fic: A Proper Breakfast
Title: A Proper Breakfast
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Erik/Charles (currently UST)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none, but please note the tags for the series
Wordcount: 1006
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Summary: Erik's had some obnoxious targets to guard in the last five years working for Witness Protection, but never one who's got under his skin the way Xavier has.
A/N: A sequel/continuation to my original one-shot, Patterns of Light; this is now a series in progress. This fic was meant to be a birthday present for Kalypso; it's several weeks late now, but still very much for her, with thanks for all her advice and support in continuing the story.
The roadside diner coffee is terrible, same way it's been all through this trip: how do they manage to make it washy and bitter at the same time? Erik drinks it anyway: after a night of only intermittent dozing in a not very comfortable motel room chair, he feels like a cartoon character with matchsticks propping up his eyelids and nearly snapping under the strain. He never sleeps well on a mission, and this one is worse than usual.
When he gets back to DC, he's going to talk to MacTaggert about getting out of Witness Protection and into a less stressful division. Bomb disposal, perhaps...
Xavier, damn him, looks as fresh as a daisy. It's all right for him: he had a proper night's sleep. He also has quite an appetite for breakfast, making steady inroads on a stack of blueberry pancakes.
He looks up at Erik and licks his lips, which ought to be illegal with that mouth.
Fuck. Erik feels himself getting hot under the collar, and forces his thoughts back to the miles of road between here and DC. It's going to be one hell of a long day, cooped up in a rental car with a telepath. He's had some obnoxious targets to guard in the last five years, but never one who's got under his skin the way Xavier has.
“You really should eat something,” Xavier says. “All the studies suggest that a proper breakfast is essential for -”
“Thanks for the advice,” Erik snaps. “When I want a lecture on nutrition I'll ask for one.”
Xavier flushes up to the roots of his hair. For a moment Erik thinks MacTaggert's precious star witness is going to throw the washy diner coffee right in his face - or hit him with half a grapefruit, like Jimmy Cagney in The Public Enemy.
Xavier bursts out laughing. Eavesdropping again, Erik thinks.
“You'd make a lovely gangster's moll,” Xavier says, with a grin.
Erik feels the mocking image pushing into his mind like a physical intrusion: himself in a ridiculous ginger wig, sparkly turquoise mini-dress and black suede boots.
“I guess you'd know all about gangster's molls,” Erik says nastily. “Being one yourself.”
What else is Shaw but a jumped-up gangster, after all? As for Xavier, the only reason he matters in all this is that he was Shaw's - whatever. Boyfriend. Lover. Fucktoy.
Xavier goes as pale as he was red before. He shoves his half-full plate away from him, and starts to get up from the table.
“Don't think you're going anywhere without me,” Erik says grimly. “I told MacTaggert I'd bring you in, and I'm going to do just that. Once the trial's over you can disappear back wherever you came from, but until then I'm not letting you out of my sight.”
Xavier doesn't answer, but sinks back down into his chair. He takes a forkful of pancake and turns it round and round, staring at it as if it's to blame for everything that's happened.
“Are you going to eat that, or just play with it?” Erik asks irritably.
Xavier bites his lip, which is even worse than the licking.
Erik’s treacherous brain throws up an image of the two of them in bed together: Xavier with his head thrown back, biting his lip as Erik pushes into him, hard, over and over again, Xavier’s legs wrapped around Erik’s waist and his fingers gripping Erik's shoulders so tight the marks will be there for days -
Where the hell did that come from? Maybe Xavier's the one that's putting these thoughts in his head. He did it before, with that image of the two of them in the shower, didn't he?
For pity's sake, Erik! Xavier's voice in his head is sharp, pained and -
Xavier just called him Erik. Which Erik doesn't remember inviting him to do. Come to that, he’s not sure he even told the guy his first name; Xavier probably just scooped it out of his head.
“I'm sorry,” Xavier says aloud. “You caught me on the raw, I'm afraid.”
He's so British it practically kills Erik. Another thing to resent him for, as if there was any shortage of those.
“Finish your pancakes, damn you,” Erik says.
Xavier gives him a long look. “I seem to have lost my appetite,” he says.
And there it is again, sharp and clear in Erik’s head: the two of them in the shower, Xavier on his knees with Erik’s cock in his mouth. Except it's not the same image this time, because Xavier's hand is working fast and hard on his own cock, and Erik really thinks he would have remembered that. He feels his face scald with heat. What the fuck is wrong with him?
The silence stretches out uncomfortably between them; seems like neither of them wants to break it. Erik sighs, and rubs his hand across his aching eyes.
Xavier looks down at the pancakes and then back up at Erik, and his expression softens. He pushes his plate across the table.
“They're really not bad,” he says, like he's making some sort of peace-offering. “Much better than the coffee.”
That wouldn't be hard, Erik thinks, and Xavier grins.
“Go on,” he says. “I dare you to try a piece.”
The sugar rush from the first bite makes Erik sharply aware how long it is since he last ate, and he wolfs down the rest of the pancake, so fast he scarcely tastes it. “Thanks,” he says.
Xavier seems to be trying not to smirk. It's a losing battle.
“Keep going,” he says. “We can always order another round.”
If making nice over a plate of blueberry pancakes with a smug infuriating telepath he can't work out whether he wants to strangle or fuck senseless or both is what this mission requires, well, Erik's done worse things in the line of duty. One more long day on the road and he can hand Xavier over to MacTaggert and forget this whole fucking business.
Also, he really is hungry.
