[FIC] Please Proceed With Caution
(Fun Fact About Me: I cannot come up with good titles to save my life.)
Title: Please Proceed With Caution (1/1, complete)
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Five times Azazel teleported in on something awkward/uncomfortable/strange/private and one time he ended up in the right place at the right time for sex. Post-movie, AU where Shaw still dies but Charles and Erik never get divorced go their separate ways, so all the mutants--X-Men, Shaw's gang--go home to Xavier Mansion. My slightly revised fill for this prompt on xmen_firstkink.
A/N: Aw, look at me pretending I know what I'm doing. (HOW DO YOU LIVEJOURNAL)
1.
Azazel appears into the room, drops his blades right onto the floor, and heads for the bar.
It’s been a long day. The downside of being a skilled fighter with teleportation abilities means you’ll be doing two-thirds of Shaw's crazy little missions.
Determined for a damn drink, he walks right past the couch, and does a double take.
Azazel can’t really wrap his mind around it at first-the look of irritation in both Shaw and Emma’s eyes, the whip in Emma’s hand, the collar around Shaw’s neck, Emma’s ridiculous heels pressing into their boss’… rear end and oh god he does not want to know what the hell Emma is wearing down there-
Azazel thinks he might cry.
Emma clears her throat pointedly as Shaw tries his best to be glaring and scary with a ball gag in his mouth.
Azazel doesn’t need to be told twice.
2.
Understandably, it takes the children a while to get used to living under the same roof as Azazel and the rest of Shaw’s mutants (sans Emma, they are debating whether she’s worth breaking into a CIA facility; no one asks for Azazel’s opinion-yet?-but personally he’d like to leave her there. Being teammates for a while never meant he actually liked her, her and her fucking whistling).
The first to warm up to him, even if it’s by a few degrees, is Raven. He thinks she’s just friendly to anyone with a problematically visible mutation because she feels like they have a connection, even though two weeks ago Azazel tried to kill her friends.
Or she’s just a nice girl. Whatever. Azazel will take what he can get; strange as it is, he likes it here.
During the third week, Raven decides they’re at the level of friendship (or Agreeably Living In the Same Gigantic As Fuck House) where she can ask Azazel to use his powers to fetch something for her. Azazel really knows nothing of conventional friendship and how close one has to be with another to ask these sorts of favors, but after years of working for Shaw, it’s nice to hear “please” and “thank you,” so he nods and-whoosh.
“UUAAAAGHH!”
First thing Azazel sees is the bed-no, not the bed, the occupants of the bed all tangled up in each other: he catches a big blue blur and a pair of lanky legs swinging in the air, before they roll off the edge, safe on the floor behind the bed, away from the red mutant who’d appeared out of fucking nowhere and his incredulous stare-
“What the hell are you doing?” growls the top of a blue, furry head peeking up from its hiding place.
Azazel fidgets. That’s new. He never fidgets.
“… Soooo, this is not Raven’s room,” he says awkwardly. Jeez. She said third window on the left, maybe it was a different left from her perspective...
“No! No it’s not! Get the hell out!” another male voice shouts, coming from a head of tussled blond hair. Azazel does some adding up, puts two and two together, and… wow, he never would’ve guessed-
He teleports away in time to escape the lamp flung at his head.
3.
Whoosh.
“Do you mind?”
Angel is in his room for some reason, sitting naked in front of the mirror. Legs splayed out. A pair of trimming scissors in one hand. Azazel makes a choked noise.
“Oh, is that all you can say? Is that Russian? What does it even mean?” Snip, snip. ”Wait”-her voice takes on a new tone-“is this your first time seeing a pussy?”
“No,” Azazel does his best to snarl. “But why are you in my room?”
“Pffffft. I’m not trying to seduce you, dumbass.”
In the past, that would have earned Angel a one-way ticket to the bottom of the nearest lake, or into the path of a speeding car. But in the house of Charles Xavier, all Azazel can do is glare. And feel really uncomfortable.
“And anyway, you're in my room.” Snip.
Oh. He looks around. So it is.
“Y’know, walking is still an acceptable way to get around,” she continues. “At least until you get used to the place. I almost don’t blame you; it’s fucking huge for no reason.”
