5 Fill Fics for X-Men 1st Class, and one for True Blood
Five fills, of varying quality because I was/am awfully rusty. If you want to know, my favorites are #3 and #5 (and the True Blood one).
1. Prompt: Charles/Everyone -- "Charles loves mutants, and mutants loves Charles. (you know you want it)"
Can be found: here
"And what can you do?" Charles leaned forward eagerly, only wobbling a bit. "No, wait -- don't tell me!" He pressed two fingers to his temple and scrunched up his face in a caricature of concentration. "Controlling water? Oh, why that's brilliant! Come here, you!"
And on over the young idiot came, inexplicably charmed -- come to think of it, it might have to do with the open bar. Erik was beginning to see why Charles had been so in favor of the idea. He frowned at his pocket-watch and resumed polishing it. He looked up again, ever the masochist, and Charles and Mr. Glorified-Clothes-Washer were tonsil-deep in each other's throats, hands everywhere. Boxers, so recently located after such struggle, were once again flung aside heedlessly.
Erik was never taking Charles out again. And he was not helping locate those stupid old boxers.
"Mmm, hmm," come a low giggle from the floor. Miss Leopard-Eyes was quite happy to be joined by Charles and his newest addition. Erik cast his bored gaze about the room. The sign with the name of the convention was still partly pinned up, though one end now dragged on the floor. probably courtesy of some mutant matriculant a bit unsure of her footing after all those gin fizzes.
"Erik," he heard from near his foot. "Oh, Erik."
"I'm disgusted with you," Erik explained dismissively. "I won't associate with you right now. Not till you get shots, or something."
"Erik, you dog. Don't lie, it's not at all sexy."
Erik put down the watch and glared witheringly at Charles, who blinked at him sleepily.
"Come here," Charles requested, carefully not using his power, unless one included the power of his smoldering gaze. "Give us a kiss."
Erik snorted a laugh out of his nose, then couldn't hold in the rest of it. He leant down, holding Charles' face with one hand more for reasons of support than romance, and pressed his lips to Charles'. And no matter what had lead to it, a kiss from Charles only ever ended one way: with Erik out of breath, confused, and very, very pleased.
"Ah, yes," he whispered into Charles' ear. "And Charles? Get on with it, please."
He rose, finding his seat again, as Charles stumbled to his feet and over to a busty pink-haired young woman. "I must say, that is a stunning shade on you," he heard Charles greet her. Erik rolled his eyes. The man might be on his good side right now, but if this caused them to miss their appointment tomorrow, Charles would have hell to pay.
2. Prompt:
Charles/Several Others. Telepathic voyeurism (LOL I don't even know)
"Charles enters the minds of various members of the team (whether by choice, by compulsion, some sort of sex pollen, author's choice!), and he finds sexual fantasies involving him. Some are vanilla and sweet, some are really kinky, some are just dirtybadwrong. "
Can be found here
Charles wasn't getting up today. Really. He might just sit here, all day, in bed. He had a fever.
Charles had only ever had a fever twice in his life, and they were both wretched memories. The first time he'd been six, far before his powers developed, and that was unpleasant enough. The second time he'd been thirteen, and... no. He'd been delirious for some of it, but what he could remember was utterly awful. His mother mentally cataloging his father's inadequacies. Raven, young and full of misconceptions, fantasizing about licking her older brother's ears and his mouth on her belly-button. The garbageman mentally flashing to twisted, depraved images of Charles as the two greet each other politely and Charles tries his best to explain that the lids needed to be left on, stuttering and flushing from mortification.
Charles had more control, so much more control of his ability now. But with a fever... he just didn't want to test it.
Of course, when did anyone ever leave Charles alone? Never, really.
A knock pounded through the silent room. Charles glared through the door at Hank, who felt well-intentioned and oblivious.
“Come in, Hank,” he called, deceptively cheerful.
“Hey, Professor, sorry to wake you but we're getting some really strange readings on the radiation map and I was sort of hoping...” Hank frowned at Charles, his thoughts turning from all his delightful instruments to concern. “Professor?”
Charles realized he was staring stonily at his bedspread. “Oh. Yes.” He tried for a reassuring smile. “Of course, Hank. Please give me a moment.”
Hank wavered for one or two seconds, then nodded officially and left. Behind him, Charles swung the door shut. Drat. Hellfire and damnation. Curses.
Charles fell back with a thunk onto his pillow, giving himself one more glorious minute. Then he sat up, threw aside the blanket, and swung his feet onto the floor.
There was obviously some sort of commotion. Charles walked into the sitting room, joining Hank, Alex and Moira. Where was Erik? Grumpily Charles wished for his presence.
“Oh, Professor. Are you feeling okay?” Hank turned worried eyes his way, and a wave of concern swelled from his direction. Charles had to smile.
“I fear I'm coming down with something, but I'm all right for now, Hank. Thank you for asking.”
Hank nodded and continued with his explanation to the others. Charles looked over at Alex, whose mind seemed to be vacillating between following Hank's words and picturing how adorable he would be getting scratched behind the ears. Charles sighed. This is exactly what he knew would happen. Well, no - not this exactly. This was a bit unexpected. But there was always something strange. Charles stared icily at Alex, who was watching Hank dreamily and didn't notice. Hopeless.
Ah, well. He still had a job to do, yes? He tried to concentrate on Hank's words - hmm, he really should make an assay himself if the machines might just be off due to unusual weather patterns. Goodness, they must be awfully sensitive to be affected by solar flares - until the humming in his mind became so loud he couldn't ignore it.
