Fic: On the Surface of Grapes
X-Men: First Class
Title: On the Surface of Grapes
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1313 words.
Summary: (kink_meme prompt) I want to see how the way Charles and Erik touch can say more than words. How they touch each other physically, how they've touched each others lives.
My fantastic beta: war_n_peace
Kink_Meme Prompt 1:
I want to see how the way Charles and Erik touch can say more than words. How they touch each other physically, how they've touched each others lives.
Prompt 2 (Picture prompt):
Erik touching Charles' legs for the first time after the bullet.
A/N These are snapshots, not a timeline. The title is one of my favourite Pablo Neruda poems, called "Your Hands."
The picture link above is the saddest.
I
His helmet lays on the ground beside the wheelchair, the metal of both winking in the moonlight like stars.
Erik presses his face into Charles' bare legs, because he can't yet meet his eyes. His hands are as heavy as his chest.
The sheets are cool under him, crumpled and white. Charles is warm.
Erik brushes his mouth, slow, along the line of his shin, the curves of his knees, the backs of them, until he is numb with the feeling of Charles under his lips like he knows Charles must be under him.
Charles watches him quietly, breathing softly, looking at him with soft eyes.
His hand moves to Erik's head-unprotected- and barely touches him. It hovers there, unsure if it is alright.
"No," Erik tells him, though he feels the weight of it anyway.
Charles lets his hand drop to his side.
He lets Erik's lips and fingers trace apologies into his skin.
He lets Erik press his sorrow into him, lets him wipe the guilt from his mouth and hand.
He lets Erik kiss him one more time and drown in the sound of seawater rising in his ears.
II
They fall silent.
The space between carved columns send long slants of light into shadow across the corridor, and they are somewhere in between.
Charles' breaths are heavy in the still air; they fall from his mouth, parted with an argument that died on his tongue long ago.
Erik pushes Charles back into the wall, a hand on his chest. Erik hesitates for a moment only at the brink of contact. It is the first time he has dared touch him and he is real and solid under his fingers. Erik presses close, his hand tightening to make sure.
Charles meets Erik's gaze steadily. He does not tell him to stop.
Erik's hands are made for violence, but this is something else. This is something new. Erik can feel Charles' heart thud under his hand but knows he is not afraid. The beat fills Erik's fist. He flattens his palm against it, surprised it does not echo off the stone.
Charles is breathless now.
Erik's hand comes up to hold his face. Charles' fingers wrap around his wrist to hold him there, and he closes his eyes though Erik is sure he sees him clearly.
He kisses Charles' hand before he kisses his lips.
III
It is still early morning, they have time.
Charles presses his face into Erik's neck and Erik kisses the top of his head, fingers kneading the back of his neck. Charles leans into his hand, the tips of his hair catching in the corners of Erik's mouth. Erik smiles and blows them back down, weightless.
Charles sits up suddenly, straddling Erik's lap on both knees. Erik looks up at him, amused.
He touches Erik's arm lightly, turning it over. Erik shifts in bed so that Charles can see the ink.
Charles runs his hand along the concave dip of his forearm, pulling him out of bed, pulling him towards the window, fingers brushing over his past not to cover it with his hand but to illuminate in the light.
Charles' skin is warm on his. Charles' mouth follows. He kisses Erik there, gently, earnestly, mouth branding words over numbers. Words of promise, of love, of friendship. The curve of his lips rewrites history, the flat of his palm offers a future within reach.
"Erik," he says.
Erik's breath catches and Charles' fingers move lower still, until his fingers tangle with his, until he holds his hand in his.
Charles told him once there was good in him, too. And for the first time, Erik believes him.
Charles kisses him and Erik closes his eyes against the brightness.
IV
"I love you, I love you."
Erik's mouth moves to Charles' neck, hands roaming up his stomach, rucking up his shirt. Charles presses their hips together, grinding desperately, feverishly.
"I love you."
Erik says it again and Charles' fingers stutter over his lips, Erik's mouth curving syllables around his fingertips as he kisses them, presses the meaning of it into each one.
"Touch me," Charles pants.
Erik does, taking Charles into his hand. He tries to touch Charles in every way he can. He tries to touch the deepest part of Charles like he has touched him, too deep to uproot, keeping him grounded with its weight. The need burns in his chest, slow like whiskey. It burns in his limbs, burns everything he touches.
Erik pushes into him and groans into Charles' open mouth. The heat sears through him, white-hot.
Erik is sweating and Charles is too, he can feel the dampness in Charles' hand when he pushes on Erik's chest and on his arms as he moans Erik's name.
Erik kisses Charles' chest as if he can reach his heart, with the hopelessness of a man who never wants to be alone again.
