minific: Morning After (and NYE hiatus)
I'm disappearing off from my homeland and regular internet access for the new year's period, so apologies for me vanishing! ALSO, new journal style. Wot larks.
Have another little minifill in the meantime.
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Charles / Erik
Rating: PG13 for sexual implications
Warnings: Internalised homophobia and a rather bitter argument. And smoking, I suppose, but, well, it is the sixties.
Summary: Charles offers to save a very closeted Erik from his 'perversion'. Erik doesn't take well to being another experiment.
Written for this prompt on the X-Men kink meme. With thanks to ascoolsuchasi for helping with German swearwords.
Morning After
i was a man, but now i'm only a child
and if it kills me i am going to smile
'cause it's a crime to fall in love
- The Magnetic Fields
Yesterday was a mistake. On that, at least, they are agreed.
After they are finished watching the news, watching Kennedy drawl on, watching the colour drain from the children’s faces, Erik mutters something about how they should all get a good night’s sleep and goes outside. The room is too hot to think, muggy in the August sweat. He leans against the stone railings, looking out over the too-perfect rolling acres, and finds a cigarette in his pockets.
Now if only he had a lighter, he thinks. He thinks it a little too loudly.
“Erik,” says a low voice from behind him, and he spins to see Charles, looking sheepish, holding out his own.
There is a pause that seems to stretch on into forever.
“Thank you,” says Erik, snatching it from him, making sure to avoid his fingers brushing Charles’ own. He lights the cigarette quickly, takes a drag, and chucks the lighter back to Charles, who catches it, but barely.
Charles comes and stands beside him, leaning on his elbows, and looks at him with concern in his blue eyes (sweeping up and down his body, consuming and devouring).
“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks.
Erik looks at him, and then looks away, breathes out, and puts the cigarette back to his lips. The smoke curls up into the warm summer night. “Talk about what?” he asks, flicking ash from the end.
“What happened,” says Charles, “we ought to talk about it. I know you’re scared. I can hear you-”
“I’m pretty sure I told you to stay out of my head,” Erik snaps firmly.
“I’m pretty sure you invited me in last night,” says Charles, equally firmly.
(oh god erik let me in right in so tight so perfect oh god your mind's like fire erik yes yes fuck god yes yes yes)
Erik flushes, scowls, turns away and storms off up the steps.
“Erik,” Charles sighs, and then shouts after him “we can’t just ignore it and hope it goes away!”
“Yes we can,” laughs Erik with not a trace of amusement, stopping in his tracks. The grin on his face is quite cruel. "In fact that’s exactly what we ought to do.”
“Erik,” says Charles again, and his face is crimson with embarassment, those cheeks (hollowed out sucking on his cock) that Erik kissed blushing and fearful and hurt, “if you want - it doesn’t have to happen again.”
“It won’t, because nothing happened.”
“Fine,” says Charles, suddenly furious, “fine.”
The silence is endless and boundless, and makes Erik sick to his stomach. Charles looks like Erik feels. Erik can only imagine what it must be like to realise you've got an issue like this at his age, and he would feel pity if he didn't feel so nauseated.
(He can only imagine, because it certainly isn't happening to him.)
“I could make sure it never happens again,” says Charles, quietly. “I could make sure you never wanted it to.”
“I didn’t want it to,” says Erik, too casually.
“Oh, so now I forced you?”
“I don’t know,” Erik yells, “I don’t know what you did, but I didn’t - I would never - scheiße.” He rubs his hands (pulling and stroking and grabbing at hot slick skin) across his face, wrings out the stress and irritation and takes another drag that burns his lips. “I am not like that,” he says. “I don’t - I’m not queer, for god’s sake.”
“Of course not,” Charles says, carefully non-judgemental. Then he is by Erik’s side, and his fingers brush at Erik’s lips (biting and kissing all the moans from his face) and he plucks the cigarette straight from his lips in a way that is too familiar and too strange to handle all at once. “If you want me to take it away,” he says quietly, dropping it to the ground, “I will.”
“What?” Erik whispers, their faces close enough to touch.
“These fucking - this wanting. This whatever it is for you, that makes you like this. This peversion. I'd do it for you. I could help you.”
“You stay out of my head,” says Erik. It is a warning he does not intend to give twice.
“Well, it would be easier, wouldn’t it?” Charles half-shouts. “You can’t just let this ruin everything because you’re too afraid to admit that you’ve got an illness.”
“Are you offering to fix me?” Erik hisses. “Because I’m not a dog. I don’t need neutering.”
“Erik, you bloody idiot, I’m offering to help. I don’t want this any more than you do.”
“Do you not? Why? Do I scare you, Charles?”
Erik grins; goes to place one hand on Charles’ shoulder.
“Don’t touch me, you goddamned-” he yelps, snatches his arm away, steps back as far as he can.
There is a pause, and he can hear the wind in the trees, and it sounds like regret.
A point has been made. Neither of them are entirely sure which one of them made it.
“Oh, I see,” says Erik, unsmiling and vindicated. “You don’t want to help me, you want to help yourself. Scared of what I trigger, are you?”
“You don’t trigger anything, don't be ridiculous,” Charles lies.
“Well, forget it. You want this to be over? Fine.” He pulls his hands back, rubs his temples, closes his eyes and breathes out hard through his nose. He steps back himself. “It is. It already is, for god’s sake. Makes no difference to me. You deal with your own baggage. I don’t need fixing, because I am not a damn faggot. It makes no difference to me.”
He turns on his heel and heads up the steps away.