“Tell me about it,” Azazel groans.
“Yeah, boo-hoo, you’ll be fine. But could you leave now? I’m starting to feel a bit freaked out.” Snip, snip, snip.
Jesus Christ.
Azazel teleports properly to his room this time, and collapses onto the bed face first. He hears Riptide laughing, and tries to swat at him with his tail. “Get out.”
“What happened?” Azazel can hear the little shit-eating grin.
“I… went into Angel’s room. By accident.” He tries to explain this with as much dignity as possible. “She was trimming her…” He rolls over on his side and motions the area with his hand and Riptide nearly screams laughter.
“Congratulations!” He claps Azazel on the back heartily. “You dirty old man!”
“Get out, you pervert.”
“You get out. This is my room.”
Azazel howls.
4.
Besides sparring and a general interest in antique weaponry, Azazel also likes to read. He was quite pleased when Charles expressly told him he was always welcome to use his library, which was stuffed from wall to wall with all kinds of books.
He is not quite pleased to teleport in one evening to be greeted with the sound of a low, drawn-out moan.
Tentatively, he looks over his shoulder.
It’s Charles (judging by the dowdy cardigan), pinned to a bookshelf by Erik (judging by the… obscenely tight turtleneck). Erik’s mouth was attached to Charles’ neck, his hands hungrily exploring the telepath’s body.
They’re so into it they don’t even notice Azazel.
He starts to think he needs to go back to... traditional methods of getting around. But honestly, this time it isn’t even his fault. In fact, the only person this is hurting (psychologically) is Azazel. It’s a library, for fuck’s sake, everyone’s allowed in here, at any time whatsoever; it really could’ve been one of the children, one of them could secretly be a huge bookworm-and anyway, don’t they have bedrooms for this stuff? Is sex better in a library, or something?
Charles lets out another moan, higher-pitched and desperate.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He finds a suitable book and disappears.
(It turns out to be absolutely not suitable at all, it’s the most boring drivel Azazel’s ever read.)
(At breakfast the next morning, Charles keeps side-eyeing him. Then Erik does it too, and Azazel has to wolf down his waffles and mutter something about training before teleporting away.)
(Of course, he ends up five miles away from where he was supposed to be.)
5.
Azazel is always the first one awake in the mansion. He takes advantage of this, having private training sessions in the courtyard, in the peace and quiet of the early hours. Just because no one needs him to kill people on an almost-daily basis anymore doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep his senses sharp; if they are ever invaded or attacked, he’d be prepared.
Also, Charles wants him to teach the children basic combat skills, should they ever find themselves-God forbid-powerless in a fight. It doesn’t sound bad.
(Actually it sounds terrible. How is he supposed to teach a bunch of kids how to fight when they can’t even function normally with their hormones exploding all over the place? Seriously, Azazel was starting to think they just had sex all the time for no reason. He hadn't teleported in on them in a while, but sometimes if he was awake at the right time in the middle of the night, he’d hear thumping or moaning or, on one memorable occasion, and not the good kind of memorable, screaming.)
And he’s free from that horrible 8 a.m. rush, too. Of all the rooms in Xavier mansion, only two were bathrooms. That wasn’t enough for a household of nine mutants, five of which who claimed they always had to relieve themselves first thing after waking up, and two of which who were females who constantly argued over the time limits for hair and makeup.
So it really starts off fine, this one particular morning.
Azazel wakes at four, and he knows for a fact everyone else is still asleep. He pulls on some pants, and teleports to the nearest bathroom.
At four in the morning, it’s his bathroom. At least, it should be.
He doesn’t even notice anything at first. He finishes brushing his teeth before he finally realizes the shower is running, then the person inside notices him--and shrieks.
The shower doors shatter, which doesn’t help at all, since now Azazel can clearly see the gangly, freckly ginger standing in the tub.
“What are you doing in here?!” Sean yelps. “Get out!”
“What am I doing in here? You are not supposed to be awake!” Azazel shouts back. (Well, he doesn’t know he’s shouting; his ears are still ringing horribly.)
“Well, I am awake!”
