X-Men First Class fic: History Marches On
I'm hopping on a plane to the UK tomorrow and will be out off doing vacationy things for a couple of weeks, so here's a parting gift, flist. If you haven't already seen the new X-Men movie, you should. It's pretty fantastic.
And it's got James McAvoy and his +10 charisma making eyes at Michael Fassbender every time they're on screen together. I am all aboard the Charles/Erik train. Their relationship in the other movies always read to me like two very old friends with something more going on below the surface that neither of them wanted to address, and this movie all but makes that subtext text. As a friend of mine put it, "OH X-MEN FIRST CLASS YOU ARE THE STORY OF THE DOOMED ROMANCE BETWEEN ERIK AND CHARLES JUST ADMIT IT."
My sentiments exactly.
Title: History Marches On
Characters: Charles/Erik
Rating/Warnings: PG/Spoilers, mention of past abuse
Word Count: 900
Summary: This is how that one scene really ended. You know it's true.
Note: This fic is dedicated to my horrible friends, who when I said, "Promise me you won't let me write fic after we see this movie, I don't have time," were like "LOLNO." If it sucks, blame them.
When the satellite dish turned, Erik felt it all - the tension making the beams shake in that massive web of metal framework, reverberating with a whine down the base. Gears sliding together within the base, massive wheels with teeth worn so smooth they could’ve been used for mirrors. Bolts shuddering at unexpected motion. And weight. He felt the weight of the whole structure as if it were grasped in his hand, and it made his heart thud almost loud enough to drown out the shrieking of metal in his ears. At that moment, he could have shouldered the world like Atlas.
Running on pain alone had always been like a shot of adrenaline - a sudden blur of action, leaving him half-numb from the sheer energy. The comparison was easy to make; adrenaline had been one of Shaw’s favorite chemicals to play with. But this way-this way he felt present.
He also felt the tickle of heat from the candles in his mind, and heard the laughter in his throat, and saw the soft curvature of his mother’s face, smiling just in front of him as if it were only yesterday.
God, her smile was brighter than the candles.
When he let go of the memory and the dish, he was reminded by Charles’s hand on his back that the man was still with him, smiling at him like a proud mentor. Not unlike the expression Shaw had worn when Erik had crushed his first car-but no, this was different. Charles, he knew, wasn’t thinking of all the ways to exploit his growing power. Charles would never. It was one of the remarkable things about the man.
One of the other remarkable things about the man was how his laughter felt as if it were echoing through Erik’s own ribcage, matching his. They both bent at the waist, laughing like schoolboys, and Erik was surprised to see in his friend’s eyes that Charles’s mirth at that moment matched his own, as if the triumph were truly a shared one.
He realized also, as the laughter faded, that it shouldn’t have been a surprise. With Charles, everything was shared, each step of progress a victory for them both and each tragedy shouldered jointly. That was just the way Charles functioned, constantly intertwined with those around him. Maybe it was a telepath thing. Whatever the reason, when Charles looked up at him and said, “Well done,” Erik felt proud enough for both of them.
“Hey!” Moira called for them from the window, and their heads turned together. “The president’s about to make his address!”
The president’s address. Of course. No time to appreciate a moment of achievement or a smile between good friends when there was war on the horizon.
The window slid shut, and Charles sighed. “I suppose we had better join them.” He flashed Erik one last tight smile, and his brow wrinkled. “Hold on-“ he started, and closed the gap between them in that easy way he always did. It was impossible not to let Charles in. He moved without hesitation or self-consciousness, like a child who hadn’t been taught to fear rejection yet. The pad of his thumb swiped gently down Erik’s cheek, clearing away a tear. “Better,” he said.
A remarkable man indeed. Erik suddenly wanted more than anything to be as effortlessly good as the professor. He wanted to deserve the kind touch of his friend, to be the sort of man who introduced others to the best parts of themselves. He never would be, he knew - there was enough vengeance in him to drown Charles’s calm.
The next best option, he figured, was to claim proximity to that kind of grace.
Erik mirrored his friend’s touch on his cheek and slid his other hand along the warm curve of the back of Charles’s neck. Charles’s eyes widened; the telepath faltered for the first time he’d seen.
“I feel you in my mind yet,” Erik said. “What am I thinking right now?”
Charles smirked. “You think too highly of me, my friend.”
“And?” Erik prompted, his heart thudding in his ears again.
Charles’s eyes flicked toward Erik’s lips momentarily, and the smirk dropped into an almost indignant frown. “All this time together and you really haven’t gathered just how welcome you would be? Really, Erik, I’ve all but projected my intentions into your mi-“
Erik cut him off with a kiss, clutching at the nape of his neck and pulling him in. Charles made a soft, surprised sound and reached for his back, fingers digging into his shoulders. For a moment, Erik felt nothing else in the world but the press of bodies and gray fabric and the scent and taste of Charles Xavier. Aftershave. Salt and sweet. Teeth pressing hard behind lips. Frantic grabs for more.
Charles took Erik’s collar with a tight yank and pulled himself away. “As much as I appreciate the subject, this is a conversation that must be tabled for later.”
“Damn Kennedy,” Erik muttered with a hint of a smile.
Charles patted him soundly on the chest. “History marches on, my dear friend, and we don’t want to be snogging in the garden when it does.”
“Speak for yourself,” Erik muttered, but the request was fair enough. He could wait a little while longer.
“Come,” Charles said with a chuckle, and grabbed his hand to lead them into the house.
THE END! (Until later that night when they play a sexually charged game of chess and then Erik sneaks into Charles's room after lights out and is like "Your sister tried to make out with me, but I don't want her, only you" and Charles is like "Get out of your revenge fantasies and into my pants" and they have frantic night-before-battle sex. Twice. OBVIOUSLY. I don't know how this got left out of the final edit.)
