Erik is still wearing that bloody awful helmet, and Erik is about to accept humanity's declaration of war upon them by responding with further unnecessary destruction.
To say it isn't going the way Charles has hoped would be an understatement, and he's disappointed. In the humans for being foolish enough to fire on them after they saw a submarine raised out of the ocean, in Erik for the pending start of genocide, and in himself for not knowing the right words to say to get Erik to stop. He even resorts to tackling Erik, despite the fact he's several inches shorter, a couple stone lighter, and he can count the number of physical fights he's been in on one hand. There are some attempts at hitting on Erik's part, and some attempts at removing the helmet on Charles'; Erik is definitely, unfortunately, more successful than he is.
There is only one thing Charles has left in his arsenal that, perhaps inappropriately, comes to mind now: the note.
"I have whisky-flavoured condoms," he manages to announce to Erik, before Erik gets up off him. Fortunately, no one else is in earshot.
Erik stares at him like he's gone completely mad. Charles waggles his eyebrows hopefully, desperately, and wonders if Erik is going to punch him again.
Erik doesn't seem to know how to process this information. Charles realizes, in a distant, logical part of his mind, that propositioning Erik while the combined American and Russian forces want to destroy them isn't exactly the ideal location. Also, there's a dead body a few metres away from them.
It's too late to take the words back, though, even if it's far from perfect.
Insofar as efficacy, Charles has at least sufficiently derailed Erik so that the missiles which had been headed back towards the humans are detonating uselessly overhead. He slumps back in the sand, relieved and grateful that even if it's at the cost of his dignity and perceived sanity, they aren't starting a war today. Erik still hasn't moved from on top of him, which threatens to become distracting in a mostly uncomfortable way in that given moment, and Erik isn't saying anything, so Charles smiles nervously and adds a rather belated, "If you're interested."
That stirs a reaction, and Erik glares at him, but it isn't backed by as much rage as Charles expects it to be. Even Erik has a limit when it comes to operating on such a high level of adrenaline and emotion. He can't feel Erik the way he normally would be able to, not the way he can feel his own relief augmented by the children and Moira, and distantly by the men in their ships.
“This isn't over,” Erik says, finally, and Charles knows that Erik is referring to many other things than what Charles has just said.
“I know.” And he does, but right now Charles just wants to go home. He says as much, and, for now, Erik relents.
-
Azazel transports them all back to the mansion after Charles plants the location in his mind. There is a lot of awkward tension afterwards, which will have to be resolved at some point, but Charles welcomes Azazel, Angel, and Riptide, so Hank, Alex, and Sean accept this; Erik has already made declarations not dissimilar to Shaw's, so Azazel, Angel, and Riptide accept this. Raven is somewhere in the middle between the two divergent points. Moira is fed up with all the bullshit that went down that day, and looks like she'll either shoot or take a blunt instrument to whomever next crosses her.
It's late into the night, but Charles isn't asleep when Erik lets himself into Charles' room. He's not wearing the helmet, so Charles takes that as a positive sign.
“In the time I've known you, I've observed that you have a singular talent for choosing the worst thing to say in any given moment,” Erik says, lingering at the door, though he closes and locks it behind him.
Charles laughs, wearily. “I'd like to think I have more than that going for me.”
“It's the one that stands out.”
It worked today, Charles thinks, though he manages to stop the words before they come out aloud. “Not the seductive use of my eyebrows?”
Erik snorts, but is otherwise silent. Charles brushes his mind against Erik's, tentatively. Erik gives a terse nod, and Charles lets the tumult of Erik's mind tangle with his own. He can feel the triumph and anger of earlier, the possible impermanence of now, and the nebulous concept of the future. Erik has a decisive goal, but the longer he has to think about it, the less sure he is of how to get there with this one. It gives Charles some degree of hope, though he knows they're both intractable enough that it isn't going to be an easy process of reconciling their viewpoints. He refuses to think it's an impossibility, even if it might be.
Charles lets his own frustration blend with Erik's, and adds in his relief that Erik is here for at least one more night. It's that which draws Erik closer to him. Charles is often more guarded and less certain in sharing his own emotions, since when he first came into his powers it was difficult to determine which ones were unquestionably his. It's become easier to figure out over the years, and easier still around Erik.
The severity in Erik's expression breaks a little, and he joins Charles on the bed.
Charles draws Erik to him, and Erik kisses him. There's little romantic about it in the beginning, but it's something they both need, a further venting of anger as much as it is an expression of affection. Charles doesn't try to redirect it from being that, kisses Erik back just as hard as he fists his hands in the front of Erik's shirt. He can feel Erik's fingers tight in his hair, holding him in place, though it's unlikely for either of them to draw away. They don't stop until both their lungs are burning and they have to, and even then Erik begins to plant kisses down his jawline.
