A couple fluffy ficlets
I just got a new laptop today (finally! my old one was literally falling apart), a shiny new macbook who I've officially dubbed Charles, so it seemed only right that I de-anon for a couple fills I wrote over at xmen_firstkink. so, without further ado, here I present my first foray into the xmfc fandom. woohoo!
Title: The potential of you and me
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: PG
Word count: approx. 600
Summary: Charles likes to steal Erik's clothes.
A/N: written for this prompt. title borrowed from "I Will Possess Your Heart" by Death Cab For Cutie.
By the time Erik decides to turn in for the night, Charles is already asleep. It’s been a long day, and while Erik has mostly been sitting by and observing as Charles coaches the kids with the kind of passion and enthusiasm that has Erik convinced Charles would have made a fantastic professor at Oxford, or any university for that matter, Charles has been running around and checking in with everyone, pushing harder, stretching the boundaries. And although Charles is an incredibly powerful telepath, he’s not quite as physically fit as a man his age probably should be (but Erik finds that he doesn’t really mind; he sort of likes that about Charles anyways).
That’s what you get from sitting around with your nose in a book all your life, Erik thinks sometimes, almost teasing, almost playful, when he catches Charles out of breath, clearly exhausted, but still soldiering on.
And Charles just smiles at him and insists that he’s fine, even when clearly, he needs a nap or to sit down for a bit or maybe even just a cup of tea, something to relax him, let him unwind, because he’s been doing too much, too much and not enough. Charles always pushes harder, but not in the way Erik has grown accustomed to since his childhood, not ruthless and cruel and demanding, instead encouraging, warm, patient. It’s all so different from how Erik remembers being taught, being trained to tap into all this unexplored potential. It’s different, but it’s a welcome relief from such constant pain and agony and anger.
Erik slips into the bedroom quietly, though perhaps not quietly enough (he’s never quiet enough) because Charles stirs when the door clicks shut. He rolls over in bed sleepily, hair mussed from slumber. He blinks slowly at Erik, only halfway to waking properly.
“Go to sleep,” Erik says softly.
Charles blinks at him some more and then sits up, the blankets pooling around his waist. “What time is it?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes, voice thick from sleep. The sleeves of the shirt he’s wearing are too long, hanging over to cover his hands almost completely.
And Erik means to shush Charles back to sleep and then continue undressing for bed, but then he notices the color of the nightshirt Charles is wearing (a deep, rich red that Charles doesn’t wear often, if ever, on his own volition but looks lovely in contrast with his fair skin), and the awkward way it hangs off of Charles’ small frame, the shoulders too wide, the collar slipping aside just enough to expose the angular line of Charles’ collarbone. Erik can’t help the way his eyebrows arch, the way his lips fight to smile.
“Is that my shirt?” Erik asks, not sure whether to be more amused or enamored by the situation and settling for a little of both.
Charles looks down at the shirt and picks at it. “Is it?” he parrots, far too innocent.
Erik huffs out a sound that would be a laugh if he’d let it. Do you make a habit of stealing my things? he projects out into the warm space where Charles’ mind touches his own as he finishes undressing and crawls into bed.
Charles flops back down on the bed and gives Erik a sleepy smile. Does it bother you?
Erik smiles softly but doesn’t answer, instead sliding closer to slip an arm around Charles’ waist. Charles sighs contently and curls into Erik’s chest, his eyes fluttering shut. His fingers trace sleepy, absent patterns along Erik’s skin and he doesn’t bother asking again. He was mostly just asking to ask, and they both know the answer to that question anyways.
END.
Title: I built you a home in my heart
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: PG
Word count: approx. 900
Summary: Erik is a distraction.
A/N: written for this prompt. title borrowed from "Crooked Teeth" by Death Cab For Cutie.
It’s late when Erik slips into Charles’ study. The house has quieted down, which means that the kids are all finally asleep, not giggling and gossiping or breaking into each others’ rooms and pulling pranks on one another, and Erik is more than a little thankful. He’ll never understand how Charles can spend so much time with them and not go insane from it all.