“Why?! Why are you even awake at this hour?!”
“Because I am! Why are you still in here?! Getoutgetoutgetout!”
The mirror smashes. Azazel is pretty sure his ears are bleeding by now. (But they’re not, thankfully.)
Later that day he finds out Sean told everybody he was a pervert who watched young people shower.
Charles calls him into his office for a “talk.”
The only person who finds any light in this situation is Riptide, who thinks it's absolutely hilarious.
+1
Azazel never cries. Sadness, frustration, pain, extreme happiness-not one drop. (And anyhow, extreme happiness hadn’t been an option for a long, long time.)
Today, however, there is a small chance-microscopic-that he might burst out sobbing. And then go on a tearful killing spree. Because nothing was more intensely frustrating than training Xavier’s children.
He shudders at the memories, and teleports to his room with the intention of having a nice, long drink.
He finds Janos in his bed instead. Naked.
“Oh,” is all he can think to say. Then after a pause, “Am I in your room again?”
Another thing to potentially make Azazel weep: the sheer number of rooms in this damned castle. At least he’s stopped teleporting in on teenagers having sex. (Or showering. Sean is still convinced Azazel is a sexual predator.)
“No.”
“So what are you doing in here? And where are your clothes?” Because Janos’ bare chest is really, really impressive, and Azazel really, really wants to touch him.
Janos shrugs. “Don’t need ‘em. I was getting a little tired of being woken up by a bunch of teenagers fucking all night long, so I want to get payback.”
“But why are you-oh.” Then Azazel notices the obscene bulge under the covers, and realizes he can’t see Janos’ right hand. “Oh.”
Janos laughs, watching intently as Azazel removes his own shirt. “You know, when I called you a dirty old man that time, I didn’t mean it like a bad thing.”
“Really?” Lips stretched in a devilish grin, Azazel gets on the bed, moves so he’s on top of Janos.
“Yeah. You probably got more years of experience, right? I always think you would be really good… and imagine what you could do with that tail-ah!”
He gasps as Azazel licks his neck.
“Oh, I’ll show you what I can do with the tail.”
END
Oh I think I'm so clever
Title: Please Proceed With Caution (1/1, complete)
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Five times Azazel teleported in on something awkward/uncomfortable/strange/private and one time he ended up in the right place at the right time for sex. Post-movie, AU where Shaw still dies but Charles and Erik never get divorced go their separate ways, so all the mutants--X-Men, Shaw's gang--go home to Xavier Mansion. My slightly revised fill for this prompt on xmen_firstkink.
A/N: Aw, look at me pretending I know what I'm doing. (HOW DO YOU LIVEJOURNAL)
1.
Azazel appears into the room, drops his blades right onto the floor, and heads for the bar.
It’s been a long day. The downside of being a skilled fighter with teleportation abilities means you’ll be doing two-thirds of Shaw's crazy little missions.
Determined for a damn drink, he walks right past the couch, and does a double take.
Azazel can’t really wrap his mind around it at first-the look of irritation in both Shaw and Emma’s eyes, the whip in Emma’s hand, the collar around Shaw’s neck, Emma’s ridiculous heels pressing into their boss’… rear end and oh god he does not want to know what the hell Emma is wearing down there-
Azazel thinks he might cry.
Emma clears her throat pointedly as Shaw tries his best to be glaring and scary with a ball gag in his mouth.
Azazel doesn’t need to be told twice.
2.
Understandably, it takes the children a while to get used to living under the same roof as Azazel and the rest of Shaw’s mutants (sans Emma, they are debating whether she’s worth breaking into a CIA facility; no one asks for Azazel’s opinion-yet?-but personally he’d like to leave her there. Being teammates for a while never meant he actually liked her, her and her fucking whistling).
The first to warm up to him, even if it’s by a few degrees, is Raven. He thinks she’s just friendly to anyone with a problematically visible mutation because she feels like they have a connection, even though two weeks ago Azazel tried to kill her friends.
Or she’s just a nice girl. Whatever. Azazel will take what he can get; strange as it is, he likes it here.