There's not really a need to speak aloud, but he likes to hear the rough edges of Erik's voice, and Erik likes to hear the breathlessness in Charles' when they're like this.
“Of all things,” Erik says, sucking on Charles' neck and adding to the list of bruises Charles has already acquired, “Why bring up whisky-flavoured condoms?”
It takes Charles a moment to form words, but when he does, he says, “Well, it combines two things we both -” he has to pause as Erik bites him, the words going incoherent in a groan “- we both enjoy - alcohol and sex. Plus, I found some.”
Erik pulls back enough to give him an arch look. Charles had been, evidently, right in thinking that Erik simply thought he was having a moment of insanity. “You mean they're an actual thing?”
Charles gives him a bemused look, though he doesn't share with Erik that they are as inexplicable to him as they are to Erik. "I wouldn't have mentioned them if they weren't real, or weren't going to be put to use."
Erik laughs, but not out loud, because he has the brief image of Charles having to go ask a pharmacist for these specific condoms. It makes Charles smile, and for the first time that day it isn't tinged with melancholy, so he doesn't do anything to correct the assumption. He moves to retrieve them, but Erik pulls him back. On the third attempt he manages to stand after the mutual removal of clothing, and he retrieves the box from where he had hid it. He takes a couple out to toss over for Erik's inspection.
Erik raises an eyebrow on the date printed on the wrappers before dropping the condoms beside him, and Charles shrugs. He walks back to the bed and crawls in, straddles Erik's lap before kissing him once more, this time demanding it as something deeper before Erik can. Erik's hands move over him, possessive and wanting, and his own map over Erik's bare torso in return.
They're both selfish when it comes to each other, and no matter how many times they touch and taste, it's never enough. Charles sharply feels how close he came to losing Erik today, which sends a wave of confusion through Erik, since whatever else might have happened, Erik wants Charles at his side.
It isn't as simple as that -
You're making it difficult.
Do you really want to discuss this now?
No.
Erik's teeth scrape over Charles' lower lip, and his fingers dig into a slightly aching bruise on Erik's side from the encounter with Shaw. This draws a sharp intake of breath, and he can feel Erik's arousal even though he isn't touching him there yet. Charles' mouth travels down, and he feels how it's hot and wet against Erik's skin, just as Erik feels the shiver that goes down Charles' spine when he curls his tongue against a sensitive spot and hears Erik's strangled moan.
Charles moves further down Erik's body until he reaches his cock. He settles between Erik's legs, using his lips and hand to get him fully hard before he opens one of the condoms and puts it on him. He can sense Erik watching him, and for a brief instant he sees himself through Erik's eyes. He glances up at Erik who smirks slightly, though the expression dissolves as Charles takes Erik into his mouth.
The taste is strange. Charles can tell it's trying to be whisky, but the latex isn't easily overpowered. It isn't unpleasant, and he doesn't really know what he was expecting, just that it isn't quite this. He shares it with Erik, and likes it better after that. There's no thought to stop, regardless, not with the way Erik's responding to him.
A string of profanity, in several different languages, spills from Erik's lips the closer Charles brings him to release, culminating in: “Fuck.” Erik's blunt nails draw rough against his scalp, and his hips strain against Charles' hands. That's all he says aloud, but he thinks Charles as he comes, and Charles will never tire of the raw pleasure diffused through his name in that single thought.
He removes the condom and disposes of it in the rubbish bin next to his bed before Erik's drawing him up to kiss him.
“Well, that was different,” Erik says lazily; post-orgasm is really the only time Erik is anything close to idle, so Charles knows to enjoy it while he can.
“I don't think it tasted anything like real Scotch,” Charles admits.
“No, it didn't seem to.”
“Worth repeating?”
Erik rolls them over so he has Charles on his back and pinned against the bed. “Yes, I think so.”
Title: The Right Time is the Least Appropriate Moment
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Word Count: ~2000
Rating: R
Summary: Someone travels back in time and leaves Charles whisky-flavoured condoms, since they don't exist in 1962. This is how World War III is avoided.
Note: This started as a joke, and now exists somewhere between crack, introspection, and porn. There is at least a happy ending.
It is a most peculiar discovery, since the whisky-flavoured condoms weren't there before Charles got in the shower, and yet here they are by the time he comes out. They come complete with a note, typed and in all capital letters that reads: "YOU'LL KNOW THE RIGHT TIME TO USE THEM". Charles wonders if this is one of the children's jokes, but he isn't sure where they would come from in the first place, since the expiration date reads as far ahead as 2014.