“Moira?” he turned to face her and raised his eyebrows in surprise. It felt early, but her mind was already quite abuzz. He could see a male coworker making a rude remark back at headquarters, and her flash of defiance; how one might take down three people in a sitting room in under five seconds; the thrill of seeing Sean fly for the first time. And as he made eye contact, another thought joined them, and Charles felt himself go pink.
“Charles?” Moira asked. “What is it?”
Charles had no idea how she could sit there with a straight face with that sort of smut in her head. For one thing, he'd never experimented in any such fashion, thank you very much. And for another, why did she have to include the banana? Did they even have bananas?
“I,” he struggled, “oh, nothing. Nevermind.”
“Are you sure you should be down here?” she asked, features showing concern. “Hank did mention that it's probably just the weather. The likelihood of a mutant attack here is very slim, you know that.” And now the banana was in her ass, and her tongue in his, and her hand on his--
“No, no, no problem,” Charles stammered, not meeting her eyes. “I think I'll just... go have a bite to eat. And a cup of coffee. That should do the trick.”
He padded over to the kitchen and set to brewing a pot. He sat down slowly, trying not to think about Moira and her surprisingly vivid fantasies.
“Charles?” Raven. Charles tensed in anticipation.
“In the kitchen,” he called back.
“Hey,” she greeted, touching his shoulder. “Good morning.” Charles felt her sudden, powerful desire to kiss him.
“Good morning,” he spoke quietly, looking up to her face. She gave him a confused half-smile and went to grab herself some orange juice. He smiled fondly at her back.
He never read Raven's mind, when he could help it, but it was just as he remembered, just as he thought it would be, and it made him catch his breath with the intensity of it. Her feelings - and perhaps Charles could admit to some bias here - were some of the most beautiful he'd ever felt. So much love radiated from her, barely classifiable as this or that, romantic, sisterly, platonic. She felt herself in love with him, but it was never quite that, and to make it so would be somehow to diminish it.
He had to get up to pour his coffee, and as she sat in the next seat over he felt her admiring his ass. Lovely. Raven was a wonderful girl and she would find love soon, but frankly it could not be soon enough.
“I should get back to them,” he murmured, and excused himself from the room. He hoped she didn't notice his haste. Echoes followed him down the corridor, Raven sitting in his lap instead of next to him, bringing her mouth down to his. He was almost running outright by the time he made it out to the courtyard.
Shock of shocks, it wasn't a mutant attack. Charles looked down into his coffee and sighed. It felt as though Hank had just figured it out. Waves of relief emanated from the sitting room, and some even more untoward thoughts coming from Alex concerning Hank. Gracious.
He'd reached a favorite bench. With a weary smile, Charles sat and began to enjoy his coffee. Birds were twittering, and he spent a few minutes there listening to them. Their simple little minds were mere distractions, soothing even.
He became aware of a dark cloud, like an approaching storm. As it drew nearer, the mass clarified and separated, and he realized he was feeling the scars of Erik's mind. Charles' breath sped up slightly, and his fingers clutched his mug. He gave serious thought to getting up (running away), but now he could see Erik on the horizon, jogging down the path, and Erik saw him as well.
At first there was nothing but companionable feelings and admiration, and Charles relaxed a bit. Then he looked up and met Erik's eyes. His breath caught.
There was everything he knew he'd find, the anger, scarred-over betrayal, lingering self-doubt and the ever-present hurt that felt to Charles like a physical blow. And there, like a sparrow in a maelstrom - awed gratitude, hope, and defiant love. It wore his face.
Charles' wall was gone, and he knew his mind must be blasting everywhere, but it was difficult to care. In a breath, he felt his feelings returned, doubled, shared so thoroughly he could not say who felt what, save that it was both of them. “Erik,” he said faintly, and Erik took his hand, shaking as the power of it threatened to consume them both.
After it died down a bit, Erik felt comfortable asking, “So what in all blessed Earth was that?”
“Have a seat,” Charles requested. Erik did so. “I... I read your mind. I'm sorry.”
“You're telepathic.” Erik responded, sounding quite skeptical. “Isn't that your thing?”
“Well, yes, but I don't usually, that is, I try not to... Erik.” He looked over sharply. “It appears you are in love with me.”
Erik blinked at him, emitting waves of terror.
“And I you, I mean to say. We seem to be rather... in love. With each other.” Charles didn't mean to put it so bluntly; it's quite possible he's still shell-shocked.
“Oh,” Erik offered. The bastard. Charles sneezed; he should really just get back to bed.
“So,” Charles tried again, “perhaps we should, erm--”
Some how, impossibly, Erik's kiss took him by surprise.
3. Prompt: Sean/Alex/Hank -- With Charles busy with setting up the school and brooding over Erik, the three boys form an oddly functional relationship between them. It could be porny or fluffy but I just want to see these three boys is a happy little relationship.
Can be found here
Disclaimer: I apparently made this the gay X-Men version of a Kevin Smith movie. Wut.
Sean picks the worst possible time to bring it up.
The chick on screen is moaning and Alex is mostly focused on her, though he admits to satisfying his curiosity bout Hank momentarily, and then Sean has to bring it up, right when things are getting good.
"Hey," he says matter-of-factly. "We could totally just all go for it. Like, all fuck."
Alex slows down and stares at him, incredulous.