Charles glances up briefly from the text in front of him as Erik walks into his study (silently, always silently, footsteps light from habit so ingrained into his being after a lifetime of grit and hardship), and he smiles at Erik from under his eyelashes before turning back to his reading, making little notes in his notebook in small, tidy handwriting when he stumbles upon relevant information. Erik comes to sit on the edge of Charles’ desk, and he’s silent for a moment, absolutely still, simply observing, almost like he’s waiting for Charles to stop making love to his precious books to notice him.
“What are you working on this time?” Erik finally asks when Charles continues reading as if Erik isn’t even there, and his voice is quiet and soft like he never lets show around the kids (they’d never let him live it down if they ever caught him like this).
“I told you, didn’t I?” Charles murmurs distractedly. “I have a paper to write.”
Erik hums thoughtfully and gestures to the thick volume Charles is currently poring over. “What are you reading?” he asks, and when he only gets a shrug in response, he decides to take a different approach because it’s late and he’s tired and he likes falling asleep with Charles’ warm presence by his side (so much so that he sometimes thinks he might not be able to sleep anymore without Charles beside him, but he never says anything to the effect, and if Charles already knows, well at least he doesn’t say anything either).
Erik slides off the desk and moves to stand behind Charles, letting his arms drape over Charles’ shoulders as he leans down on the pretext of reading over Charles’ shoulder. The text of the book Charles has in front of him is, predictably, uncannily small, no doubt detailing some of the finer workings of gene expression or something equally as obscure and confusing and boring, and Erik noses at Charles’ hair, breathing in the pleasant, familiar scent of Charles’ shampoo, jasmine and sandalwood. Charles hums softly at Erik, not quite a protest, and Erik presses his lips to Charles’ jaw. He can feel Charles smile before he attempts to nudge Erik away.
“Stop that,” Charles murmurs, but he ends up sounding fond instead of stern like he probably means to.
And, of course, Erik takes that as a cue to continue, kissing down the pale column of Charles’ neck. He doesn’t miss the way Charles gasps when he bites down on Charles’ fair skin, nor does he fail to notice the shudder that works its way down Charles’ spine when Erik kisses that sensitive spot right behind Charles’ ear.
“Come to bed,” Erik requests, breath hitting the shell of Charles’ ear.
Erik can feel Charles battling against the impulse to just cave in and let this unfold, the brief hesitation before Charles clears his throat and straightens his shoulders, schooling his expression into one of calm resolve as he turns to Erik.
“I have a lot of work to do,” Charles says patiently, though he sounds a touch too breathless. “And I need to-”
Erik never does find out what it is that’s so important for Charles to do, because he leans in and cuts him off with a kiss, quick and fleeting but it does the trick. Charles leans into Erik, just for a moment, chasing the Erik’s mouth after the kiss is over, and Erik grins before pressing his lips to Charles’ again, lifting a hand to the back of Charles’ neck, deepening the kiss, before Charles pushes Erik away, though with much less force than Erik knows he’s capable of.
“I-I need to work,” Charles insists, even as his breaths come out unsteady and his cheeks are flushed.
Erik’s fingers curl at the nape of Charles’ neck, toying with the soft, short hair there. “And there will be time for that later,” Erik says reasonably.
Charles worries his bottom lip between his teeth, conflicted. Erik presses his lips to Charles’ forehead, his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.
“It’s late, Charles,” Erik says, his lips brushing against Charles’ skin as he speaks. “And there’s always tomorrow.”
Erik doesn’t wait for Charles to respond, simply presses his lips back to Charles’, softly, sweetly, until Charles is all but melting into Erik, breath ragged once more, quiet, almost keening sounds spilling into Erik’s mouth. And through it all, even as Charles’ hands grab greedily at Erik’s body, even as Charles lets Erik lead him up to his (their) bedroom, even as Erik slowly, slowly undresses Charles, too slow for either of them to bear, Erik feels Charles’ mind so close to his own, a warm, familiar presence, as his thoughts whisper in next to Erik’s.
