Coup d'Etat
Title: Coup d'Etat
Author: paracaerouvoar
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Word count: 824
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Angst?
Summary: Fill over at 1stclass-kink for this prompt: On the beach, instead of tackling Erik, Charles takes his face between his hands and kisses him.
Notes: This kind of sucks. It just feels... off kilter. IDK. Maybe you lovely people can enlighten me. also, the amount of porn (nil) disgusts me a little, since it's for a fill at the kink meme, but I did what I could.
He has to stop Erik.
That’s all he knows right now. He doesn’t know how, just that he will.
And he’s shouting, Erik, Erik, but there’s something on his friend’s face that looks like the end, and Charles doesn’t need to be a mind reader to see that if he does this, there’s no going back. For either of them, because all that’s necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing, so Charles knows he has to do something.
He doesn’t know what the helmet’s made of, but he’s been battering at it with his mind, and it’s not budging, so he can’t stop Erik that way. He thinks briefly of tackling him, trying to break his focus, but the bigger mutant has five inches of height and twenty pounds of muscle on him, so it would be like hitting the size of an oil tanker with a tug boat.
All through this thought process, he’s been gaining on Erik, slowly, always shouting his name, shouting Erik and hoping this time will be the time he listens, he drops the bombs, but he’s not going to, and Charles has to do something, and he’s right next to Erik at this point, so he stands in front of him, grabs the helmet and pulls it down so he’s looking into Charles’ eyes. It’s still unnerving that he can’t hear his friend, hasn’t been deaf or blind like this in a long time, and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that it’s Erik that he’s deaf to. The taller man’s face, what he can see of it, is glistening, beads of sweat rolling down his face from exertion. He’s looking at Charles, but his mind is out there, following the missiles, and Charles doesn’t know what to do, so he says Erik again, soft, quiet, says Erik, please like he’s dying and for the first time since Erik put the helmet on, it’s like he sees Charles, really sees him, and his eyes shimmer with something. ‘Please don’t do this, Erik. You don’t need to do this.’ Charles breathes, and if a tear rolls down his face when Erik’s jaw tightens, his eyes turn angry, then the taller man pretends not to notice.
Charles closes his eyes, just for a second, trying to focus. He opens them, and there’s something ugly on Erik’s face, something like hate, but he’s not looking at Charles anymore, he’s looking out to sea, and Charles licks his lips, readjusts his grip on the helmet and pulls his face down again, tilting his own head up so that their lips meet briefly. It’s a quick kiss, but Erik’s eyes have snapped back to his, and his mouth is slightly open. Charles says nothing, just listens to the first splash as the missiles start hitting the water, and Erik’s focus snaps back, but there are too many missiles gone, falling into the sea, or exploding in mid-air, and he’s left with a handful of them, that he’s just holding. They’re not moving, and neither is he, just standing there with one arm outstretched towards the sea. He’s staring out there, jaw set again, like he’s trying not to look at Charles, and one lone tear slides down his cheek. He swipes it away angrily, but when Charles says Erik, let go another one falls, and he snarls. ‘What are you doing to me, Charles?’
‘Nothing,’ Charles says back, his voice still low, but they both ignore the hitch. ‘It’s all you, my friend. I have done nothing to you.’
They stare at each other, minutes passing, agonisingly slow, and Erik lowers his hand, even slower, and the missiles tumble towards the ocean. Charles hears them hit the water, but he’s still watching Erik, watching his throat work, his lips pressing together until they’re pale, bloodless. He reaches a hand up, squeezes Erik’s shoulder, and it’s like breaking down a wall. He opens his mouth slightly, draws in a shuddering breath, and flicks eyes wet with unshed tears from the sea to Charles, who just says take off the helmet, Erik. Please. You don’t need it, and he doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until the taller man’s hands come up to tug the helmet off, and he can see his friend’s face again, unadorned by metal, steel and chrome, and it’s like Charles can see again, like he’s regrown that lost limb whose phantom pain nagged at him. The swirling claws in his stomach dissipate, and he smiles, breathless, but happy.
He doesn’t pretend that he doesn’t know there won’t be another situation like this, because there’s a kind of darkness in Erik that’s stained deep into his heart, and if it’s not Shaw feeding him ideas, then he’ll come up with his own.
And if he were to say that that thought doesn’t scare him more than not being able to hear Erik, then he’s lying.