"You know it would be good," Sean defends, smirking. "I would totally rock both your worlds."
While Alex is still gaping, Sean reaches over and grabs his dick, his palm slicked with something lubricating, and twists as he tugs.
"Ah..." Alex leans forward, mouth opening as he comes, "ah god... ungh!" His breath is coming in gasps, his face flushed with blood.
Sean sits back. "See?" he points out.
They have to admit he makes a good case.
-----
Two weeks later on a Thursday night, Sean's pencil skitters across the floor as his patience for matrices abruptly comes to an end.
"Hank," he nudges a large furry knee. "Let's try it, man. Come on. I can take it."
"Do you seriously want to?" Hank looks a bit bashful, which is ridiculous.
"Hell yeah, dude! Stick that thing up my ass! You'll both wish you were me by the end of the night."
"Is it really...?" Alex interjects. "I mean, *really*?"
Sean grins lasciviously.
"Well, then," Alex hesitates. "Could I try?"
Sean nods. "Sure, mate. Right after I get my turn."
Hank huffs indignantly. "You know, I never actually gave my --"
"Why?" Alex protests. "Why do you get to go first?"
"Alex!" Hank sounds appalled.
"Well..." Alex amends hastily, shooting Hank a guilty glance. "If you two are doing that, where am I?"
"Easy," Sean declares. "I'll fuck you."
Alex bites his lip for a moment, suddenly feeling doubtful. "I don't know. Couldn't I do Hank?"
"What led you to conclude that I am okay with that?" Hank demands.
"Well," Alex purses his lips. "Fine. But Hank? You're doing my algebra. And Sean owes me his bacon tomorrow morning."
Sean huffs, but nods. "Fine. Come on, I've got a gigantic stiffy."
Alex snorts a laugh at that. Hanks gets up, his voice rumbling low as he asks where they left the oil. Turns out the bottle is empty. Someone has to steal down to the kitchen and pilfer more.
They make Alex do it.
4. Prompt: Erik/Charles -- Romeo and Juliet
So. There's the epic love and the on-opposite-sides-not-meant-to-be thing. So I'd like a fic where Charles and Erik are pretty much Romeo and Juliet even moreso than they already are, with the fighting yet *still* unable to stay away from each other (yay for secret rendezvous). Whether it follows the sad ending of the real play, or manages to resolve into a happy ending somehow doesn't matter. As long as there is focus on loving each other despite the ideological differences (and all the angst that entails)
Fine, I admit it. I wouldn't want a crack!fill either, but I'd rather a serious one
Can be found here
Disclaimer: I hope everybody isn't totally OOC like wittering ladies! I hate that in a fic. Guess we'll see :x
Magneto was training with his sullen new fire-master when he heard it, but he could've been rescuing Emma, or breaking into a government building, or buying his bloody groceries.
Erik, his mind spoke. please come.
He turned, waved the boy off, and left, as quickly as he could go.
Each time the door opened there he was, a man who had the day before been something between a memory and a dream. The first time had begun with pain, seeing him in that chair, but it had become something else, so very difficult to abandon. Now there was only happiness, amusement at Charles' hair turning gray and excitement at seeing him again, even if in some lonely old cabin, purchased and forgotten decades past.
"Erik!" that smile always made him catch his breath the first few times, probably always would.
"Charles," he stepped forward with a smile of his own. Approaching his friend, Erik knelt on one knee for the kiss. It began timidly, blooming into something almost desperate.
"What is it, love?" Erik breathed into Charles' ear. Charles' breath hitched.
"Please, not now," his voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat.
"Of course not," Erik smirked, drawing back. "Right to business, yes?" He climbed into Charles' lap, and let Charles' naughty hands and naughtier brain get to work.
"You're excellent at that," Erik remarks, now lying on the cot, a scant three feet from Charles' chair.
"What, you think just because I don't get practice I'll lose my edge?" Charles exhales a laugh. "I overhear my students doing it dozens of times a day. Believe me, it's more than anyone would want to know."
"Dozens of times a day, hmm?" Erik growls. "And which student is that?"
Charles laughs, and swats at him, and then the laughter breaks into tears. Erik quickly draws himself up to hold him.
"Darwin and Gabriel aren't coming back, Erik," Charles says into Erik's left shoulder. "It looks as if they might be dead." Erik only knows them from brief glimpses in the field, but Charles' mind has gotten everywhere now, and he is bombarded with borrowed memories, pride, relief, love. They seem like good kids, and Erik feels a shadow of Charles' pain in himself.
"What happened?" He asks.
"Rescue mission went wrong," Charles confesses. "And then I'll have to... oh god, Erik."
Erik wants to hold him tighter but he knows he's already verging on painful. He presses his face into Charles' hair.
"Alright Erik," Charles begins some minutes later. "That's enough." Erik draws back, confused.
"What?" Charles only makes insistent motions, and Erik's face closes off. "I don't understand, is this somehow my fault as well? Or are you done with me already?" Schieße. He hadn't meant to anger so quickly. They needed more time...
"How dare you," Charles sounded only hurt, despite his words. "How dare you accuse me of using this. And perhaps if you could only see the consequences of--" He fell silent, breathing hard.
"We don't need to do this right now, Charles," Erik offered, hoping it would do for an apology.
"No." Charles nodded and exhaled, features smoothing. "We do not." He looked up to meet Erik's eyes, and as he studied Erik's features, his eyes filled with wonder. Erik found himself smiling back, quite without meaning to.