And it's got James McAvoy and his +10 charisma making eyes at Michael Fassbender every time they're on screen together. I am all aboard the Charles/Erik train. Their relationship in the other movies always read to me like two very old friends with something more going on below the surface that neither of them wanted to address, and this movie all but makes that subtext text. As a friend of mine put it, "OH X-MEN FIRST CLASS YOU ARE THE STORY OF THE DOOMED ROMANCE BETWEEN ERIK AND CHARLES JUST ADMIT IT."
My sentiments exactly.
Title: History Marches On
Characters: Charles/Erik
Rating/Warnings: PG/Spoilers, mention of past abuse
Word Count: 900
Summary: This is how that one scene really ended. You know it's true.
Note: This fic is dedicated to my horrible friends, who when I said, "Promise me you won't let me write fic after we see this movie, I don't have time," were like "LOLNO." If it sucks, blame them.
When the satellite dish turned, Erik felt it all - the tension making the beams shake in that massive web of metal framework, reverberating with a whine down the base. Gears sliding together within the base, massive wheels with teeth worn so smooth they could’ve been used for mirrors. Bolts shuddering at unexpected motion. And weight. He felt the weight of the whole structure as if it were grasped in his hand, and it made his heart thud almost loud enough to drown out the shrieking of metal in his ears. At that moment, he could have shouldered the world like Atlas.
Running on pain alone had always been like a shot of adrenaline - a sudden blur of action, leaving him half-numb from the sheer energy. The comparison was easy to make; adrenaline had been one of Shaw’s favorite chemicals to play with. But this way-this way he felt present.
He also felt the tickle of heat from the candles in his mind, and heard the laughter in his throat, and saw the soft curvature of his mother’s face, smiling just in front of him as if it were only yesterday.
God, her smile was brighter than the candles.
When he let go of the memory and the dish, he was reminded by Charles’s hand on his back that the man was still with him, smiling at him like a proud mentor. Not unlike the expression Shaw had worn when Erik had crushed his first car-but no, this was different. Charles, he knew, wasn’t thinking of all the ways to exploit his growing power. Charles would never. It was one of the remarkable things about the man.
One of the other remarkable things about the man was how his laughter felt as if it were echoing through Erik’s own ribcage, matching his. They both bent at the waist, laughing like schoolboys, and Erik was surprised to see in his friend’s eyes that Charles’s mirth at that moment matched his own, as if the triumph were truly a shared one.
He realized also, as the laughter faded, that it shouldn’t have been a surprise. With Charles, everything was shared, each step of progress a victory for them both and each tragedy shouldered jointly. That was just the way Charles functioned, constantly intertwined with those around him. Maybe it was a telepath thing. Whatever the reason, when Charles looked up at him and said, “Well done,” Erik felt proud enough for both of them.
“Hey!” Moira called for them from the window, and their heads turned together. “The president’s about to make his address!”
The president’s address. Of course. No time to appreciate a moment of achievement or a smile between good friends when there was war on the horizon.
The window slid shut, and Charles sighed. “I suppose we had better join them.” He flashed Erik one last tight smile, and his brow wrinkled. “Hold on-“ he started, and closed the gap between them in that easy way he always did. It was impossible not to let Charles in. He moved without hesitation or self-consciousness, like a child who hadn’t been taught to fear rejection yet. The pad of his thumb swiped gently down Erik’s cheek, clearing away a tear. “Better,” he said.
A remarkable man indeed. Erik suddenly wanted more than anything to be as effortlessly good as the professor. He wanted to deserve the kind touch of his friend, to be the sort of man who introduced others to the best parts of themselves. He never would be, he knew - there was enough vengeance in him to drown Charles’s calm.
The next best option, he figured, was to claim proximity to that kind of grace.
Erik mirrored his friend’s touch on his cheek and slid his other hand along the warm curve of the back of Charles’s neck. Charles’s eyes widened; the telepath faltered for the first time he’d seen.
“I feel you in my mind yet,” Erik said. “What am I thinking right now?”
Charles smirked. “You think too highly of me, my friend.”
“And?” Erik prompted, his heart thudding in his ears again.
Charles’s eyes flicked toward Erik’s lips momentarily, and the smirk dropped into an almost indignant frown. “All this time together and you really haven’t gathered just how welcome you would be? Really, Erik, I’ve all but projected my intentions into your mi-“
Erik cut him off with a kiss, clutching at the nape of his neck and pulling him in. Charles made a soft, surprised sound and reached for his back, fingers digging into his shoulders. For a moment, Erik felt nothing else in the world but the press of bodies and gray fabric and the scent and taste of Charles Xavier. Aftershave. Salt and sweet. Teeth pressing hard behind lips. Frantic grabs for more.
Charles took Erik’s collar with a tight yank and pulled himself away. “As much as I appreciate the subject, this is a conversation that must be tabled for later.”
“Damn Kennedy,” Erik muttered with a hint of a smile.
Charles patted him soundly on the chest. “History marches on, my dear friend, and we don’t want to be snogging in the garden when it does.”
“Speak for yourself,” Erik muttered, but the request was fair enough. He could wait a little while longer.
“Come,” Charles said with a chuckle, and grabbed his hand to lead them into the house.
THE END! (Until later that night when they play a sexually charged game of chess and then Erik sneaks into Charles's room after lights out and is like "Your sister tried to make out with me, but I don't want her, only you" and Charles is like "Get out of your revenge fantasies and into my pants" and they have frantic night-before-battle sex. Twice. OBVIOUSLY. I don't know how this got left out of the final edit.)