Erik's Life in Five Kisses
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: R/M
Word Count: just under 2k
Category: Slash; Pairing(s): Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Characters: Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Magda, OMC
Genre: Angst, Kissing Fic, Hurt/Comfort (kinda), Character Study
Warnings: (inexplicit) sexual content, mature themes
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: Erik's life may be interesting and appealing to others, but the truth is, he's pretty sure he can sum it all up in just five simple kisses.
Also on AO3.
A/N: So, it's international kissing day and I am celebrating by writing a short kissing fic for each of my fandoms (because forever alone) and this is the first one of them. It's been a while since I wrote something for this pairing, so I figured why not start here.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
Erik's Life in Five Kisses
Erik is drunk. Like, epically drunk. This is not good for a variety of reasons. One of them is that he is actually having trouble remembering how to get back to Charles's room (it's a huge house, damn it). Another is that when he's drunk he tends to say things he would never otherwise give voice to. And possibly the best argument Erik has for not getting drunk is that he thinks about things when he's drunk, he can't stop thinking, about things he normally wouldn't even acknowledge. Like right now, he's admitting to himself that, while he's definitely been through a lot of shit and done some pretty unusual crap, his life can actually be summed up in five different incidents, five kisses, and five firsts, which all amount to less than five minutes.
The first one happened when he was still in the camps. Erik doesn't actually remember much from that time of his life at all, it's usually just a blur of terror and nervous expectation for something to change. That's why what he does remember stands out in almost technicolour images.
There was a girl there, Magda, a few years older than him. She slept in the cot next to his and had a gap between her front teeth. Her parents were in another camp and she was there alone, Erik would always see her sitting in the corner of her cot in the evening, crying quietly into her knees. He would always feel bad for her, so he tried, whenever he could, to be friendly to her, to talk to her and share food with her. Every night when the guards came in and read out the names of people who would never return (Erik's parents never told him, but he figured out quickly enough what was happening to those who left in the middle of the night like that), Erik would hold his mother's hand on one side, and Magda's on the other. Afterwards, she would smile at him, a little, shy smile that Erik learned to mean thank you and was always looking forward to. They became pretty close, and Erik would, more often than not, sleep in Magda's cot, because then she wouldn't cry and she would smile more and Erik liked that.
Then one night the guard read out Magda's name. Erik didn't realize at first that it was his Magda, because he'd never heard her full name until then, but when she squeezed his hand to the point he thought he could hear his knuckles cracking, he knew he would look to his side and find her eyes full of tears. He waited till the last name was called, trying to stave off for as long as possible the last goodbye he would say to her. They both knew it could happen at any time to anyone there, but Erik never really expected it, he wasn't prepared for it, and he didn't know what to do. When the guards started rushing people who were hugging their families and holding on to their friends, Erik looked at Magda and tried to smile at her, wanting her last memory to at least be somewhat pleasant; she smiled back and leaned in, kissed his lips, just a soft press of mouths that tasted salty and desperate and then she was gone, and Erik knew true loss for the first time in his life.
The second one happened in San Francisco, years later, when he was already looking for Schmidt. By then, his parents were already dead, he'd already become a monster and it was already hard to remember what it felt like to care for someone; Erik's whole life was about finding Schmidt and making him pay for what he'd done.
Following Shaw wasn't easy, the man was rich and influential and intimidating, while Erik was only resourceful. Still, Erik travelled from one country to the next, went between continents, interrogated and tortured and killed. It left him little free time, but he'd learned how to go for days without sleep or even food; he'd managed to train his body and mind both to fit what he needed for his cause, he'd managed to make himself a machine.
But that day was one of those when he let himself take a break, pretend to be a normal human being for once, go out to a bar, have a drink, pick up a pretty girl (Erik had figured out long ago that holding back constantly is counterproductive and that taking a day off every once in a while to indulge is better than keeping all his urges bottled up and then exploding unexpectedly). He was drinking his second beer that night when a guy approached him. Erik was just about to pay for his drink, when the guy did it for him. When he turned to ask why, he was met with the same hungry smile that he knew he always gave girls he wanted to take to bed. And he figured, why the hell not.
That's how he ended up in a back alley behind a bar in San Francisco kissing a guy for the first time, it was rough and dirty, with no finesse, no emotion; there was just the sexual charge, just lips and teeth and tongue and spit and roaming hands. And it was good, it was better than kissing any woman (it didn't even come close to the brief, chaste meeting of lips, the taste of tears in his mouth after, but then, nothing ever compared to his first kiss, so he'd stopped looking for something better). And that's when Erik first learnt about the complicated human sexuality.