"You know what?" Erik begins. "Let's get you into that bed."
5. Prompt: Any, Doctor Who Crossover.
Can be found here
I only wrote a "microfill", but it has since spawned an actual fic that, so far, I am in fact quite pleased with. Here's the fill:
"This," Charles proclaims, "explains so much!"
Grinning like a madman, he hands Erik the pocketwatch.
True Blood Meme (prompt can be found here)
Prompt: sam/tommy - the brothers put their UST and angst to use
“Why don't you understand that you can't just do shit like this, Tommy?” Sam has stopped even trying to keep his voice down; thank god they're in the back. “A woman takes you in, you can't just stab her in the goddamn back!”
“Oh come on,” Tommy spits back. “Like she's gonna do shit with it. Give her a decent price for the house, she'll be fine. Woman wastes all her money anyways. Might as well cut out the middleman and cut the Home Shoppin' Network a check.”
“How?” Sam demands, grabbing his brother with both hands. “How the fuck are you like this? How do you not see how wrong that is?!” He's panting, face red. Tommy feels the hands gripping his shoulders and stares right into back into Sam's eyes, for one second, then two. Then he makes a decision.
Tommy leans forward and kisses Sam.
Sam's mouth is a bit open already, and for a moment he lets it happen, breathless and hungry. Then he seems to remember himself.
“What the fuck?!” Sam's voice is barely above a whisper, as all at once he remembers they might be overheard. “What the fuck was that, Tommy? I know you ain't that fucked up.”
“Fuck you!” Tommy is enraged. He wants to fly away and howl under the moon and trample across the town. He wants to fuck shit up, beat on somebody, catch a rabbit and tear into it with bloody teeth. “How would you even know, huh? Where the fuck were you instead of with your family? Family's supposed to take care of each other. Not fucking SHOOT each other!” To his complete mortification, Tommy's lip starts to tremble, and his vision blurs. He blinks a few extra times to make the tears go away, please, go away.
Sam looks at the floor, then meets Tommy's eyes, and he looks hurt, confused, conflicted.
“Ah, shit,” he speaks, mouth twisting with his words. Then he grabs Tommy again and pulls his brother's face to his.
It starts out rough, Tommy pushing forward seeking more, Sam backing up until he hits the desk. Tommy withdraws for a second and reaches for the hem of his shirt, but Sam whips it off before Tommy can get there and Tommy surges forward at that, one knee making its way between Sam's. He paws at Sam's shirt until it's off, then wastes no time before reaching for Sam's belt buckle, though his fingers fumble because of the angle. He swears under his breath and hears Sam chuckle, which just pisses him off more.
“Hey, hey, I got it,” Sam murmurs into his ear, undoing his buckle and opening his fly. One hand touches Tommy's jaw, just holding him there, and the other sneaks under his arm. Sam turns Tommy's face to his, smiling when Tommy meets his gaze. He leans forward, and kisses gently, sliding his hand up Tommy's jaw to card through his hair.
Then he backs off, and Tommy looks at him with lost, frightened eyes.
“Go on,” Sam says with a smile. “Be anything you like. I'll follow.”
Tommy still looks confused, but he smiles back just a little. Then he shucks his remaining clothing, and quick as a flash he's out the window, sprinting off into the woods as fast as a bulldog can go. Sam hastily abandons his own clothes and gives chase.
Tommy runs blindly through the woods, sure of less at this moment than ever before. Fear keeps him moving, sometimes, and anger, and it's only as he slows down, exhausted, that his nerves calm the least bit. He turns, after a minute or two, and Sam is trotting over to him. Then he's walking, human once more. He reaches Tommy and waits, unhurried. Tommy looks up at him, blinks once, and then shoots up to his human height again, surprised for a moment when Sam shows no concern for his scars.
“Lie down,” Tommy tells him, with no idea whether Sam will do it. But Sam nods and lies on his back in the grass, propping himself up on the elbows. Tommy kneels and hovers over him, uncertain how to proceed.
He leans forward and captures Sam's mouth, rough and claiming, but Sam responds calmly and Tommy loses momentum, the kiss slowing down. They roll a bit and now they're side by side, facing each other. Tommy swallows. Sam grins at him, actually grins. Then he licks his hand, reaches forward, and grabs Tommy's dick.
Tommy gasps, holding Sam's shoulders as he's worked, nails digging in, breaths harsh and jagged. He thinks maybe he should reciprocate but that seems totally beyond him right now, oh god, so much better at this than Beth-Ann, how does he, oh god, fuck yes. He kisses Sam again, happy to keep on like this forever, just him and Sam together under the waxing moon. He has to pull away for air as he begins to climax, and as it overtakes him he leans in one more time and bites, hard as he can, into the meat of Sam's shoulder, grunting into it as he spills into Sam's hand.
Tommy leans back, dazed. Sam frantically grabs his hand and guides it to his dick, and in a few strokes Sam is coming too, with a whispered “oh, jesus.” Tommy can't look away from his face, and when Sam opens his eyes Tommy is still staring, open-mouthed.
Sam smiles sleepily at Tommy, evoking an answering smile, and kisses Tommy's forehead. “See?” he asks, low and amused. “I told you I was just as fucked up as you. We're family, boy. We're all nuts.”
And with that, he pushes Tommy over to face the other way and curls up behind him, nose touching the back of Tommy's neck. He drops right off to sleep. And Tommy knows something crazy just went down, can't even quite grasp it, but he feels warm and safe and before he can worry too much he's asleep too, face unlined, soothed by the chirping of crickets.