It seems one of those things it's better to not think deeply about, and there are plenty of other things to occupy his mind. He shoves both into the top drawer of his bureau and gets dressed.
--
Things have gone both better and worse than expected. Better in the sense that none of them are dead (Shaw is, but that isn't surprising, despite his entreaties to Erik), or even badly injured, with the fighting and the plane crashing from the sky; World War III has not begun. Yet. Worse in essentially every other way, since Charles now knows what it feels like to have a coin shoved through his brain, Erik is still wearing that bloody awful helmet, and Erik is about to accept humanity's declaration of war upon them by responding with further unnecessary destruction.
To say it isn't going the way Charles has hoped would be an understatement, and he's disappointed. In the humans for being foolish enough to fire on them after they saw a submarine raised out of the ocean, in Erik for the pending start of genocide, and in himself for not knowing the right words to say to get Erik to stop. He even resorts to tackling Erik, despite the fact he's several inches shorter, a couple stone lighter, and he can count the number of physical fights he's been in on one hand. There are some attempts at hitting on Erik's part, and some attempts at removing the helmet on Charles'; Erik is definitely, unfortunately, more successful than he is.
There is only one thing Charles has left in his arsenal that, perhaps inappropriately, comes to mind now: the note.
"I have whisky-flavoured condoms," he manages to announce to Erik, before Erik gets up off him. Fortunately, no one else is in earshot.
Erik stares at him like he's gone completely mad. Charles waggles his eyebrows hopefully, desperately, and wonders if Erik is going to punch him again.
Erik doesn't seem to know how to process this information. Charles realizes, in a distant, logical part of his mind, that propositioning Erik while the combined American and Russian forces want to destroy them isn't exactly the ideal location. Also, there's a dead body a few metres away from them.
It's too late to take the words back, though, even if it's far from perfect.
Insofar as efficacy, Charles has at least sufficiently derailed Erik so that the missiles which had been headed back towards the humans are detonating uselessly overhead. He slumps back in the sand, relieved and grateful that even if it's at the cost of his dignity and perceived sanity, they aren't starting a war today. Erik still hasn't moved from on top of him, which threatens to become distracting in a mostly uncomfortable way in that given moment, and Erik isn't saying anything, so Charles smiles nervously and adds a rather belated, "If you're interested."
That stirs a reaction, and Erik glares at him, but it isn't backed by as much rage as Charles expects it to be. Even Erik has a limit when it comes to operating on such a high level of adrenaline and emotion. He can't feel Erik the way he normally would be able to, not the way he can feel his own relief augmented by the children and Moira, and distantly by the men in their ships.
“This isn't over,” Erik says, finally, and Charles knows that Erik is referring to many other things than what Charles has just said.
“I know.” And he does, but right now Charles just wants to go home. He says as much, and, for now, Erik relents.
-
Azazel transports them all back to the mansion after Charles plants the location in his mind. There is a lot of awkward tension afterwards, which will have to be resolved at some point, but Charles welcomes Azazel, Angel, and Riptide, so Hank, Alex, and Sean accept this; Erik has already made declarations not dissimilar to Shaw's, so Azazel, Angel, and Riptide accept this. Raven is somewhere in the middle between the two divergent points. Moira is fed up with all the bullshit that went down that day, and looks like she'll either shoot or take a blunt instrument to whomever next crosses her.
It's late into the night, but Charles isn't asleep when Erik lets himself into Charles' room. He's not wearing the helmet, so Charles takes that as a positive sign.
“In the time I've known you, I've observed that you have a singular talent for choosing the worst thing to say in any given moment,” Erik says, lingering at the door, though he closes and locks it behind him.
Charles laughs, wearily. “I'd like to think I have more than that going for me.”
“It's the one that stands out.”
It worked today, Charles thinks, though he manages to stop the words before they come out aloud. “Not the seductive use of my eyebrows?”
Erik snorts, but is otherwise silent. Charles brushes his mind against Erik's, tentatively. Erik gives a terse nod, and Charles lets the tumult of Erik's mind tangle with his own. He can feel the triumph and anger of earlier, the possible impermanence of now, and the nebulous concept of the future. Erik has a decisive goal, but the longer he has to think about it, the less sure he is of how to get there with this one. It gives Charles some degree of hope, though he knows they're both intractable enough that it isn't going to be an easy process of reconciling their viewpoints. He refuses to think it's an impossibility, even if it might be.