The third one was not that long ago, when Charles all but knocked his door down, ran into his room and started ranting about the amazing, astonishing minds, Erik and I've never known anything quite like that, like spreading your wings and flying and it was brilliant, and Erik, watched, mesmerized, as Charles dashed around the room, waving his hands exaggeratedly, his eyes such a bright blue that Erik couldn't look away.
And then, what is it, why are you looking at me like that?, and Erik didn't know what to say, so he grabbed Charles's shoulders and pulled him closer and kissed him, because that was all he could think of. Charles made a surprised little sound, like he hadn't known Erik had been thinking about this for days, like he hadn't already dug it out of Erik's head (and maybe he hadn't, it occurred to Erik then, the closest he'd come to trusting anyone in years), and then he smiled, that manic, exhilarated smile he'd had when Hank had first turned on Cerebro, and Erik felt it against his lips. And when Charles's hands found their place on his hips, and when Charles opened his mouth and kissed back, there was a spark, a feeling of something Erik had never thought he could feel (and it was better than anything he'd ever experienced, better than all the kisses from before combined, better even than Magda). That's when he first knew what it was like to be in love.
The fourth one was when Charles kissed him the other day, in broad daylight, out in the street, for no reason, where everyone could see, where everyone was watching. And Charles didn't make them turn away or forget, he didn't care. He reached out and grabbed Erik's wrist, pulled him in with a surprisingly strong tug, turned them around and pressed him against a wall. The brick was warm and rough under Erik's hands when Charles stood on his toes and kissed him passionately, like they hadn't kissed only five minutes ago in the car. Charles kissed him like it was his prerogative to do so, like he owned the rights to kissing him, he kissed like a man who'd never been denied anything, confident and self-assured, dominating and demanding. But, like always, his tongue moved and his teeth nipped exactly the way Erik wanted them to, exactly the way Erik liked, as if Erik's satisfaction meant more than what Charles desired.
And Erik let it happen, he didn't fight it, he kissed back and he fucking loved it; the man who spent his entire adult life hiding and running and not drawing attention to himself was kissing another man in the middle of the street, making a scene as his hands stroked over Charles's back, as he moaned into Charles's mouth and Charles's hands cradled his face and Charles's voice in his head was chanting his name. And Erik couldn't care less who saw or what they thought of it. That's when he knew it was forever.
And the fifth one? The fifth one is yet to happen, but Erik knows exactly how it will play out, since he's planning it as he walks up to Charles's door. Charles will be asleep because Erik is pretty sure he's the only one who's not, seeing how it's almost dawn. He will open the door soundlessly, sneak into the room, undress and crawl into bed, spooning behind Charles. Charles will be sprawled out, blankets twisted around his warm, naked body, snoring lightly and drooling onto the pillow. And Erik, because it's Charles and because he's drunk, will think it adorable. He will wrap his arms around Charles's middle and kiss his shoulder gently, like he almost never does, like he almost never wants to. Charles will hum quietly, still asleep, and snuggle closer, and Erik will kiss behind his ear, and he will nuzzle the back of Charles's neck, and he will kiss the overly prominent knob of his spine, and his fingers will gently stroke over Charles's stomach, tickling him.
That's when Charles will wake up, laugh and turn around. He'll ask Erik what he's doing, but Erik won't answer because he won't know how and because there will be a lump in his throat (which he will blame on the alcohol), and because Charles will be so breathtakingly beautiful and so wonderfully warm and smooth and inviting, so Erik will just kiss him, claim his mouth and battle him for dominance, he will kiss Charles until neither of them can breathe, until they're both hard and rutting against each other, and even then, he won't stop.
He will keep kissing Charles as he climbs on top of him and things get heated and sweaty and loud, he will kiss Charles when he takes him, slowly and tenderly, the way he hasn't in weeks, and Charles will start babbling and asking him to go faster, harder, and he will eventually oblige, but he won't stop kissing Charles's soft, parted mouth, won't stop even when Charles starts trembling and comes with a long, drawn out moan, won't stop even when Charles's kisses become sloppy and uncoordinated, when Charles's expression morphs into that fucked out, relaxed expression. He will kiss Charles until their lips are swollen from it, raw from their teeth; he will kiss Charles when he comes with eyes wide open so he would see, so he would remember Charles under him, sweaty and boneless and sated and bathed in dim, grey light of dawn.
He will kiss Charles until he can't anymore, because he will know it's the last time; because tomorrow, he will die or leave, and either way, Charles won't follow, and Erik will know real pain for the first time in his life.