1. Prompt: Charles/Everyone -- "Charles loves mutants, and mutants loves Charles. (you know you want it)"
Can be found: here
"And what can you do?" Charles leaned forward eagerly, only wobbling a bit. "No, wait -- don't tell me!" He pressed two fingers to his temple and scrunched up his face in a caricature of concentration. "Controlling water? Oh, why that's brilliant! Come here, you!"
And on over the young idiot came, inexplicably charmed -- come to think of it, it might have to do with the open bar. Erik was beginning to see why Charles had been so in favor of the idea. He frowned at his pocket-watch and resumed polishing it. He looked up again, ever the masochist, and Charles and Mr. Glorified-Clothes-Washer were tonsil-deep in each other's throats, hands everywhere. Boxers, so recently located after such struggle, were once again flung aside heedlessly.
Erik was never taking Charles out again. And he was not helping locate those stupid old boxers.
"Mmm, hmm," come a low giggle from the floor. Miss Leopard-Eyes was quite happy to be joined by Charles and his newest addition. Erik cast his bored gaze about the room. The sign with the name of the convention was still partly pinned up, though one end now dragged on the floor. probably courtesy of some mutant matriculant a bit unsure of her footing after all those gin fizzes.
"Erik," he heard from near his foot. "Oh, Erik."
"I'm disgusted with you," Erik explained dismissively. "I won't associate with you right now. Not till you get shots, or something."
"Erik, you dog. Don't lie, it's not at all sexy."
Erik put down the watch and glared witheringly at Charles, who blinked at him sleepily.
"Come here," Charles requested, carefully not using his power, unless one included the power of his smoldering gaze. "Give us a kiss."
Erik snorted a laugh out of his nose, then couldn't hold in the rest of it. He leant down, holding Charles' face with one hand more for reasons of support than romance, and pressed his lips to Charles'. And no matter what had lead to it, a kiss from Charles only ever ended one way: with Erik out of breath, confused, and very, very pleased.
"Ah, yes," he whispered into Charles' ear. "And Charles? Get on with it, please."
He rose, finding his seat again, as Charles stumbled to his feet and over to a busty pink-haired young woman. "I must say, that is a stunning shade on you," he heard Charles greet her. Erik rolled his eyes. The man might be on his good side right now, but if this caused them to miss their appointment tomorrow, Charles would have hell to pay.
2. Prompt:
Charles/Several Others. Telepathic voyeurism (LOL I don't even know)
"Charles enters the minds of various members of the team (whether by choice, by compulsion, some sort of sex pollen, author's choice!), and he finds sexual fantasies involving him. Some are vanilla and sweet, some are really kinky, some are just dirtybadwrong. "
Can be found here
Charles wasn't getting up today. Really. He might just sit here, all day, in bed. He had a fever.
Charles had only ever had a fever twice in his life, and they were both wretched memories. The first time he'd been six, far before his powers developed, and that was unpleasant enough. The second time he'd been thirteen, and... no. He'd been delirious for some of it, but what he could remember was utterly awful. His mother mentally cataloging his father's inadequacies. Raven, young and full of misconceptions, fantasizing about licking her older brother's ears and his mouth on her belly-button. The garbageman mentally flashing to twisted, depraved images of Charles as the two greet each other politely and Charles tries his best to explain that the lids needed to be left on, stuttering and flushing from mortification.
Charles had more control, so much more control of his ability now. But with a fever... he just didn't want to test it.
Of course, when did anyone ever leave Charles alone? Never, really.
A knock pounded through the silent room. Charles glared through the door at Hank, who felt well-intentioned and oblivious.
“Come in, Hank,” he called, deceptively cheerful.
“Hey, Professor, sorry to wake you but we're getting some really strange readings on the radiation map and I was sort of hoping...” Hank frowned at Charles, his thoughts turning from all his delightful instruments to concern. “Professor?”
Charles realized he was staring stonily at his bedspread. “Oh. Yes.” He tried for a reassuring smile. “Of course, Hank. Please give me a moment.”
Hank wavered for one or two seconds, then nodded officially and left. Behind him, Charles swung the door shut. Drat. Hellfire and damnation. Curses.
Charles fell back with a thunk onto his pillow, giving himself one more glorious minute. Then he sat up, threw aside the blanket, and swung his feet onto the floor.
There was obviously some sort of commotion. Charles walked into the sitting room, joining Hank, Alex and Moira. Where was Erik? Grumpily Charles wished for his presence.
“Oh, Professor. Are you feeling okay?” Hank turned worried eyes his way, and a wave of concern swelled from his direction. Charles had to smile.
“I fear I'm coming down with something, but I'm all right for now, Hank. Thank you for asking.”
Hank nodded and continued with his explanation to the others. Charles looked over at Alex, whose mind seemed to be vacillating between following Hank's words and picturing how adorable he would be getting scratched behind the ears. Charles sighed. This is exactly what he knew would happen. Well, no - not this exactly. This was a bit unexpected. But there was always something strange. Charles stared icily at Alex, who was watching Hank dreamily and didn't notice. Hopeless.
Ah, well. He still had a job to do, yes? He tried to concentrate on Hank's words - hmm, he really should make an assay himself if the machines might just be off due to unusual weather patterns. Goodness, they must be awfully sensitive to be affected by solar flares - until the humming in his mind became so loud he couldn't ignore it.
