Bruder | X-Men | R
Title: Bruder
Series: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: R
Length: ~1,500
Summary: Before there was Magneto and the Brotherhood of Mutants, there was only Erik and his brother.
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: AKA: The one where Erik and Charles get matching tattoos.
Bruder.
The word burned itself into Erik’s mind as surely as if Charles himself had branded it in the back of his skull.
Erik’s skin hummed with the ownership, the belonging, the innate trust that lingered between six simple letters. All of these implications amounted to an emotion Erik had never experienced for another person.
Not until Charles.
Charles, who was spread out on his back with his shirt discarded; all pale, languid limbs and the subtle shift of tensing muscle. One arm was up, flung carelessly over his face. Charles’ existence - the way he carried himself, spoke, and thought were so artless and naive, and still strangely endearing.
Erik knew that Charles’ eyes would be laughing right now. He knew it in the fashion which Charles’s smile flashed white and wide each time the pain became overbearing, his canines bared in the dull yellow parlour light. Erik knew that Charles would be laughing if it weren’t for the soft hitches of breath that seized his throat with each prick of the letter ‘e’. Erik knew that Charles was experiencing this imprinting of heart and mind to written word in the fullest.
Charles savoured moments in life, while Erik simply bore them. This was their way.
Currently it was clear that while Charles was in pain, he relished the situation. His erratically quivering stomach was a ghostly expanse, each rib pressing against thin flesh like a cage which even Erik’s mastery of magnetism could not have bent open or broken. He was lucky that he was invited in, then.
Along the top curve of Charles’ ribs, just below his armpit, bloomed an angry red rose of enflamed skin; shiny and raw around the black, cursive ink of ‘brude’.
Something pulled hot and tight within Erik. Gripped him at the throat and dragged him down, down to the fervid coil in his stomach. The low buzz of the needled thrummed in Erik’s veins and left his nerves singing. This sight - this view of Charles at the mercy of the needle and its cruel task of carving promises into his body - set Erik alight. It burnt him to the ground, right to Charles’ feet.
Erik was a part of this - he was invested in the sharp, metal prick that pierced through Charles’ side, so near to his heart. Erik’s own flesh pulsed with empathy, the thorny prickle beneath his arm reminding him of the commitment he’d made for this man.
Marked his body for Charles; branded himself anew for Charles.
Erik had sworn long ago that no ink would mar him again. He had made the oath that never would another needle write his fate into his blood. And yet more than anything, Erik wanted Charles, and all that came with him. He needed a link Charles - to feel part of a chain that could not be broken by anger or fear or war. He desired this mark, this etch of destiny.
Because who could know what tomorrow would bring?
The relentless drone of the needle and its rapid vibrations went straight through Erik’s bones; shook him to the core. Erik felt every hunk of metal in this room - every scrap and sliver and pin. As he watched the word progress, the sharp spine bury deep into Charles’ aggravated skin, Erik shivered.
They would be in each other forever. He and Charles would fill their voids and gaps with this ink, with this promise.
Shifting slightly in his chair beside Charles, Erik subtly pressed his palm against the lazy but insistent pulse in his trousers. In that same moment, Charles shifted his arm to his forehead, and on eye popped open. Their gazes locked just as Erik had his hand over his cock - and damn the bastard for beaming at Erik like some lovesick schoolboy.
My, Charles’ voice was bright and bursting in Erik’s mind. Lusting rather loudly, are we?
Erik clenched his jaw and felt his face heat. Not because he disliked Charles in his mind - he was welcome - but because he’d been caught.
Fuck off, he thought with as much force as he could muster.
Oh, but I do love it when you resort to profanities.
Erik’s bland stare was enough to have Charles snickering - and just as quickly sliding into a hiss of pain as the artist finished the final letter. Erik watched the ink smear across Charles’ torso like bruises, then wipe away to reveal clean, fluid lines.
Bruder.
Erik’s pulse thundered in his ears.