You, my friend, are a terrible, terrible influence.
END.
Title: The potential of you and me
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: PG
Word count: approx. 600
Summary: Charles likes to steal Erik's clothes.
A/N: written for this prompt. title borrowed from "I Will Possess Your Heart" by Death Cab For Cutie.
By the time Erik decides to turn in for the night, Charles is already asleep. It’s been a long day, and while Erik has mostly been sitting by and observing as Charles coaches the kids with the kind of passion and enthusiasm that has Erik convinced Charles would have made a fantastic professor at Oxford, or any university for that matter, Charles has been running around and checking in with everyone, pushing harder, stretching the boundaries. And although Charles is an incredibly powerful telepath, he’s not quite as physically fit as a man his age probably should be (but Erik finds that he doesn’t really mind; he sort of likes that about Charles anyways).
That’s what you get from sitting around with your nose in a book all your life, Erik thinks sometimes, almost teasing, almost playful, when he catches Charles out of breath, clearly exhausted, but still soldiering on.
And Charles just smiles at him and insists that he’s fine, even when clearly, he needs a nap or to sit down for a bit or maybe even just a cup of tea, something to relax him, let him unwind, because he’s been doing too much, too much and not enough. Charles always pushes harder, but not in the way Erik has grown accustomed to since his childhood, not ruthless and cruel and demanding, instead encouraging, warm, patient. It’s all so different from how Erik remembers being taught, being trained to tap into all this unexplored potential. It’s different, but it’s a welcome relief from such constant pain and agony and anger.
Erik slips into the bedroom quietly, though perhaps not quietly enough (he’s never quiet enough) because Charles stirs when the door clicks shut. He rolls over in bed sleepily, hair mussed from slumber. He blinks slowly at Erik, only halfway to waking properly.
“Go to sleep,” Erik says softly.
Charles blinks at him some more and then sits up, the blankets pooling around his waist. “What time is it?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes, voice thick from sleep. The sleeves of the shirt he’s wearing are too long, hanging over to cover his hands almost completely.
And Erik means to shush Charles back to sleep and then continue undressing for bed, but then he notices the color of the nightshirt Charles is wearing (a deep, rich red that Charles doesn’t wear often, if ever, on his own volition but looks lovely in contrast with his fair skin), and the awkward way it hangs off of Charles’ small frame, the shoulders too wide, the collar slipping aside just enough to expose the angular line of Charles’ collarbone. Erik can’t help the way his eyebrows arch, the way his lips fight to smile.
“Is that my shirt?” Erik asks, not sure whether to be more amused or enamored by the situation and settling for a little of both.
Charles looks down at the shirt and picks at it. “Is it?” he parrots, far too innocent.
Erik huffs out a sound that would be a laugh if he’d let it. Do you make a habit of stealing my things? he projects out into the warm space where Charles’ mind touches his own as he finishes undressing and crawls into bed.
Charles flops back down on the bed and gives Erik a sleepy smile. Does it bother you?
Erik smiles softly but doesn’t answer, instead sliding closer to slip an arm around Charles’ waist. Charles sighs contently and curls into Erik’s chest, his eyes fluttering shut. His fingers trace sleepy, absent patterns along Erik’s skin and he doesn’t bother asking again. He was mostly just asking to ask, and they both know the answer to that question anyways.
END.
Title: I built you a home in my heart
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: PG
Word count: approx. 900
Summary: Erik is a distraction.
A/N: written for this prompt. title borrowed from "Crooked Teeth" by Death Cab For Cutie.
It’s late when Erik slips into Charles’ study. The house has quieted down, which means that the kids are all finally asleep, not giggling and gossiping or breaking into each others’ rooms and pulling pranks on one another, and Erik is more than a little thankful. He’ll never understand how Charles can spend so much time with them and not go insane from it all.