During the third week, Raven decides they’re at the level of friendship (or Agreeably Living In the Same Gigantic As Fuck House) where she can ask Azazel to use his powers to fetch something for her. Azazel really knows nothing of conventional friendship and how close one has to be with another to ask these sorts of favors, but after years of working for Shaw, it’s nice to hear “please” and “thank you,” so he nods and-whoosh.
“UUAAAAGHH!”
First thing Azazel sees is the bed-no, not the bed, the occupants of the bed all tangled up in each other: he catches a big blue blur and a pair of lanky legs swinging in the air, before they roll off the edge, safe on the floor behind the bed, away from the red mutant who’d appeared out of fucking nowhere and his incredulous stare-
“What the hell are you doing?” growls the top of a blue, furry head peeking up from its hiding place.
Azazel fidgets. That’s new. He never fidgets.
“… Soooo, this is not Raven’s room,” he says awkwardly. Jeez. She said third window on the left, maybe it was a different left from her perspective...
“No! No it’s not! Get the hell out!” another male voice shouts, coming from a head of tussled blond hair. Azazel does some adding up, puts two and two together, and… wow, he never would’ve guessed-
He teleports away in time to escape the lamp flung at his head.
3.
Whoosh.
“Do you mind?”
Angel is in his room for some reason, sitting naked in front of the mirror. Legs splayed out. A pair of trimming scissors in one hand. Azazel makes a choked noise.
“Oh, is that all you can say? Is that Russian? What does it even mean?” Snip, snip. ”Wait”-her voice takes on a new tone-“is this your first time seeing a pussy?”
“No,” Azazel does his best to snarl. “But why are you in my room?”
“Pffffft. I’m not trying to seduce you, dumbass.”
In the past, that would have earned Angel a one-way ticket to the bottom of the nearest lake, or into the path of a speeding car. But in the house of Charles Xavier, all Azazel can do is glare. And feel really uncomfortable.
“And anyway, you're in my room.” Snip.
Oh. He looks around. So it is.
“Y’know, walking is still an acceptable way to get around,” she continues. “At least until you get used to the place. I almost don’t blame you; it’s fucking huge for no reason.”
“Tell me about it,” Azazel groans.
“Yeah, boo-hoo, you’ll be fine. But could you leave now? I’m starting to feel a bit freaked out.” Snip, snip, snip.
Jesus Christ.
Azazel teleports properly to his room this time, and collapses onto the bed face first. He hears Riptide laughing, and tries to swat at him with his tail. “Get out.”
“What happened?” Azazel can hear the little shit-eating grin.
“I… went into Angel’s room. By accident.” He tries to explain this with as much dignity as possible. “She was trimming her…” He rolls over on his side and motions the area with his hand and Riptide nearly screams laughter.
“Congratulations!” He claps Azazel on the back heartily. “You dirty old man!”
“Get out, you pervert.”
“You get out. This is my room.”
Azazel howls.
4.
Besides sparring and a general interest in antique weaponry, Azazel also likes to read. He was quite pleased when Charles expressly told him he was always welcome to use his library, which was stuffed from wall to wall with all kinds of books.
He is not quite pleased to teleport in one evening to be greeted with the sound of a low, drawn-out moan.
Tentatively, he looks over his shoulder.
It’s Charles (judging by the dowdy cardigan), pinned to a bookshelf by Erik (judging by the… obscenely tight turtleneck). Erik’s mouth was attached to Charles’ neck, his hands hungrily exploring the telepath’s body.
They’re so into it they don’t even notice Azazel.
He starts to think he needs to go back to... traditional methods of getting around. But honestly, this time it isn’t even his fault. In fact, the only person this is hurting (psychologically) is Azazel. It’s a library, for fuck’s sake, everyone’s allowed in here, at any time whatsoever; it really could’ve been one of the children, one of them could secretly be a huge bookworm-and anyway, don’t they have bedrooms for this stuff? Is sex better in a library, or something?
Charles lets out another moan, higher-pitched and desperate.
Jesus fucking Christ.
He finds a suitable book and disappears.
(It turns out to be absolutely not suitable at all, it’s the most boring drivel Azazel’s ever read.)