“Yeah,” says Charles, half to himself because there’s no-one to listen, cold and hurt and betrayed, “you’re really acting like it.”
Have another little minifill in the meantime.
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Charles / Erik
Rating: PG13 for sexual implications
Warnings: Internalised homophobia and a rather bitter argument. And smoking, I suppose, but, well, it is the sixties.
Summary: Charles offers to save a very closeted Erik from his 'perversion'. Erik doesn't take well to being another experiment.
Written for this prompt on the X-Men kink meme. With thanks to ascoolsuchasi for helping with German swearwords.
Morning After
i was a man, but now i'm only a child
and if it kills me i am going to smile
'cause it's a crime to fall in love
- The Magnetic Fields
Yesterday was a mistake. On that, at least, they are agreed.
After they are finished watching the news, watching Kennedy drawl on, watching the colour drain from the children’s faces, Erik mutters something about how they should all get a good night’s sleep and goes outside. The room is too hot to think, muggy in the August sweat. He leans against the stone railings, looking out over the too-perfect rolling acres, and finds a cigarette in his pockets.
Now if only he had a lighter, he thinks. He thinks it a little too loudly.
“Erik,” says a low voice from behind him, and he spins to see Charles, looking sheepish, holding out his own.
There is a pause that seems to stretch on into forever.
“Thank you,” says Erik, snatching it from him, making sure to avoid his fingers brushing Charles’ own. He lights the cigarette quickly, takes a drag, and chucks the lighter back to Charles, who catches it, but barely.
Charles comes and stands beside him, leaning on his elbows, and looks at him with concern in his blue eyes (sweeping up and down his body, consuming and devouring).
“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks.
Erik looks at him, and then looks away, breathes out, and puts the cigarette back to his lips. The smoke curls up into the warm summer night. “Talk about what?” he asks, flicking ash from the end.
“What happened,” says Charles, “we ought to talk about it. I know you’re scared. I can hear you-”
“I’m pretty sure I told you to stay out of my head,” Erik snaps firmly.
“I’m pretty sure you invited me in last night,” says Charles, equally firmly.
(oh god erik let me in right in so tight so perfect oh god your mind's like fire erik yes yes fuck god yes yes yes)
Erik flushes, scowls, turns away and storms off up the steps.
“Erik,” Charles sighs, and then shouts after him “we can’t just ignore it and hope it goes away!”
“Yes we can,” laughs Erik with not a trace of amusement, stopping in his tracks. The grin on his face is quite cruel. "In fact that’s exactly what we ought to do.”
“Erik,” says Charles again, and his face is crimson with embarassment, those cheeks (hollowed out sucking on his cock) that Erik kissed blushing and fearful and hurt, “if you want - it doesn’t have to happen again.”
“It won’t, because nothing happened.”
“Fine,” says Charles, suddenly furious, “fine.”
The silence is endless and boundless, and makes Erik sick to his stomach. Charles looks like Erik feels. Erik can only imagine what it must be like to realise you've got an issue like this at his age, and he would feel pity if he didn't feel so nauseated.
(He can only imagine, because it certainly isn't happening to him.)
“I could make sure it never happens again,” says Charles, quietly. “I could make sure you never wanted it to.”
“I didn’t want it to,” says Erik, too casually.
“Oh, so now I forced you?”
“I don’t know,” Erik yells, “I don’t know what you did, but I didn’t - I would never - scheiße.” He rubs his hands (pulling and stroking and grabbing at hot slick skin) across his face, wrings out the stress and irritation and takes another drag that burns his lips. “I am not like that,” he says. “I don’t - I’m not queer, for god’s sake.”
“Of course not,” Charles says, carefully non-judgemental. Then he is by Erik’s side, and his fingers brush at Erik’s lips (biting and kissing all the moans from his face) and he plucks the cigarette straight from his lips in a way that is too familiar and too strange to handle all at once. “If you want me to take it away,” he says quietly, dropping it to the ground, “I will.”
“What?” Erik whispers, their faces close enough to touch.
“These fucking - this wanting. This whatever it is for you, that makes you like this. This peversion. I'd do it for you. I could help you.”
“You stay out of my head,” says Erik. It is a warning he does not intend to give twice.
“Well, it would be easier, wouldn’t it?” Charles half-shouts. “You can’t just let this ruin everything because you’re too afraid to admit that you’ve got an illness.”
“Are you offering to fix me?” Erik hisses. “Because I’m not a dog. I don’t need neutering.”
“Erik, you bloody idiot, I’m offering to help. I don’t want this any more than you do.”
“Do you not? Why? Do I scare you, Charles?”
Erik grins; goes to place one hand on Charles’ shoulder.
“Don’t touch me, you goddamned-” he yelps, snatches his arm away, steps back as far as he can.
There is a pause, and he can hear the wind in the trees, and it sounds like regret.
A point has been made. Neither of them are entirely sure which one of them made it.
“Oh, I see,” says Erik, unsmiling and vindicated. “You don’t want to help me, you want to help yourself. Scared of what I trigger, are you?”
“You don’t trigger anything, don't be ridiculous,” Charles lies.
“Well, forget it. You want this to be over? Fine.” He pulls his hands back, rubs his temples, closes his eyes and breathes out hard through his nose. He steps back himself. “It is. It already is, for god’s sake. Makes no difference to me. You deal with your own baggage. I don’t need fixing, because I am not a damn faggot. It makes no difference to me.”
He turns on his heel and heads up the steps away.
“Yeah,” says Charles, half to himself because there’s no-one to listen, cold and hurt and betrayed, “you’re really acting like it.”