“Moira?” he turned to face her and raised his eyebrows in surprise. It felt early, but her mind was already quite abuzz. He could see a male coworker making a rude remark back at headquarters, and her flash of defiance; how one might take down three people in a sitting room in under five seconds; the thrill of seeing Sean fly for the first time. And as he made eye contact, another thought joined them, and Charles felt himself go pink.
“Charles?” Moira asked. “What is it?”
Charles had no idea how she could sit there with a straight face with that sort of smut in her head. For one thing, he'd never experimented in any such fashion, thank you very much. And for another, why did she have to include the banana? Did they even have bananas?
“I,” he struggled, “oh, nothing. Nevermind.”
“Are you sure you should be down here?” she asked, features showing concern. “Hank did mention that it's probably just the weather. The likelihood of a mutant attack here is very slim, you know that.” And now the banana was in her ass, and her tongue in his, and her hand on his--
“No, no, no problem,” Charles stammered, not meeting her eyes. “I think I'll just... go have a bite to eat. And a cup of coffee. That should do the trick.”
He padded over to the kitchen and set to brewing a pot. He sat down slowly, trying not to think about Moira and her surprisingly vivid fantasies.
“Charles?” Raven. Charles tensed in anticipation.
“In the kitchen,” he called back.
“Hey,” she greeted, touching his shoulder. “Good morning.” Charles felt her sudden, powerful desire to kiss him.
“Good morning,” he spoke quietly, looking up to her face. She gave him a confused half-smile and went to grab herself some orange juice. He smiled fondly at her back.
He never read Raven's mind, when he could help it, but it was just as he remembered, just as he thought it would be, and it made him catch his breath with the intensity of it. Her feelings - and perhaps Charles could admit to some bias here - were some of the most beautiful he'd ever felt. So much love radiated from her, barely classifiable as this or that, romantic, sisterly, platonic. She felt herself in love with him, but it was never quite that, and to make it so would be somehow to diminish it.
He had to get up to pour his coffee, and as she sat in the next seat over he felt her admiring his ass. Lovely. Raven was a wonderful girl and she would find love soon, but frankly it could not be soon enough.
“I should get back to them,” he murmured, and excused himself from the room. He hoped she didn't notice his haste. Echoes followed him down the corridor, Raven sitting in his lap instead of next to him, bringing her mouth down to his. He was almost running outright by the time he made it out to the courtyard.
Shock of shocks, it wasn't a mutant attack. Charles looked down into his coffee and sighed. It felt as though Hank had just figured it out. Waves of relief emanated from the sitting room, and some even more untoward thoughts coming from Alex concerning Hank. Gracious.
He'd reached a favorite bench. With a weary smile, Charles sat and began to enjoy his coffee. Birds were twittering, and he spent a few minutes there listening to them. Their simple little minds were mere distractions, soothing even.
He became aware of a dark cloud, like an approaching storm. As it drew nearer, the mass clarified and separated, and he realized he was feeling the scars of Erik's mind. Charles' breath sped up slightly, and his fingers clutched his mug. He gave serious thought to getting up (running away), but now he could see Erik on the horizon, jogging down the path, and Erik saw him as well.
At first there was nothing but companionable feelings and admiration, and Charles relaxed a bit. Then he looked up and met Erik's eyes. His breath caught.
There was everything he knew he'd find, the anger, scarred-over betrayal, lingering self-doubt and the ever-present hurt that felt to Charles like a physical blow. And there, like a sparrow in a maelstrom - awed gratitude, hope, and defiant love. It wore his face.
Charles' wall was gone, and he knew his mind must be blasting everywhere, but it was difficult to care. In a breath, he felt his feelings returned, doubled, shared so thoroughly he could not say who felt what, save that it was both of them. “Erik,” he said faintly, and Erik took his hand, shaking as the power of it threatened to consume them both.
After it died down a bit, Erik felt comfortable asking, “So what in all blessed Earth was that?”
“Have a seat,” Charles requested. Erik did so. “I... I read your mind. I'm sorry.”
“You're telepathic.” Erik responded, sounding quite skeptical. “Isn't that your thing?”
“Well, yes, but I don't usually, that is, I try not to... Erik.” He looked over sharply. “It appears you are in love with me.”
Erik blinked at him, emitting waves of terror.
“And I you, I mean to say. We seem to be rather... in love. With each other.” Charles didn't mean to put it so bluntly; it's quite possible he's still shell-shocked.
“Oh,” Erik offered. The bastard. Charles sneezed; he should really just get back to bed.
“So,” Charles tried again, “perhaps we should, erm--”
Some how, impossibly, Erik's kiss took him by surprise.
3. Prompt: Sean/Alex/Hank -- With Charles busy with setting up the school and brooding over Erik, the three boys form an oddly functional relationship between them. It could be porny or fluffy but I just want to see these three boys is a happy little relationship.
Can be found here
Disclaimer: I apparently made this the gay X-Men version of a Kevin Smith movie. Wut.
Sean picks the worst possible time to bring it up.
The chick on screen is moaning and Alex is mostly focused on her, though he admits to satisfying his curiosity bout Hank momentarily, and then Sean has to bring it up, right when things are getting good.
"Hey," he says matter-of-factly. "We could totally just all go for it. Like, all fuck."
Alex slows down and stares at him, incredulous.
"You know it would be good," Sean defends, smirking. "I would totally rock both your worlds."
