XMFC FF: Starkly Sweet and Sexy [B/Z]
Series: Multi-chaptered
Chapter Rating: T+
Summary: Tony Stark decided that opening a phone sex call centre is a good idea to alleviate mutant unemployment. Accent-savvy Erik and telepathic Charles recruited themselves in order to pay their mounting bills. Cue interesting multi-tasking (a thesis on Genetics and BDSM-themed foreplay, anyone?) and deranged customers.
Kink Meme Prompt: here
Other Chapters:
A is for Accents
XXX
B is for Books
There was a telepath in the next cubicle, who became C3S3’s second most indispensable asset. He worked late night shifts in weekdays and a full day shift every Saturday. His daylight hours and Sundays were spent in the laboratory, tinkering with human and mutant DNA. His name was Charles Francis Xavier and his Oxbridge accent was as thick as the cloud of weariness that seemed to perpetually haunt his frame. On the phone, the accent was silky and lustrous, easily indecent compared to Erik’s intensity. In person, the appearance of Oxbridge meant that he was too burnt out to strive to take the edge off his Englishness.
They first met when Charles was thrown off course by the book Erik was holding. Diverting from his route to his personal space, he tiptoed into Erik’s cubicle and peered owlishly at the rumpled cover.
Erik inserted a guttural moan out of nowhere to muffle the flick of the page turning. “You like this, don’t you,” he mock-panted through gritted teeth, spitting the words at the receiver. “You’re close, and I’m close… We’ve only got one more thing to do, baby…”
Then Roland Barthes on paper suddenly claimed that the death of the author was the only way for Literature to advance, which sparked his disagreement so strongly that he nearly dropped the paperback. He hissed a litany of ‘yes’ and listened to the orgasm at the other end even as he cursed Barthes to hell and back.
“Ooh,” Charles said, his blue eyes wider than china saucers. “That is just so wrong.”
Morosely, he replaced the phone in its cradle and sighed, “I know.”
“I wasn’t talking about the phone call. Hell, that’s my job, too.”
Raising an eyebrow, he cleared his throat before asserting, “I know.”
“Ooh.” Falling silent, Charles regarded him with a curious stare. “My name is Charles Francis Xavier and I suggest that we take apart Barthes’ argument and lynch him with his fallacies,” he declared.
Because he could not think of any alternative response: “I’m Erik Lehnsherr. At your service.”
XXX
R&R, pretty please?
Chapter Rating: T+
Summary: Tony Stark decided that opening a phone sex call centre is a good idea to alleviate mutant unemployment. Accent-savvy Erik and telepathic Charles recruited themselves in order to pay their mounting bills. Cue interesting multi-tasking (a thesis on Genetics and BDSM-themed foreplay, anyone?) and deranged customers.
Kink Meme Prompt: here
Other Chapters:
A is for Accents
XXX
B is for Books
There was a telepath in the next cubicle, who became C3S3’s second most indispensable asset. He worked late night shifts in weekdays and a full day shift every Saturday. His daylight hours and Sundays were spent in the laboratory, tinkering with human and mutant DNA. His name was Charles Francis Xavier and his Oxbridge accent was as thick as the cloud of weariness that seemed to perpetually haunt his frame. On the phone, the accent was silky and lustrous, easily indecent compared to Erik’s intensity. In person, the appearance of Oxbridge meant that he was too burnt out to strive to take the edge off his Englishness.
They first met when Charles was thrown off course by the book Erik was holding. Diverting from his route to his personal space, he tiptoed into Erik’s cubicle and peered owlishly at the rumpled cover.
Erik inserted a guttural moan out of nowhere to muffle the flick of the page turning. “You like this, don’t you,” he mock-panted through gritted teeth, spitting the words at the receiver. “You’re close, and I’m close… We’ve only got one more thing to do, baby…”
Then Roland Barthes on paper suddenly claimed that the death of the author was the only way for Literature to advance, which sparked his disagreement so strongly that he nearly dropped the paperback. He hissed a litany of ‘yes’ and listened to the orgasm at the other end even as he cursed Barthes to hell and back.
“Ooh,” Charles said, his blue eyes wider than china saucers. “That is just so wrong.”
Morosely, he replaced the phone in its cradle and sighed, “I know.”
“I wasn’t talking about the phone call. Hell, that’s my job, too.”
Raising an eyebrow, he cleared his throat before asserting, “I know.”
“Ooh.” Falling silent, Charles regarded him with a curious stare. “My name is Charles Francis Xavier and I suggest that we take apart Barthes’ argument and lynch him with his fallacies,” he declared.
Because he could not think of any alternative response: “I’m Erik Lehnsherr. At your service.”
XXX
R&R, pretty please?