(At breakfast the next morning, Charles keeps side-eyeing him. Then Erik does it too, and Azazel has to wolf down his waffles and mutter something about training before teleporting away.)
(Of course, he ends up five miles away from where he was supposed to be.)
5.
Azazel is always the first one awake in the mansion. He takes advantage of this, having private training sessions in the courtyard, in the peace and quiet of the early hours. Just because no one needs him to kill people on an almost-daily basis anymore doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep his senses sharp; if they are ever invaded or attacked, he’d be prepared.
Also, Charles wants him to teach the children basic combat skills, should they ever find themselves-God forbid-powerless in a fight. It doesn’t sound bad.
(Actually it sounds terrible. How is he supposed to teach a bunch of kids how to fight when they can’t even function normally with their hormones exploding all over the place? Seriously, Azazel was starting to think they just had sex all the time for no reason. He hadn't teleported in on them in a while, but sometimes if he was awake at the right time in the middle of the night, he’d hear thumping or moaning or, on one memorable occasion, and not the good kind of memorable, screaming.)
And he’s free from that horrible 8 a.m. rush, too. Of all the rooms in Xavier mansion, only two were bathrooms. That wasn’t enough for a household of nine mutants, five of which who claimed they always had to relieve themselves first thing after waking up, and two of which who were females who constantly argued over the time limits for hair and makeup.
So it really starts off fine, this one particular morning.
Azazel wakes at four, and he knows for a fact everyone else is still asleep. He pulls on some pants, and teleports to the nearest bathroom.
At four in the morning, it’s his bathroom. At least, it should be.
He doesn’t even notice anything at first. He finishes brushing his teeth before he finally realizes the shower is running, then the person inside notices him--and shrieks.
The shower doors shatter, which doesn’t help at all, since now Azazel can clearly see the gangly, freckly ginger standing in the tub.
“What are you doing in here?!” Sean yelps. “Get out!”
“What am I doing in here? You are not supposed to be awake!” Azazel shouts back. (Well, he doesn’t know he’s shouting; his ears are still ringing horribly.)
“Well, I am awake!”
“Why?! Why are you even awake at this hour?!”
“Because I am! Why are you still in here?! Getoutgetoutgetout!”
The mirror smashes. Azazel is pretty sure his ears are bleeding by now. (But they’re not, thankfully.)
Later that day he finds out Sean told everybody he was a pervert who watched young people shower.
Charles calls him into his office for a “talk.”
The only person who finds any light in this situation is Riptide, who thinks it's absolutely hilarious.
+1
Azazel never cries. Sadness, frustration, pain, extreme happiness-not one drop. (And anyhow, extreme happiness hadn’t been an option for a long, long time.)
Today, however, there is a small chance-microscopic-that he might burst out sobbing. And then go on a tearful killing spree. Because nothing was more intensely frustrating than training Xavier’s children.
He shudders at the memories, and teleports to his room with the intention of having a nice, long drink.
He finds Janos in his bed instead. Naked.
“Oh,” is all he can think to say. Then after a pause, “Am I in your room again?”
Another thing to potentially make Azazel weep: the sheer number of rooms in this damned castle. At least he’s stopped teleporting in on teenagers having sex. (Or showering. Sean is still convinced Azazel is a sexual predator.)
“No.”
“So what are you doing in here? And where are your clothes?” Because Janos’ bare chest is really, really impressive, and Azazel really, really wants to touch him.
Janos shrugs. “Don’t need ‘em. I was getting a little tired of being woken up by a bunch of teenagers fucking all night long, so I want to get payback.”
“But why are you-oh.” Then Azazel notices the obscene bulge under the covers, and realizes he can’t see Janos’ right hand. “Oh.”
Janos laughs, watching intently as Azazel removes his own shirt. “You know, when I called you a dirty old man that time, I didn’t mean it like a bad thing.”
“Really?” Lips stretched in a devilish grin, Azazel gets on the bed, moves so he’s on top of Janos.
“Yeah. You probably got more years of experience, right? I always think you would be really good… and imagine what you could do with that tail-ah!”
He gasps as Azazel licks his neck.
“Oh, I’ll show you what I can do with the tail.”
END
Oh I think I'm so clever