While Alex is still gaping, Sean reaches over and grabs his dick, his palm slicked with something lubricating, and twists as he tugs.
"Ah..." Alex leans forward, mouth opening as he comes, "ah god... ungh!" His breath is coming in gasps, his face flushed with blood.
Sean sits back. "See?" he points out.
They have to admit he makes a good case.
-----
Two weeks later on a Thursday night, Sean's pencil skitters across the floor as his patience for matrices abruptly comes to an end.
"Hank," he nudges a large furry knee. "Let's try it, man. Come on. I can take it."
"Do you seriously want to?" Hank looks a bit bashful, which is ridiculous.
"Hell yeah, dude! Stick that thing up my ass! You'll both wish you were me by the end of the night."
"Is it really...?" Alex interjects. "I mean, *really*?"
Sean grins lasciviously.
"Well, then," Alex hesitates. "Could I try?"
Sean nods. "Sure, mate. Right after I get my turn."
Hank huffs indignantly. "You know, I never actually gave my --"
"Why?" Alex protests. "Why do you get to go first?"
"Alex!" Hank sounds appalled.
"Well..." Alex amends hastily, shooting Hank a guilty glance. "If you two are doing that, where am I?"
"Easy," Sean declares. "I'll fuck you."
Alex bites his lip for a moment, suddenly feeling doubtful. "I don't know. Couldn't I do Hank?"
"What led you to conclude that I am okay with that?" Hank demands.
"Well," Alex purses his lips. "Fine. But Hank? You're doing my algebra. And Sean owes me his bacon tomorrow morning."
Sean huffs, but nods. "Fine. Come on, I've got a gigantic stiffy."
Alex snorts a laugh at that. Hanks gets up, his voice rumbling low as he asks where they left the oil. Turns out the bottle is empty. Someone has to steal down to the kitchen and pilfer more.
They make Alex do it.
4. Prompt: Erik/Charles -- Romeo and Juliet
So. There's the epic love and the on-opposite-sides-not-meant-to-be thing. So I'd like a fic where Charles and Erik are pretty much Romeo and Juliet even moreso than they already are, with the fighting yet *still* unable to stay away from each other (yay for secret rendezvous). Whether it follows the sad ending of the real play, or manages to resolve into a happy ending somehow doesn't matter. As long as there is focus on loving each other despite the ideological differences (and all the angst that entails)
Fine, I admit it. I wouldn't want a crack!fill either, but I'd rather a serious one
Can be found here
Disclaimer: I hope everybody isn't totally OOC like wittering ladies! I hate that in a fic. Guess we'll see :x
Magneto was training with his sullen new fire-master when he heard it, but he could've been rescuing Emma, or breaking into a government building, or buying his bloody groceries.
Erik, his mind spoke. please come.
He turned, waved the boy off, and left, as quickly as he could go.
Each time the door opened there he was, a man who had the day before been something between a memory and a dream. The first time had begun with pain, seeing him in that chair, but it had become something else, so very difficult to abandon. Now there was only happiness, amusement at Charles' hair turning gray and excitement at seeing him again, even if in some lonely old cabin, purchased and forgotten decades past.
"Erik!" that smile always made him catch his breath the first few times, probably always would.
"Charles," he stepped forward with a smile of his own. Approaching his friend, Erik knelt on one knee for the kiss. It began timidly, blooming into something almost desperate.
"What is it, love?" Erik breathed into Charles' ear. Charles' breath hitched.
"Please, not now," his voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat.
"Of course not," Erik smirked, drawing back. "Right to business, yes?" He climbed into Charles' lap, and let Charles' naughty hands and naughtier brain get to work.
"You're excellent at that," Erik remarks, now lying on the cot, a scant three feet from Charles' chair.
"What, you think just because I don't get practice I'll lose my edge?" Charles exhales a laugh. "I overhear my students doing it dozens of times a day. Believe me, it's more than anyone would want to know."
"Dozens of times a day, hmm?" Erik growls. "And which student is that?"
Charles laughs, and swats at him, and then the laughter breaks into tears. Erik quickly draws himself up to hold him.
"Darwin and Gabriel aren't coming back, Erik," Charles says into Erik's left shoulder. "It looks as if they might be dead." Erik only knows them from brief glimpses in the field, but Charles' mind has gotten everywhere now, and he is bombarded with borrowed memories, pride, relief, love. They seem like good kids, and Erik feels a shadow of Charles' pain in himself.
"What happened?" He asks.
"Rescue mission went wrong," Charles confesses. "And then I'll have to... oh god, Erik."
Erik wants to hold him tighter but he knows he's already verging on painful. He presses his face into Charles' hair.
"Alright Erik," Charles begins some minutes later. "That's enough." Erik draws back, confused.
"What?" Charles only makes insistent motions, and Erik's face closes off. "I don't understand, is this somehow my fault as well? Or are you done with me already?" Schieße. He hadn't meant to anger so quickly. They needed more time...
"How dare you," Charles sounded only hurt, despite his words. "How dare you accuse me of using this. And perhaps if you could only see the consequences of--" He fell silent, breathing hard.
"We don't need to do this right now, Charles," Erik offered, hoping it would do for an apology.
"No." Charles nodded and exhaled, features smoothing. "We do not." He looked up to meet Erik's eyes, and as he studied Erik's features, his eyes filled with wonder. Erik found himself smiling back, quite without meaning to.
"You know what?" Erik begins. "Let's get you into that bed."