Rating: R/M
Word Count: just under 2k
Category: Slash; Pairing(s): Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Characters: Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Magda, OMC
Genre: Angst, Kissing Fic, Hurt/Comfort (kinda), Character Study
Warnings: (inexplicit) sexual content, mature themes
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: Erik's life may be interesting and appealing to others, but the truth is, he's pretty sure he can sum it all up in just five simple kisses.
Also on AO3.
A/N: So, it's international kissing day and I am celebrating by writing a short kissing fic for each of my fandoms (because forever alone) and this is the first one of them. It's been a while since I wrote something for this pairing, so I figured why not start here.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
Erik's Life in Five Kisses
Erik is drunk. Like, epically drunk. This is not good for a variety of reasons. One of them is that he is actually having trouble remembering how to get back to Charles's room (it's a huge house, damn it). Another is that when he's drunk he tends to say things he would never otherwise give voice to. And possibly the best argument Erik has for not getting drunk is that he thinks about things when he's drunk, he can't stop thinking, about things he normally wouldn't even acknowledge. Like right now, he's admitting to himself that, while he's definitely been through a lot of shit and done some pretty unusual crap, his life can actually be summed up in five different incidents, five kisses, and five firsts, which all amount to less than five minutes.
The first one happened when he was still in the camps. Erik doesn't actually remember much from that time of his life at all, it's usually just a blur of terror and nervous expectation for something to change. That's why what he does remember stands out in almost technicolour images.
There was a girl there, Magda, a few years older than him. She slept in the cot next to his and had a gap between her front teeth. Her parents were in another camp and she was there alone, Erik would always see her sitting in the corner of her cot in the evening, crying quietly into her knees. He would always feel bad for her, so he tried, whenever he could, to be friendly to her, to talk to her and share food with her. Every night when the guards came in and read out the names of people who would never return (Erik's parents never told him, but he figured out quickly enough what was happening to those who left in the middle of the night like that), Erik would hold his mother's hand on one side, and Magda's on the other. Afterwards, she would smile at him, a little, shy smile that Erik learned to mean thank you and was always looking forward to. They became pretty close, and Erik would, more often than not, sleep in Magda's cot, because then she wouldn't cry and she would smile more and Erik liked that.
Then one night the guard read out Magda's name. Erik didn't realize at first that it was his Magda, because he'd never heard her full name until then, but when she squeezed his hand to the point he thought he could hear his knuckles cracking, he knew he would look to his side and find her eyes full of tears. He waited till the last name was called, trying to stave off for as long as possible the last goodbye he would say to her. They both knew it could happen at any time to anyone there, but Erik never really expected it, he wasn't prepared for it, and he didn't know what to do. When the guards started rushing people who were hugging their families and holding on to their friends, Erik looked at Magda and tried to smile at her, wanting her last memory to at least be somewhat pleasant; she smiled back and leaned in, kissed his lips, just a soft press of mouths that tasted salty and desperate and then she was gone, and Erik knew true loss for the first time in his life.
The second one happened in San Francisco, years later, when he was already looking for Schmidt. By then, his parents were already dead, he'd already become a monster and it was already hard to remember what it felt like to care for someone; Erik's whole life was about finding Schmidt and making him pay for what he'd done.
Following Shaw wasn't easy, the man was rich and influential and intimidating, while Erik was only resourceful. Still, Erik travelled from one country to the next, went between continents, interrogated and tortured and killed. It left him little free time, but he'd learned how to go for days without sleep or even food; he'd managed to train his body and mind both to fit what he needed for his cause, he'd managed to make himself a machine.
But that day was one of those when he let himself take a break, pretend to be a normal human being for once, go out to a bar, have a drink, pick up a pretty girl (Erik had figured out long ago that holding back constantly is counterproductive and that taking a day off every once in a while to indulge is better than keeping all his urges bottled up and then exploding unexpectedly). He was drinking his second beer that night when a guy approached him. Erik was just about to pay for his drink, when the guy did it for him. When he turned to ask why, he was met with the same hungry smile that he knew he always gave girls he wanted to take to bed. And he figured, why the hell not.
That's how he ended up in a back alley behind a bar in San Francisco kissing a guy for the first time, it was rough and dirty, with no finesse, no emotion; there was just the sexual charge, just lips and teeth and tongue and spit and roaming hands. And it was good, it was better than kissing any woman (it didn't even come close to the brief, chaste meeting of lips, the taste of tears in his mouth after, but then, nothing ever compared to his first kiss, so he'd stopped looking for something better). And that's when Erik first learnt about the complicated human sexuality.
