Entry 01, Gold and Silver Rings
Title: Gold and Silver Rings
Entry Number: 01
Author:
latemarch
Fandom: X-Men First Class, Erik/OFC
Rating: PG-13 (some violence, but nothing explicit)
Genre: romance, action
Spoiler Warnings: Though I am messing with the timeline, there are no spoilers.
Word Count: 1126
Notes: This entry directly follows my third and fifth entries from last year's challenge, so I'll link those if you want to go back and get the backstory. Basically, the main premise is that Ann Finch is a quiet, composed mutant that doesn't mind mutant-human cooperation, something that Erik despises. So he takes it upon himself to antagonize her and push her into losing control of her powers as much as possible. (Her power is the secretion of a super-acid from her skin). They may not seem to lovey-dovey now, but I assure you that things will eventually progress nicely! Let me know what you think!
2011 Entry 03
2011 Entry 05
- - entry one - -
Ann spun around when she heard the voice of the mutant in question: Erik. He leaned against the kitchen doorway, his legs crossed and his arms folded over his chest. His dark gray sweater was pulled tight across his broad shoulders and biceps, and made him look scarily powerful. And if that wasn’t enough, his eyes stared her down, hard flint, no matter that he was talking to the others.
Sean scurried out of the kitchen on command, skirting around the older mutant. Angel took longer, was less intimidated; she looked back and forth between Ann and Erik with a raised eyebrow, and as if thinking better of whatever she was going to say, set down her drink. As she sauntered out she asked, “Lovers’ quarrel?” But didn’t stay to hear the answer.
“Is there something you want Erik?” Ann felt the need to take the offensive, but couldn’t quite get up the nerve to tell him to get the hell away from her.
He shrugged and unfolded himself to prowl around the kitchen, looking over this and over that. “Just heard that you might be making something special for dinner.” This time, he couldn’t quite hide his satisfied smile, smugly victorious. “Sauerbraten.”
“Yes, with a side of arsenic sauce.” Ann managed to say before turning her back on him and leaning over the sink. She pretended to clean some of the dirtied kitchen utensils, but only swished her hands in the water, afraid to actually touch anything.
She shot him a dirty look when he replied, “Well, at least you’re good for something then.”
“Erik,” Ann snapped, whipping around to chide him with narrowed eyes and a pointed index finger. “I am getting ever so tired-“ She stopped speaking suddenly, pressing the palms of her hands to her hips and taking a deep breath. Control.
He moved closer, and she could scent his rich cologne on her tongue. “Tired of what? What were you going to say, Ann?” It was almost as if he was goading her, pushing her into a confrontation. Like he wanted an excuse to use his powers against her once more.
“I am tired of you bullying me all the time.” Ann said as stoutly as she could, leaning backward against the counter as Erik continued to invade her space. She could see in his blue eyes that he was daring her, pushing her to lose control and scream at him, the pale blue of him irritated that she, herself, was so well contained despite all his best efforts to provoke her. “Please leave me alone.”
Erik smirked, and this time it was a deadly expression, shark-like and zeroing in on her soft underbelly. “I can’t do that.” His voice was deceptively soft and calm. “You might accidentally kill someone with your cooking.”
It was the most well aimed shot he could possibly have made.
Ann jerked, her body mindlessly filled with anger and shame and memories of accidents that left indelible scars on all involved. A yellow fire caught in the gold that splattered her eyes, and while her skin tingled painfully with the ignition of her mutant powers, the causticity felt good. She aimed for his neck and face, exposed to her reaching hands and near dripping fingers, while Erik’s eyes flickered like shallow waters and sudden drops.
The kitchen was not the most strategic place to attack Erik that Ann could have picked. He had her pinned by hundreds of pieces of metal cutlery before she was could make contact with him, knives at her throat and shoulders, forks and butter knives pressing into her arms and stomach, pans slamming into her lower legs with destructive force. The sheer magnitude of his powers destroyed her physically, but she was not deterred.
Her hand caught him at an odd angle, catching his shoulder and sliding down across his chest as she fell, only just grazing his jaw. Ann hit the ground hard, landing on pieces of metal ware and cooking pans. The shock of pain that accompanied her acidic skin yanked on Erik’s control until it shattered, and the rest of his weapons, suddenly free, rained down on her as she curled on the floor and he staggered back into the nearest wall.
The knives, forks, and cooking utensils clattered to the floor in a cacophony that seemed to shake the whole house and deafen their intended victim. Ann’s cries as she covered her head with her arms were mere whispers, drowned by the roar of destruction. As everything settled she could hear his deep pants from across the room, rushing oxygen into his system as his skin burned on his flesh. And to Erik, her small, stunted whimpers of pain were equally as evident.
For a moment Erik could see clearly, could see her curled on the floor and felt guilt; she looked so small, and utterly non-threatening, and incredibly feminine, and he’d attacked her. A woman. Weren’t men supposed to protect women? His mother’s face, half-forgotten in years of anger and upset, flashed briefly in his mind, and the thought that he had not been able to protect her occurred to him. But then the pain of the acid that was destroying his skin ripped him out of the uncomfortable nostalgia. ‘She attacked me.’ He reminded himself, sinking down to the floor as the acid slowly incapacitated him.
Drawn by the horrible noise, Charles burst into the kitchen, swinging in through the doorframe only to skid to a stop by the kitchen island. The normally unruffled professor was just that: ruffled. His hair dropped over his face and his clothing was hitched up and rumpled, his shoes starting to come untied. He froze for a second, taking in the disarray that had become his kitchen, and the injured parties that crouched on opposite sides of the room, only barely tolerating their wounds.
Only a moment later Agent MacTaggert, Moira scrambled into the kitchen as well, coming to an ungainly and ungraceful stop against Charles’ back with a muffled ‘thump.’ If Ann had been more than barely conscious, she would have noticed Moira’s equally disheveled appearance, the way her sweater was inside out and the top three buttons of her shirt gaped open lazily.
“What the devil-“ Charles boomed, and the usually quiet man was almost overwhelmed by the situation. He didn’t seem to know who to check on first, until Moira pushed him towards the nearest wounded, Ann, while she knelt by near unconscious Erik.
* * *
Anne Finch’s Little Black Book
I hate him so much. I hate him so much. If he says one more thing to me about my abilities or how dangerous I am, I will not be responsible for my actions.
- - end entry 01 - -
Well, there you have it! My first entry for the 2012 OWC! While I'm here, I'll once again pimp the challenge's tumblr and facebook pages, the links for which you can find on the "And It Begins!" post. Join us! YAY
Thanks everyone! - See you next entry!