“Goodness!” Charles said as he sat up after the tattoo had been bandaged in thin, clear plastic. “What an experience. I dare say I could use a stiff drink after that.”
“You could use a drink after waking up in the morning,” Erik replied with a subtle eye-roll.
Charles smiled, clearly undeterred, and sought out his shirt.
Erik couldn’t tear his attention from the brief, tantalising flashes of black as Charles donned his clothing and began to button up. The tattoo artist blathered some nonsense of aftercare that Erik could not have been less interested to hear. There was only the pink flush of Charles’ cheeks - a lingering effect of his excitement during the process, no doubt - and the way those quick, nimble fingers worked his shirt closed.
Erik’s hands twitched and ached to touch. Anything - everything.
The proprietor beside him said something, and the tone of his voice was now annoyed.
“What?” Erik snapped, rounding on him.
“I said, who’s paying?” the man said with a scowl.
They each paid for their own because neither of them would allow the other to do otherwise. Charles linked his arm jovially in Erik’s - the man acted perpetually intoxicated or high when he was in good spirits, so there were no worries that the action would be misconstrued by fellow bystanders - as they set off down the street.
Erik had other plans. He always did.
Without warning, he clamped a hand around Charles’ wrist and tugged him into the nearest alley.
“Erik,” Charles asked with a laugh, “What’re yo-”
Erik curled a hand around the back of Charles’ head and thrust their mouths together in a messy, claiming clash of tongue and teeth. The kiss was wild and hungry, like they’d been starved for each other far longer than a few mere hours. Charles made a soft noise of surprise against Erik’s lips, and Erik’s tattoo burned in reply.
But Charles’ pliancy wasn’t enough - pinning him to a shadowed brick wall in the middle of the day was not enough. Everything had never been enough.
“I need -” Erik gulped for air and smattered open-mouthed kisses along Charles’ throat; nipped at the line of Charles’ jaw and inhaled his clean, pure scent. “Need,” Erik said again, biting off the word and grazing his teeth across Charles’ fluttering pulse.
“Yes,” Charles said, his voice hoarse as if he already knew. Of course he already knew.
Erik’s hands bracketed Charles’ hips as he focused on the tantalising ridge of collarbone just barely exposed the open neck of Charles’ shirt. Hot, humid breath caught in Erik’s throat as he paused for half a heartbeat - and snapped. Lunged forward and ripped at the line of buttons, popping them off in all directions, like casualties of war.
Charles’ laugh was soft and breathless, but tapered off at a moan as he tilted his head back against the brick. Erik was trailing the calloused pad of his thumb alone the subtle curves of Charles’ ribs. Perfection.
Charles ducked his head and caught Erik’s eyes; tore Erik’s roving gaze away from his search for the tattoo. Erik sucked in a breath when a smirk ghosted over Charles’ lips and he raised one arm over his head, rested it upon the mussed crown of his hair. Erik’s heart stopped and caught in his throat.
In the shadows - posing for Erik’s eyes only, with this distinct, quiet inner confidence that was so Charles - Erik was at his mercy. But love was never kind or easy. The crimson blotch around Charles’ tattoo illustrated that.
Erik leaned in and rested his forehead upon that of Charles. One hand almost reverently pushed aside the curtain of Charles’ shirt for a clearer view - bruder. A jolt shot through Erik at the sight; struck him like a current and left him shuddering in his electric skin.
Charles’ voice was husky in his ear. “You love this, don’t you, Erik? As vehemently as you seek independence and individuality, you still wish to be a part of something.”
“Nein.” Erik shifted and placed his palm firmly over the bandaged tattoo. Charles jumped in discomfort, just as Erik knew he would. Erik’s free hand cupped Charles’ jaw, titled his face to meet Erik’s unwavering stare. Erik brushed his lips over Charles’ - once, twice, and hovered there, nearly mouth to mouth, breathing the same air. “I only wish to be a part of you.”
“You are,” Charles said, with a tremor in his voice. “Always, Erik. My brother.”