Charles glances up briefly from the text in front of him as Erik walks into his study (silently, always silently, footsteps light from habit so ingrained into his being after a lifetime of grit and hardship), and he smiles at Erik from under his eyelashes before turning back to his reading, making little notes in his notebook in small, tidy handwriting when he stumbles upon relevant information. Erik comes to sit on the edge of Charles’ desk, and he’s silent for a moment, absolutely still, simply observing, almost like he’s waiting for Charles to stop making love to his precious books to notice him.
“What are you working on this time?” Erik finally asks when Charles continues reading as if Erik isn’t even there, and his voice is quiet and soft like he never lets show around the kids (they’d never let him live it down if they ever caught him like this).
“I told you, didn’t I?” Charles murmurs distractedly. “I have a paper to write.”
Erik hums thoughtfully and gestures to the thick volume Charles is currently poring over. “What are you reading?” he asks, and when he only gets a shrug in response, he decides to take a different approach because it’s late and he’s tired and he likes falling asleep with Charles’ warm presence by his side (so much so that he sometimes thinks he might not be able to sleep anymore without Charles beside him, but he never says anything to the effect, and if Charles already knows, well at least he doesn’t say anything either).
Erik slides off the desk and moves to stand behind Charles, letting his arms drape over Charles’ shoulders as he leans down on the pretext of reading over Charles’ shoulder. The text of the book Charles has in front of him is, predictably, uncannily small, no doubt detailing some of the finer workings of gene expression or something equally as obscure and confusing and boring, and Erik noses at Charles’ hair, breathing in the pleasant, familiar scent of Charles’ shampoo, jasmine and sandalwood. Charles hums softly at Erik, not quite a protest, and Erik presses his lips to Charles’ jaw. He can feel Charles smile before he attempts to nudge Erik away.
“Stop that,” Charles murmurs, but he ends up sounding fond instead of stern like he probably means to.
And, of course, Erik takes that as a cue to continue, kissing down the pale column of Charles’ neck. He doesn’t miss the way Charles gasps when he bites down on Charles’ fair skin, nor does he fail to notice the shudder that works its way down Charles’ spine when Erik kisses that sensitive spot right behind Charles’ ear.
“Come to bed,” Erik requests, breath hitting the shell of Charles’ ear.
Erik can feel Charles battling against the impulse to just cave in and let this unfold, the brief hesitation before Charles clears his throat and straightens his shoulders, schooling his expression into one of calm resolve as he turns to Erik.
“I have a lot of work to do,” Charles says patiently, though he sounds a touch too breathless. “And I need to-”
Erik never does find out what it is that’s so important for Charles to do, because he leans in and cuts him off with a kiss, quick and fleeting but it does the trick. Charles leans into Erik, just for a moment, chasing the Erik’s mouth after the kiss is over, and Erik grins before pressing his lips to Charles’ again, lifting a hand to the back of Charles’ neck, deepening the kiss, before Charles pushes Erik away, though with much less force than Erik knows he’s capable of.
“I-I need to work,” Charles insists, even as his breaths come out unsteady and his cheeks are flushed.
Erik’s fingers curl at the nape of Charles’ neck, toying with the soft, short hair there. “And there will be time for that later,” Erik says reasonably.
Charles worries his bottom lip between his teeth, conflicted. Erik presses his lips to Charles’ forehead, his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.
“It’s late, Charles,” Erik says, his lips brushing against Charles’ skin as he speaks. “And there’s always tomorrow.”
Erik doesn’t wait for Charles to respond, simply presses his lips back to Charles’, softly, sweetly, until Charles is all but melting into Erik, breath ragged once more, quiet, almost keening sounds spilling into Erik’s mouth. And through it all, even as Charles’ hands grab greedily at Erik’s body, even as Charles lets Erik lead him up to his (their) bedroom, even as Erik slowly, slowly undresses Charles, too slow for either of them to bear, Erik feels Charles’ mind so close to his own, a warm, familiar presence, as his thoughts whisper in next to Erik’s.
You, my friend, are a terrible, terrible influence.
END.