Author: paracaerouvoar
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Word count: 824
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Angst?
Summary: Fill over at 1stclass-kink for this prompt: On the beach, instead of tackling Erik, Charles takes his face between his hands and kisses him.
Notes: This kind of sucks. It just feels... off kilter. IDK. Maybe you lovely people can enlighten me. also, the amount of porn (nil) disgusts me a little, since it's for a fill at the kink meme, but I did what I could.
He has to stop Erik.
That’s all he knows right now. He doesn’t know how, just that he will.
And he’s shouting, Erik, Erik, but there’s something on his friend’s face that looks like the end, and Charles doesn’t need to be a mind reader to see that if he does this, there’s no going back. For either of them, because all that’s necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing, so Charles knows he has to do something.
He doesn’t know what the helmet’s made of, but he’s been battering at it with his mind, and it’s not budging, so he can’t stop Erik that way. He thinks briefly of tackling him, trying to break his focus, but the bigger mutant has five inches of height and twenty pounds of muscle on him, so it would be like hitting the size of an oil tanker with a tug boat.
All through this thought process, he’s been gaining on Erik, slowly, always shouting his name, shouting Erik and hoping this time will be the time he listens, he drops the bombs, but he’s not going to, and Charles has to do something, and he’s right next to Erik at this point, so he stands in front of him, grabs the helmet and pulls it down so he’s looking into Charles’ eyes. It’s still unnerving that he can’t hear his friend, hasn’t been deaf or blind like this in a long time, and he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that it’s Erik that he’s deaf to. The taller man’s face, what he can see of it, is glistening, beads of sweat rolling down his face from exertion. He’s looking at Charles, but his mind is out there, following the missiles, and Charles doesn’t know what to do, so he says Erik again, soft, quiet, says Erik, please like he’s dying and for the first time since Erik put the helmet on, it’s like he sees Charles, really sees him, and his eyes shimmer with something. ‘Please don’t do this, Erik. You don’t need to do this.’ Charles breathes, and if a tear rolls down his face when Erik’s jaw tightens, his eyes turn angry, then the taller man pretends not to notice.
Charles closes his eyes, just for a second, trying to focus. He opens them, and there’s something ugly on Erik’s face, something like hate, but he’s not looking at Charles anymore, he’s looking out to sea, and Charles licks his lips, readjusts his grip on the helmet and pulls his face down again, tilting his own head up so that their lips meet briefly. It’s a quick kiss, but Erik’s eyes have snapped back to his, and his mouth is slightly open. Charles says nothing, just listens to the first splash as the missiles start hitting the water, and Erik’s focus snaps back, but there are too many missiles gone, falling into the sea, or exploding in mid-air, and he’s left with a handful of them, that he’s just holding. They’re not moving, and neither is he, just standing there with one arm outstretched towards the sea. He’s staring out there, jaw set again, like he’s trying not to look at Charles, and one lone tear slides down his cheek. He swipes it away angrily, but when Charles says Erik, let go another one falls, and he snarls. ‘What are you doing to me, Charles?’
‘Nothing,’ Charles says back, his voice still low, but they both ignore the hitch. ‘It’s all you, my friend. I have done nothing to you.’
They stare at each other, minutes passing, agonisingly slow, and Erik lowers his hand, even slower, and the missiles tumble towards the ocean. Charles hears them hit the water, but he’s still watching Erik, watching his throat work, his lips pressing together until they’re pale, bloodless. He reaches a hand up, squeezes Erik’s shoulder, and it’s like breaking down a wall. He opens his mouth slightly, draws in a shuddering breath, and flicks eyes wet with unshed tears from the sea to Charles, who just says take off the helmet, Erik. Please. You don’t need it, and he doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until the taller man’s hands come up to tug the helmet off, and he can see his friend’s face again, unadorned by metal, steel and chrome, and it’s like Charles can see again, like he’s regrown that lost limb whose phantom pain nagged at him. The swirling claws in his stomach dissipate, and he smiles, breathless, but happy.
He doesn’t pretend that he doesn’t know there won’t be another situation like this, because there’s a kind of darkness in Erik that’s stained deep into his heart, and if it’s not Shaw feeding him ideas, then he’ll come up with his own.
And if he were to say that that thought doesn’t scare him more than not being able to hear Erik, then he’s lying.