Bruder.
Series: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: R
Length: ~1,500
Summary: Before there was Magneto and the Brotherhood of Mutants, there was only Erik and his brother.
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately.
A/N: AKA: The one where Erik and Charles get matching tattoos.
Bruder.
The word burned itself into Erik’s mind as surely as if Charles himself had branded it in the back of his skull.
Erik’s skin hummed with the ownership, the belonging, the innate trust that lingered between six simple letters. All of these implications amounted to an emotion Erik had never experienced for another person.
Not until Charles.
Charles, who was spread out on his back with his shirt discarded; all pale, languid limbs and the subtle shift of tensing muscle. One arm was up, flung carelessly over his face. Charles’ existence - the way he carried himself, spoke, and thought were so artless and naive, and still strangely endearing.
Erik knew that Charles’ eyes would be laughing right now. He knew it in the fashion which Charles’s smile flashed white and wide each time the pain became overbearing, his canines bared in the dull yellow parlour light. Erik knew that Charles would be laughing if it weren’t for the soft hitches of breath that seized his throat with each prick of the letter ‘e’. Erik knew that Charles was experiencing this imprinting of heart and mind to written word in the fullest.
Charles savoured moments in life, while Erik simply bore them. This was their way.
Currently it was clear that while Charles was in pain, he relished the situation. His erratically quivering stomach was a ghostly expanse, each rib pressing against thin flesh like a cage which even Erik’s mastery of magnetism could not have bent open or broken. He was lucky that he was invited in, then.
Along the top curve of Charles’ ribs, just below his armpit, bloomed an angry red rose of enflamed skin; shiny and raw around the black, cursive ink of ‘brude’.
Something pulled hot and tight within Erik. Gripped him at the throat and dragged him down, down to the fervid coil in his stomach. The low buzz of the needled thrummed in Erik’s veins and left his nerves singing. This sight - this view of Charles at the mercy of the needle and its cruel task of carving promises into his body - set Erik alight. It burnt him to the ground, right to Charles’ feet.
Erik was a part of this - he was invested in the sharp, metal prick that pierced through Charles’ side, so near to his heart. Erik’s own flesh pulsed with empathy, the thorny prickle beneath his arm reminding him of the commitment he’d made for this man.
Marked his body for Charles; branded himself anew for Charles.
Erik had sworn long ago that no ink would mar him again. He had made the oath that never would another needle write his fate into his blood. And yet more than anything, Erik wanted Charles, and all that came with him. He needed a link Charles - to feel part of a chain that could not be broken by anger or fear or war. He desired this mark, this etch of destiny.
Because who could know what tomorrow would bring?
The relentless drone of the needle and its rapid vibrations went straight through Erik’s bones; shook him to the core. Erik felt every hunk of metal in this room - every scrap and sliver and pin. As he watched the word progress, the sharp spine bury deep into Charles’ aggravated skin, Erik shivered.
They would be in each other forever. He and Charles would fill their voids and gaps with this ink, with this promise.
Shifting slightly in his chair beside Charles, Erik subtly pressed his palm against the lazy but insistent pulse in his trousers. In that same moment, Charles shifted his arm to his forehead, and on eye popped open. Their gazes locked just as Erik had his hand over his cock - and damn the bastard for beaming at Erik like some lovesick schoolboy.
My, Charles’ voice was bright and bursting in Erik’s mind. Lusting rather loudly, are we?
Erik clenched his jaw and felt his face heat. Not because he disliked Charles in his mind - he was welcome - but because he’d been caught.
Fuck off, he thought with as much force as he could muster.
Oh, but I do love it when you resort to profanities.
Erik’s bland stare was enough to have Charles snickering - and just as quickly sliding into a hiss of pain as the artist finished the final letter. Erik watched the ink smear across Charles’ torso like bruises, then wipe away to reveal clean, fluid lines.
Bruder.
Erik’s pulse thundered in his ears.