Also posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/145673.html with
comments.
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Erik/Charles (currently UST)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none, but please note the tags for the series
Wordcount: 1006
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Summary: Erik's had some obnoxious targets to guard in the last five years working for Witness Protection, but never one who's got under his skin the way Xavier has.
A/N: A sequel/continuation to my original one-shot, Patterns of Light; this is now a series in progress. This fic was meant to be a birthday present for Kalypso; it's several weeks late now, but still very much for her, with thanks for all her advice and support in continuing the story.
The roadside diner coffee is terrible, same way it's been all through this trip: how do they manage to make it washy and bitter at the same time? Erik drinks it anyway: after a night of only intermittent dozing in a not very comfortable motel room chair, he feels like a cartoon character with matchsticks propping up his eyelids and nearly snapping under the strain. He never sleeps well on a mission, and this one is worse than usual.
When he gets back to DC, he's going to talk to MacTaggert about getting out of Witness Protection and into a less stressful division. Bomb disposal, perhaps...
Xavier, damn him, looks as fresh as a daisy. It's all right for him: he had a proper night's sleep. He also has quite an appetite for breakfast, making steady inroads on a stack of blueberry pancakes.
He looks up at Erik and licks his lips, which ought to be illegal with that mouth.
Fuck. Erik feels himself getting hot under the collar, and forces his thoughts back to the miles of road between here and DC. It's going to be one hell of a long day, cooped up in a rental car with a telepath. He's had some obnoxious targets to guard in the last five years, but never one who's got under his skin the way Xavier has.
“You really should eat something,” Xavier says. “All the studies suggest that a proper breakfast is essential for -”
“Thanks for the advice,” Erik snaps. “When I want a lecture on nutrition I'll ask for one.”
Xavier flushes up to the roots of his hair. For a moment Erik thinks MacTaggert's precious star witness is going to throw the washy diner coffee right in his face - or hit him with half a grapefruit, like Jimmy Cagney in The Public Enemy.
Xavier bursts out laughing. Eavesdropping again, Erik thinks.
“You'd make a lovely gangster's moll,” Xavier says, with a grin.
Erik feels the mocking image pushing into his mind like a physical intrusion: himself in a ridiculous ginger wig, sparkly turquoise mini-dress and black suede boots.
“I guess you'd know all about gangster's molls,” Erik says nastily. “Being one yourself.”
What else is Shaw but a jumped-up gangster, after all? As for Xavier, the only reason he matters in all this is that he was Shaw's - whatever. Boyfriend. Lover. Fucktoy.
Xavier goes as pale as he was red before. He shoves his half-full plate away from him, and starts to get up from the table.
“Don't think you're going anywhere without me,” Erik says grimly. “I told MacTaggert I'd bring you in, and I'm going to do just that. Once the trial's over you can disappear back wherever you came from, but until then I'm not letting you out of my sight.”
Xavier doesn't answer, but sinks back down into his chair. He takes a forkful of pancake and turns it round and round, staring at it as if it's to blame for everything that's happened.
“Are you going to eat that, or just play with it?” Erik asks irritably.
Xavier bites his lip, which is even worse than the licking.
Erik’s treacherous brain throws up an image of the two of them in bed together: Xavier with his head thrown back, biting his lip as Erik pushes into him, hard, over and over again, Xavier’s legs wrapped around Erik’s waist and his fingers gripping Erik's shoulders so tight the marks will be there for days -
Where the hell did that come from? Maybe Xavier's the one that's putting these thoughts in his head. He did it before, with that image of the two of them in the shower, didn't he?
For pity's sake, Erik! Xavier's voice in his head is sharp, pained and -
Xavier just called him Erik. Which Erik doesn't remember inviting him to do. Come to that, he’s not sure he even told the guy his first name; Xavier probably just scooped it out of his head.
“I'm sorry,” Xavier says aloud. “You caught me on the raw, I'm afraid.”
He's so British it practically kills Erik. Another thing to resent him for, as if there was any shortage of those.
“Finish your pancakes, damn you,” Erik says.
Xavier gives him a long look. “I seem to have lost my appetite,” he says.
And there it is again, sharp and clear in Erik’s head: the two of them in the shower, Xavier on his knees with Erik’s cock in his mouth. Except it's not the same image this time, because Xavier's hand is working fast and hard on his own cock, and Erik really thinks he would have remembered that. He feels his face scald with heat. What the fuck is wrong with him?
The silence stretches out uncomfortably between them; seems like neither of them wants to break it. Erik sighs, and rubs his hand across his aching eyes.
Xavier looks down at the pancakes and then back up at Erik, and his expression softens. He pushes his plate across the table.
“They're really not bad,” he says, like he's making some sort of peace-offering. “Much better than the coffee.”
That wouldn't be hard, Erik thinks, and Xavier grins.
“Go on,” he says. “I dare you to try a piece.”
The sugar rush from the first bite makes Erik sharply aware how long it is since he last ate, and he wolfs down the rest of the pancake, so fast he scarcely tastes it. “Thanks,” he says.
Xavier seems to be trying not to smirk. It's a losing battle.
“Keep going,” he says. “We can always order another round.”
If making nice over a plate of blueberry pancakes with a smug infuriating telepath he can't work out whether he wants to strangle or fuck senseless or both is what this mission requires, well, Erik's done worse things in the line of duty. One more long day on the road and he can hand Xavier over to MacTaggert and forget this whole fucking business.
Also, he really is hungry.
Also posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/145673.html with
comments.