The third one was not that long ago, when Charles all but knocked his door down, ran into his room and started ranting about the amazing, astonishing minds, Erik and I've never known anything quite like that, like spreading your wings and flying and it was brilliant, and Erik, watched, mesmerized, as Charles dashed around the room, waving his hands exaggeratedly, his eyes such a bright blue that Erik couldn't look away.
And then, what is it, why are you looking at me like that?, and Erik didn't know what to say, so he grabbed Charles's shoulders and pulled him closer and kissed him, because that was all he could think of. Charles made a surprised little sound, like he hadn't known Erik had been thinking about this for days, like he hadn't already dug it out of Erik's head (and maybe he hadn't, it occurred to Erik then, the closest he'd come to trusting anyone in years), and then he smiled, that manic, exhilarated smile he'd had when Hank had first turned on Cerebro, and Erik felt it against his lips. And when Charles's hands found their place on his hips, and when Charles opened his mouth and kissed back, there was a spark, a feeling of something Erik had never thought he could feel (and it was better than anything he'd ever experienced, better than all the kisses from before combined, better even than Magda). That's when he first knew what it was like to be in love.
The fourth one was when Charles kissed him the other day, in broad daylight, out in the street, for no reason, where everyone could see, where everyone was watching. And Charles didn't make them turn away or forget, he didn't care. He reached out and grabbed Erik's wrist, pulled him in with a surprisingly strong tug, turned them around and pressed him against a wall. The brick was warm and rough under Erik's hands when Charles stood on his toes and kissed him passionately, like they hadn't kissed only five minutes ago in the car. Charles kissed him like it was his prerogative to do so, like he owned the rights to kissing him, he kissed like a man who'd never been denied anything, confident and self-assured, dominating and demanding. But, like always, his tongue moved and his teeth nipped exactly the way Erik wanted them to, exactly the way Erik liked, as if Erik's satisfaction meant more than what Charles desired.
And Erik let it happen, he didn't fight it, he kissed back and he fucking loved it; the man who spent his entire adult life hiding and running and not drawing attention to himself was kissing another man in the middle of the street, making a scene as his hands stroked over Charles's back, as he moaned into Charles's mouth and Charles's hands cradled his face and Charles's voice in his head was chanting his name. And Erik couldn't care less who saw or what they thought of it. That's when he knew it was forever.
And the fifth one? The fifth one is yet to happen, but Erik knows exactly how it will play out, since he's planning it as he walks up to Charles's door. Charles will be asleep because Erik is pretty sure he's the only one who's not, seeing how it's almost dawn. He will open the door soundlessly, sneak into the room, undress and crawl into bed, spooning behind Charles. Charles will be sprawled out, blankets twisted around his warm, naked body, snoring lightly and drooling onto the pillow. And Erik, because it's Charles and because he's drunk, will think it adorable. He will wrap his arms around Charles's middle and kiss his shoulder gently, like he almost never does, like he almost never wants to. Charles will hum quietly, still asleep, and snuggle closer, and Erik will kiss behind his ear, and he will nuzzle the back of Charles's neck, and he will kiss the overly prominent knob of his spine, and his fingers will gently stroke over Charles's stomach, tickling him.
That's when Charles will wake up, laugh and turn around. He'll ask Erik what he's doing, but Erik won't answer because he won't know how and because there will be a lump in his throat (which he will blame on the alcohol), and because Charles will be so breathtakingly beautiful and so wonderfully warm and smooth and inviting, so Erik will just kiss him, claim his mouth and battle him for dominance, he will kiss Charles until neither of them can breathe, until they're both hard and rutting against each other, and even then, he won't stop.
He will keep kissing Charles as he climbs on top of him and things get heated and sweaty and loud, he will kiss Charles when he takes him, slowly and tenderly, the way he hasn't in weeks, and Charles will start babbling and asking him to go faster, harder, and he will eventually oblige, but he won't stop kissing Charles's soft, parted mouth, won't stop even when Charles starts trembling and comes with a long, drawn out moan, won't stop even when Charles's kisses become sloppy and uncoordinated, when Charles's expression morphs into that fucked out, relaxed expression. He will kiss Charles until their lips are swollen from it, raw from their teeth; he will kiss Charles when he comes with eyes wide open so he would see, so he would remember Charles under him, sweaty and boneless and sated and bathed in dim, grey light of dawn.
He will kiss Charles until he can't anymore, because he will know it's the last time; because tomorrow, he will die or leave, and either way, Charles won't follow, and Erik will know real pain for the first time in his life.