V
They sit on the hard steps, feeling the rush of wind between the pillars wind around them.
Charles has lost interest in their chess game. He looks off towards the Monument with his head in his hand. He grips the stone steps with his other and his knuckles jut out like little cliffs. Erik looks behind them. Lincoln's hands rest easily as he looks over the calm water.
"One day, my friend," Charles says and for the first time sounds uncertain. He knocks over a chess piece when he puts his hand down on the board. The bishop tumbles off the side.
Erik doesn't want to lie with his lips so he does with his hands. He covers Charles' hand with his and says nothing. Charles smiles gratefully, and turns back towards the water. Erik rubs his thumb over Charles', his fingers curling and uncurling against his palm. Charles hesitates, looking over his shoulder. He gives Erik's hand a little squeeze before letting go. Charles' hand lies next to his, they rest against each other. For now, the touch is enough. The brush of their hands is too much already.
By the time they come home, it is already dark out. Erik doesn't wait until they're inside. He kisses Charles again and again, cupping his face with both hands. Erik presses his thumb along his jaw, smooths the arch of his cheek. The gravel crunches under their feet. Erik buries his head into Charles' shoulder and wraps his arms around him to hold him close.
VI
Charles rushes at Erik, knocking him to the ground. Their bodies tumble over each other, scattering the white-hot sand into a searing sky.
The missiles drop towards the sea. Always the sea.
Charles hands are on Erik, tugging him down, holding him back, and he will be the reason Erik fails again.
"I don't want to hurt you, don't make me," Erik begs.
Another war has started. Charles is forcing his hand.
Charles reaches for his helmet; his fingers alone speak all the distrust his mouth will not. Erik feels the pinch of it in his chest, it sits heavy like a fist in his stomach. Erik strikes him across the face as if the hand is not his, stinging with betrayal before it even touches skin. Charles struggles against him and Erik straddles him on both knees to keep him pinned. He pushes Charles chest into the sand as gently as he can. Charles' fingers wrap around his wrist to hold him there. Erik can see it in his eyes, Charles is afraid. Erik's heart aches. He is afraid, too.
Erik rises and stops the missiles with his outstretched hand. He feels the power tingle in his fingers as he redirects fate.
But it is a numb feeling. He can still feel Charles' hand on him.
Erik is scared to let go.
The missiles hover in the sun. All he hears is silence.
Title: On the Surface of Grapes
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1313 words.
Summary: (kink_meme prompt) I want to see how the way Charles and Erik touch can say more than words. How they touch each other physically, how they've touched each others lives.
My fantastic beta: war_n_peace
Kink_Meme Prompt 1:
I want to see how the way Charles and Erik touch can say more than words. How they touch each other physically, how they've touched each others lives.
Prompt 2 (Picture prompt):
Erik touching Charles' legs for the first time after the bullet.
A/N These are snapshots, not a timeline. The title is one of my favourite Pablo Neruda poems, called "Your Hands."
The picture link above is the saddest.
I
His helmet lays on the ground beside the wheelchair, the metal of both winking in the moonlight like stars.
Erik presses his face into Charles' bare legs, because he can't yet meet his eyes. His hands are as heavy as his chest.
The sheets are cool under him, crumpled and white. Charles is warm.
Erik brushes his mouth, slow, along the line of his shin, the curves of his knees, the backs of them, until he is numb with the feeling of Charles under his lips like he knows Charles must be under him.
Charles watches him quietly, breathing softly, looking at him with soft eyes.
His hand moves to Erik's head-unprotected- and barely touches him. It hovers there, unsure if it is alright.
"No," Erik tells him, though he feels the weight of it anyway.
Charles lets his hand drop to his side.
He lets Erik's lips and fingers trace apologies into his skin.
He lets Erik press his sorrow into him, lets him wipe the guilt from his mouth and hand.
He lets Erik kiss him one more time and drown in the sound of seawater rising in his ears.
II
They fall silent.
The space between carved columns send long slants of light into shadow across the corridor, and they are somewhere in between.
Charles' breaths are heavy in the still air; they fall from his mouth, parted with an argument that died on his tongue long ago.
Erik pushes Charles back into the wall, a hand on his chest. Erik hesitates for a moment only at the brink of contact. It is the first time he has dared touch him and he is real and solid under his fingers. Erik presses close, his hand tightening to make sure.
Charles meets Erik's gaze steadily. He does not tell him to stop.
Erik's hands are made for violence, but this is something else. This is something new. Erik can feel Charles' heart thud under his hand but knows he is not afraid. The beat fills Erik's fist. He flattens his palm against it, surprised it does not echo off the stone.
Charles is breathless now.