Charles lets his own frustration blend with Erik's, and adds in his relief that Erik is here for at least one more night. It's that which draws Erik closer to him. Charles is often more guarded and less certain in sharing his own emotions, since when he first came into his powers it was difficult to determine which ones were unquestionably his. It's become easier to figure out over the years, and easier still around Erik.
The severity in Erik's expression breaks a little, and he joins Charles on the bed.
Charles draws Erik to him, and Erik kisses him. There's little romantic about it in the beginning, but it's something they both need, a further venting of anger as much as it is an expression of affection. Charles doesn't try to redirect it from being that, kisses Erik back just as hard as he fists his hands in the front of Erik's shirt. He can feel Erik's fingers tight in his hair, holding him in place, though it's unlikely for either of them to draw away. They don't stop until both their lungs are burning and they have to, and even then Erik begins to plant kisses down his jawline.
There's not really a need to speak aloud, but he likes to hear the rough edges of Erik's voice, and Erik likes to hear the breathlessness in Charles' when they're like this.
“Of all things,” Erik says, sucking on Charles' neck and adding to the list of bruises Charles has already acquired, “Why bring up whisky-flavoured condoms?”
It takes Charles a moment to form words, but when he does, he says, “Well, it combines two things we both -” he has to pause as Erik bites him, the words going incoherent in a groan “- we both enjoy - alcohol and sex. Plus, I found some.”
Erik pulls back enough to give him an arch look. Charles had been, evidently, right in thinking that Erik simply thought he was having a moment of insanity. “You mean they're an actual thing?”
Charles gives him a bemused look, though he doesn't share with Erik that they are as inexplicable to him as they are to Erik. "I wouldn't have mentioned them if they weren't real, or weren't going to be put to use."
Erik laughs, but not out loud, because he has the brief image of Charles having to go ask a pharmacist for these specific condoms. It makes Charles smile, and for the first time that day it isn't tinged with melancholy, so he doesn't do anything to correct the assumption. He moves to retrieve them, but Erik pulls him back. On the third attempt he manages to stand after the mutual removal of clothing, and he retrieves the box from where he had hid it. He takes a couple out to toss over for Erik's inspection.
Erik raises an eyebrow on the date printed on the wrappers before dropping the condoms beside him, and Charles shrugs. He walks back to the bed and crawls in, straddles Erik's lap before kissing him once more, this time demanding it as something deeper before Erik can. Erik's hands move over him, possessive and wanting, and his own map over Erik's bare torso in return.
They're both selfish when it comes to each other, and no matter how many times they touch and taste, it's never enough. Charles sharply feels how close he came to losing Erik today, which sends a wave of confusion through Erik, since whatever else might have happened, Erik wants Charles at his side.
It isn't as simple as that -
You're making it difficult.
Do you really want to discuss this now?
No.
Erik's teeth scrape over Charles' lower lip, and his fingers dig into a slightly aching bruise on Erik's side from the encounter with Shaw. This draws a sharp intake of breath, and he can feel Erik's arousal even though he isn't touching him there yet. Charles' mouth travels down, and he feels how it's hot and wet against Erik's skin, just as Erik feels the shiver that goes down Charles' spine when he curls his tongue against a sensitive spot and hears Erik's strangled moan.
Charles moves further down Erik's body until he reaches his cock. He settles between Erik's legs, using his lips and hand to get him fully hard before he opens one of the condoms and puts it on him. He can sense Erik watching him, and for a brief instant he sees himself through Erik's eyes. He glances up at Erik who smirks slightly, though the expression dissolves as Charles takes Erik into his mouth.
The taste is strange. Charles can tell it's trying to be whisky, but the latex isn't easily overpowered. It isn't unpleasant, and he doesn't really know what he was expecting, just that it isn't quite this. He shares it with Erik, and likes it better after that. There's no thought to stop, regardless, not with the way Erik's responding to him.
A string of profanity, in several different languages, spills from Erik's lips the closer Charles brings him to release, culminating in: “Fuck.” Erik's blunt nails draw rough against his scalp, and his hips strain against Charles' hands. That's all he says aloud, but he thinks Charles as he comes, and Charles will never tire of the raw pleasure diffused through his name in that single thought.
He removes the condom and disposes of it in the rubbish bin next to his bed before Erik's drawing him up to kiss him.
“Well, that was different,” Erik says lazily; post-orgasm is really the only time Erik is anything close to idle, so Charles knows to enjoy it while he can.
“I don't think it tasted anything like real Scotch,” Charles admits.
“No, it didn't seem to.”
“Worth repeating?”
Erik rolls them over so he has Charles on his back and pinned against the bed. “Yes, I think so.”