“Goodness!” Charles said as he sat up after the tattoo had been bandaged in thin, clear plastic. “What an experience. I dare say I could use a stiff drink after that.”
“You could use a drink after waking up in the morning,” Erik replied with a subtle eye-roll.
Charles smiled, clearly undeterred, and sought out his shirt.
Erik couldn’t tear his attention from the brief, tantalising flashes of black as Charles donned his clothing and began to button up. The tattoo artist blathered some nonsense of aftercare that Erik could not have been less interested to hear. There was only the pink flush of Charles’ cheeks - a lingering effect of his excitement during the process, no doubt - and the way those quick, nimble fingers worked his shirt closed.
Erik’s hands twitched and ached to touch. Anything - everything.
The proprietor beside him said something, and the tone of his voice was now annoyed.
“What?” Erik snapped, rounding on him.
“I said, who’s paying?” the man said with a scowl.
They each paid for their own because neither of them would allow the other to do otherwise. Charles linked his arm jovially in Erik’s - the man acted perpetually intoxicated or high when he was in good spirits, so there were no worries that the action would be misconstrued by fellow bystanders - as they set off down the street.
Erik had other plans. He always did.
Without warning, he clamped a hand around Charles’ wrist and tugged him into the nearest alley.
“Erik,” Charles asked with a laugh, “What’re yo-”
Erik curled a hand around the back of Charles’ head and thrust their mouths together in a messy, claiming clash of tongue and teeth. The kiss was wild and hungry, like they’d been starved for each other far longer than a few mere hours. Charles made a soft noise of surprise against Erik’s lips, and Erik’s tattoo burned in reply.
But Charles’ pliancy wasn’t enough - pinning him to a shadowed brick wall in the middle of the day was not enough. Everything had never been enough.
“I need -” Erik gulped for air and smattered open-mouthed kisses along Charles’ throat; nipped at the line of Charles’ jaw and inhaled his clean, pure scent. “Need,” Erik said again, biting off the word and grazing his teeth across Charles’ fluttering pulse.
“Yes,” Charles said, his voice hoarse as if he already knew. Of course he already knew.
Erik’s hands bracketed Charles’ hips as he focused on the tantalising ridge of collarbone just barely exposed the open neck of Charles’ shirt. Hot, humid breath caught in Erik’s throat as he paused for half a heartbeat - and snapped. Lunged forward and ripped at the line of buttons, popping them off in all directions, like casualties of war.
Charles’ laugh was soft and breathless, but tapered off at a moan as he tilted his head back against the brick. Erik was trailing the calloused pad of his thumb alone the subtle curves of Charles’ ribs. Perfection.
Charles ducked his head and caught Erik’s eyes; tore Erik’s roving gaze away from his search for the tattoo. Erik sucked in a breath when a smirk ghosted over Charles’ lips and he raised one arm over his head, rested it upon the mussed crown of his hair. Erik’s heart stopped and caught in his throat.
In the shadows - posing for Erik’s eyes only, with this distinct, quiet inner confidence that was so Charles - Erik was at his mercy. But love was never kind or easy. The crimson blotch around Charles’ tattoo illustrated that.
Erik leaned in and rested his forehead upon that of Charles. One hand almost reverently pushed aside the curtain of Charles’ shirt for a clearer view - bruder. A jolt shot through Erik at the sight; struck him like a current and left him shuddering in his electric skin.
Charles’ voice was husky in his ear. “You love this, don’t you, Erik? As vehemently as you seek independence and individuality, you still wish to be a part of something.”
“Nein.” Erik shifted and placed his palm firmly over the bandaged tattoo. Charles jumped in discomfort, just as Erik knew he would. Erik’s free hand cupped Charles’ jaw, titled his face to meet Erik’s unwavering stare. Erik brushed his lips over Charles’ - once, twice, and hovered there, nearly mouth to mouth, breathing the same air. “I only wish to be a part of you.”
“You are,” Charles said, with a tremor in his voice. “Always, Erik. My brother.”
Bruder.