Erik's hand comes up to hold his face. Charles' fingers wrap around his wrist to hold him there, and he closes his eyes though Erik is sure he sees him clearly.
He kisses Charles' hand before he kisses his lips.
III
It is still early morning, they have time.
Charles presses his face into Erik's neck and Erik kisses the top of his head, fingers kneading the back of his neck. Charles leans into his hand, the tips of his hair catching in the corners of Erik's mouth. Erik smiles and blows them back down, weightless.
Charles sits up suddenly, straddling Erik's lap on both knees. Erik looks up at him, amused.
He touches Erik's arm lightly, turning it over. Erik shifts in bed so that Charles can see the ink.
Charles runs his hand along the concave dip of his forearm, pulling him out of bed, pulling him towards the window, fingers brushing over his past not to cover it with his hand but to illuminate in the light.
Charles' skin is warm on his. Charles' mouth follows. He kisses Erik there, gently, earnestly, mouth branding words over numbers. Words of promise, of love, of friendship. The curve of his lips rewrites history, the flat of his palm offers a future within reach.
"Erik," he says.
Erik's breath catches and Charles' fingers move lower still, until his fingers tangle with his, until he holds his hand in his.
Charles told him once there was good in him, too. And for the first time, Erik believes him.
Charles kisses him and Erik closes his eyes against the brightness.
IV
"I love you, I love you."
Erik's mouth moves to Charles' neck, hands roaming up his stomach, rucking up his shirt. Charles presses their hips together, grinding desperately, feverishly.
"I love you."
Erik says it again and Charles' fingers stutter over his lips, Erik's mouth curving syllables around his fingertips as he kisses them, presses the meaning of it into each one.
"Touch me," Charles pants.
Erik does, taking Charles into his hand. He tries to touch Charles in every way he can. He tries to touch the deepest part of Charles like he has touched him, too deep to uproot, keeping him grounded with its weight. The need burns in his chest, slow like whiskey. It burns in his limbs, burns everything he touches.
Erik pushes into him and groans into Charles' open mouth. The heat sears through him, white-hot.
Erik is sweating and Charles is too, he can feel the dampness in Charles' hand when he pushes on Erik's chest and on his arms as he moans Erik's name.
Erik kisses Charles' chest as if he can reach his heart, with the hopelessness of a man who never wants to be alone again.
V
They sit on the hard steps, feeling the rush of wind between the pillars wind around them.
Charles has lost interest in their chess game. He looks off towards the Monument with his head in his hand. He grips the stone steps with his other and his knuckles jut out like little cliffs. Erik looks behind them. Lincoln's hands rest easily as he looks over the calm water.
"One day, my friend," Charles says and for the first time sounds uncertain. He knocks over a chess piece when he puts his hand down on the board. The bishop tumbles off the side.
Erik doesn't want to lie with his lips so he does with his hands. He covers Charles' hand with his and says nothing. Charles smiles gratefully, and turns back towards the water. Erik rubs his thumb over Charles', his fingers curling and uncurling against his palm. Charles hesitates, looking over his shoulder. He gives Erik's hand a little squeeze before letting go. Charles' hand lies next to his, they rest against each other. For now, the touch is enough. The brush of their hands is too much already.
By the time they come home, it is already dark out. Erik doesn't wait until they're inside. He kisses Charles again and again, cupping his face with both hands. Erik presses his thumb along his jaw, smooths the arch of his cheek. The gravel crunches under their feet. Erik buries his head into Charles' shoulder and wraps his arms around him to hold him close.
VI
Charles rushes at Erik, knocking him to the ground. Their bodies tumble over each other, scattering the white-hot sand into a searing sky.
The missiles drop towards the sea. Always the sea.
Charles hands are on Erik, tugging him down, holding him back, and he will be the reason Erik fails again.
"I don't want to hurt you, don't make me," Erik begs.
Another war has started. Charles is forcing his hand.
Charles reaches for his helmet; his fingers alone speak all the distrust his mouth will not. Erik feels the pinch of it in his chest, it sits heavy like a fist in his stomach. Erik strikes him across the face as if the hand is not his, stinging with betrayal before it even touches skin. Charles struggles against him and Erik straddles him on both knees to keep him pinned. He pushes Charles chest into the sand as gently as he can. Charles' fingers wrap around his wrist to hold him there. Erik can see it in his eyes, Charles is afraid. Erik's heart aches. He is afraid, too.
Erik rises and stops the missiles with his outstretched hand. He feels the power tingle in his fingers as he redirects fate.
But it is a numb feeling. He can still feel Charles' hand on him.
Erik is scared to let go.
The missiles hover in the sun. All he hears is silence.