5. Prompt: Any, Doctor Who Crossover.
Can be found here
I only wrote a "microfill", but it has since spawned an actual fic that, so far, I am in fact quite pleased with. Here's the fill:
"This," Charles proclaims, "explains so much!"
Grinning like a madman, he hands Erik the pocketwatch.
True Blood Meme (prompt can be found here)
Prompt: sam/tommy - the brothers put their UST and angst to use
“Why don't you understand that you can't just do shit like this, Tommy?” Sam has stopped even trying to keep his voice down; thank god they're in the back. “A woman takes you in, you can't just stab her in the goddamn back!”
“Oh come on,” Tommy spits back. “Like she's gonna do shit with it. Give her a decent price for the house, she'll be fine. Woman wastes all her money anyways. Might as well cut out the middleman and cut the Home Shoppin' Network a check.”
“How?” Sam demands, grabbing his brother with both hands. “How the fuck are you like this? How do you not see how wrong that is?!” He's panting, face red. Tommy feels the hands gripping his shoulders and stares right into back into Sam's eyes, for one second, then two. Then he makes a decision.
Tommy leans forward and kisses Sam.
Sam's mouth is a bit open already, and for a moment he lets it happen, breathless and hungry. Then he seems to remember himself.
“What the fuck?!” Sam's voice is barely above a whisper, as all at once he remembers they might be overheard. “What the fuck was that, Tommy? I know you ain't that fucked up.”
“Fuck you!” Tommy is enraged. He wants to fly away and howl under the moon and trample across the town. He wants to fuck shit up, beat on somebody, catch a rabbit and tear into it with bloody teeth. “How would you even know, huh? Where the fuck were you instead of with your family? Family's supposed to take care of each other. Not fucking SHOOT each other!” To his complete mortification, Tommy's lip starts to tremble, and his vision blurs. He blinks a few extra times to make the tears go away, please, go away.
Sam looks at the floor, then meets Tommy's eyes, and he looks hurt, confused, conflicted.
“Ah, shit,” he speaks, mouth twisting with his words. Then he grabs Tommy again and pulls his brother's face to his.
It starts out rough, Tommy pushing forward seeking more, Sam backing up until he hits the desk. Tommy withdraws for a second and reaches for the hem of his shirt, but Sam whips it off before Tommy can get there and Tommy surges forward at that, one knee making its way between Sam's. He paws at Sam's shirt until it's off, then wastes no time before reaching for Sam's belt buckle, though his fingers fumble because of the angle. He swears under his breath and hears Sam chuckle, which just pisses him off more.
“Hey, hey, I got it,” Sam murmurs into his ear, undoing his buckle and opening his fly. One hand touches Tommy's jaw, just holding him there, and the other sneaks under his arm. Sam turns Tommy's face to his, smiling when Tommy meets his gaze. He leans forward, and kisses gently, sliding his hand up Tommy's jaw to card through his hair.
Then he backs off, and Tommy looks at him with lost, frightened eyes.
“Go on,” Sam says with a smile. “Be anything you like. I'll follow.”
Tommy still looks confused, but he smiles back just a little. Then he shucks his remaining clothing, and quick as a flash he's out the window, sprinting off into the woods as fast as a bulldog can go. Sam hastily abandons his own clothes and gives chase.
Tommy runs blindly through the woods, sure of less at this moment than ever before. Fear keeps him moving, sometimes, and anger, and it's only as he slows down, exhausted, that his nerves calm the least bit. He turns, after a minute or two, and Sam is trotting over to him. Then he's walking, human once more. He reaches Tommy and waits, unhurried. Tommy looks up at him, blinks once, and then shoots up to his human height again, surprised for a moment when Sam shows no concern for his scars.
“Lie down,” Tommy tells him, with no idea whether Sam will do it. But Sam nods and lies on his back in the grass, propping himself up on the elbows. Tommy kneels and hovers over him, uncertain how to proceed.
He leans forward and captures Sam's mouth, rough and claiming, but Sam responds calmly and Tommy loses momentum, the kiss slowing down. They roll a bit and now they're side by side, facing each other. Tommy swallows. Sam grins at him, actually grins. Then he licks his hand, reaches forward, and grabs Tommy's dick.
Tommy gasps, holding Sam's shoulders as he's worked, nails digging in, breaths harsh and jagged. He thinks maybe he should reciprocate but that seems totally beyond him right now, oh god, so much better at this than Beth-Ann, how does he, oh god, fuck yes. He kisses Sam again, happy to keep on like this forever, just him and Sam together under the waxing moon. He has to pull away for air as he begins to climax, and as it overtakes him he leans in one more time and bites, hard as he can, into the meat of Sam's shoulder, grunting into it as he spills into Sam's hand.
Tommy leans back, dazed. Sam frantically grabs his hand and guides it to his dick, and in a few strokes Sam is coming too, with a whispered “oh, jesus.” Tommy can't look away from his face, and when Sam opens his eyes Tommy is still staring, open-mouthed.
Sam smiles sleepily at Tommy, evoking an answering smile, and kisses Tommy's forehead. “See?” he asks, low and amused. “I told you I was just as fucked up as you. We're family, boy. We're all nuts.”
And with that, he pushes Tommy over to face the other way and curls up behind him, nose touching the back of Tommy's neck. He drops right off to sleep. And Tommy knows something crazy just went down, can't even quite grasp it, but he feels warm and safe and before he can worry too much he's asleep too, face unlined, soothed by the chirping of crickets.