new short Erik/Charles fic
Just posting this here because I think it got lost in comments somewhere. Also, mcfassy Film AU Fest reminder--you're still welcome to sign up, as last-minute as you want, as long as works go up by the end of this Sunday!
Title: And Find Me There
Word Count: 444
Rating: G
Disclaimers: characters belong to Marvel, not me! Title from Live’s “Run To The Water”: run to the water/ and find me there…
Summary/Notes: for a prompt of running a marathon; quick Erik/Charles comment!fic for oonaseckar
Erik likes running. He likes the adrenaline, the fire, the burn of a good workout through exhausted muscles. He likes the sense of accomplishment, the endorphins, the realness of motion and sweat and his feet against the ground.
He reminds himself of this now, repeatedly, through all the blisters, the weariness, the pain. It becomes his mantra. One more step. And then one more.
Eventually, all the steps make a marathon.
Erik also likes marathons. Especially when he’s first, though at this moment he’s lost all sense of perspective about that, and is focused on that finish line, flickering in the distance like a mirage.
He’s not doing it for himself. He’s got sponsors. Charities. He’s good enough to have supporters, to do some real good, to change the world. With one more step.
But he still likes the winning.
When he narrows his gaze at the finish line again, blinking sweat out of his eyes, he sees Charles.
Of course he does. Charles is always there. Charles is one of his sponsors, of course-the Xavier name brings in others, not to mention its own attendant wealth-but it’s not about that, not right now.
It’s about Charles cheering him on, screaming his name in encouragement and delight, yelling himself hoarse for Erik’s benefit. About blue eyes and laughter and love, and no one gives a damn that Charles can’t run alongside him, can’t walk, can’t stand.
Sometimes people wonder about that, audibly and not, at dinners, awards ceremonies, events. The marathon medalist, and the academic-scruffy genetics professor in the wheelchair. Charles usually laughs, perfectly gracious. Says that Erik can run for both of them.
Erik doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to explain.
Charles is waving at him, now. Charles is there to wave at him always. Every time.
He puts on one final burst of speed, finds it deep down in himself just so he can be sprinting across that line, and then it’s over, just like that, those last steps enough, and he slows to a walk, barely upright, drenched in sweat and panting and grabbing a water bottle from an outstretched hand and tipping it over his head, and when he looks around, quivering and dizzy, Charles is right there to catch him and grab his arms, heedless of wetness and post-marathon dirt and heat; there to ground him through the lightheadedness and triumph and soreness, the way that he’ll be there to carry Charles through muscle spasms and dark pain on bad days, the way that they’re both there to anchor each other.
Charles kisses him, and even before the times are officially announced Erik knows he’s already won.
Title: And Find Me There
Word Count: 444
Rating: G
Disclaimers: characters belong to Marvel, not me! Title from Live’s “Run To The Water”: run to the water/ and find me there…
Summary/Notes: for a prompt of running a marathon; quick Erik/Charles comment!fic for oonaseckar
Erik likes running. He likes the adrenaline, the fire, the burn of a good workout through exhausted muscles. He likes the sense of accomplishment, the endorphins, the realness of motion and sweat and his feet against the ground.
He reminds himself of this now, repeatedly, through all the blisters, the weariness, the pain. It becomes his mantra. One more step. And then one more.
Eventually, all the steps make a marathon.
Erik also likes marathons. Especially when he’s first, though at this moment he’s lost all sense of perspective about that, and is focused on that finish line, flickering in the distance like a mirage.
He’s not doing it for himself. He’s got sponsors. Charities. He’s good enough to have supporters, to do some real good, to change the world. With one more step.
But he still likes the winning.
When he narrows his gaze at the finish line again, blinking sweat out of his eyes, he sees Charles.
Of course he does. Charles is always there. Charles is one of his sponsors, of course-the Xavier name brings in others, not to mention its own attendant wealth-but it’s not about that, not right now.
It’s about Charles cheering him on, screaming his name in encouragement and delight, yelling himself hoarse for Erik’s benefit. About blue eyes and laughter and love, and no one gives a damn that Charles can’t run alongside him, can’t walk, can’t stand.
Sometimes people wonder about that, audibly and not, at dinners, awards ceremonies, events. The marathon medalist, and the academic-scruffy genetics professor in the wheelchair. Charles usually laughs, perfectly gracious. Says that Erik can run for both of them.
Erik doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to explain.
Charles is waving at him, now. Charles is there to wave at him always. Every time.
He puts on one final burst of speed, finds it deep down in himself just so he can be sprinting across that line, and then it’s over, just like that, those last steps enough, and he slows to a walk, barely upright, drenched in sweat and panting and grabbing a water bottle from an outstretched hand and tipping it over his head, and when he looks around, quivering and dizzy, Charles is right there to catch him and grab his arms, heedless of wetness and post-marathon dirt and heat; there to ground him through the lightheadedness and triumph and soreness, the way that he’ll be there to carry Charles through muscle spasms and dark pain on bad days, the way that they’re both there to anchor each other.
Charles kisses him, and even before the times are officially announced Erik knows he’s already won.