FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 6/? (warnings: dubcon, captivity)taharielSeptember 30 2011, 22:19:45 UTC
XI
He brings Charles fruit, when he can, plucked fresh from the marketplaces of the cities he visits, from the exotic to the banal; dragonfruit, strawberries from a trip to London, grapes, mangoes from India, apples, once, though he has always found them insipid. The day he brings Charles a pomegranate, ripe and splitting with juice and glistening seeds, the human takes it from his hands and laughs and laughs and laughs, his smooth voice cracked and unnerving.
X
When Erik wakes in the middle of the night Charles is sitting at the windowseat again, the curtain drawn back to show the stars like pinpricks in the pitch black sky, knees hugged to his chest as he stares at the outside world, breath half-fogged in the cold air. When Erik strains to hear he catches Charles’ murmur, but only just, reading his lips more than listening as he mutters, “I count the dismal time by months and years, Since last I felt the green sward under foot, And the great breath of all things summer.”
“What’s that?” Erik asks, but Charles doesn’t reply.
XI
The next day is Sunday, a rare day off for Erik, who has instructed Emma only to bother him with anything that requires his personal and immediate attention. He expects to be called downstairs sometime around midmorning, but the call never comes. So instead he makes breakfast for both himself and Charles in the cramped kitchenette, its ugly Formica cabinets a faded shade of sunshine yellow that he hasn’t quite got around to replacing. When the eggs start to sizzle in the pan he can hear Charles’ stomach rumble from where he has curled up with a book in a nest of blankets, the imprinted creases from the pillowcase still livid on his cheek.
“Tea, Charles?” he asks, using the tinfoil he has wrapped around the block of cheese to hold it upright for the grater.
“Hmm?”
Erik can feel the corners of his mouth edging up in a smile. “Would you like some tea?”
Charles looks up from his book where it is propped against the slope of his knees. “Oh. Yes, please. White, one sugar please.”
Erik’s smile widens, threatens to show. “I know how you like your tea, Charles.”
The smile he gets in return is wan and self-deprecating. “Yes, of course. What a considerate jailer you are, Erik.”
Erik scowls, turning his back and taking the omelette off the stovetop before it has a chance to burn. “I promised your sister I would look after you, and that’s what I’m doing. Don’t forget, Charles, that you made this bed for yourself. Don’t blame me if you have to lie in it, too.”
Charles reacts like a scolded cat, scrambling to his feet as the blanket slips off his shoulders to tangle around his ankles. When he strides over to stand at Erik’s elbow he sets his hands to his hips, his eyes ablaze and more alive than they’ve been in weeks, burning the fierce blue of late summer. “You’re the one that keeps me here, Erik, not Raven and certainly not me. I’d rather be, be free range, and take my chances, than be kept in a box like some pet you take out to play with when it suits you.”
Without turning, Erik tips the pan to let the omelette slide out onto the plate he’d laid out for Charles, and says, “I made a promise to Raven, Charles, and so did you. And I’ll be damned if I’ll break it now. Eat your damn breakfast before I throw you to the humans after all.”
“Do you really think that after all this time, anybody is going to care what I said anymore? Surely they have bigger things to worry about than me.”
Erik snorts, shaking his head and picking up his fork to rip off a piece of the omelette, chews it slowly while Charles seethes. “If they didn’t hate mutants enough before, they certainly do now, and sympathisers even worse. It would be like tossing a lamb in with a pack of starving wolves.”
He brings Charles fruit, when he can, plucked fresh from the marketplaces of the cities he visits, from the exotic to the banal; dragonfruit, strawberries from a trip to London, grapes, mangoes from India, apples, once, though he has always found them insipid. The day he brings Charles a pomegranate, ripe and splitting with juice and glistening seeds, the human takes it from his hands and laughs and laughs and laughs, his smooth voice cracked and unnerving.
X
When Erik wakes in the middle of the night Charles is sitting at the windowseat again, the curtain drawn back to show the stars like pinpricks in the pitch black sky, knees hugged to his chest as he stares at the outside world, breath half-fogged in the cold air. When Erik strains to hear he catches Charles’ murmur, but only just, reading his lips more than listening as he mutters, “I count the dismal time by months and years, Since last I felt the green sward under foot, And the great breath of all things summer.”
“What’s that?” Erik asks, but Charles doesn’t reply.
XI
The next day is Sunday, a rare day off for Erik, who has instructed Emma only to bother him with anything that requires his personal and immediate attention. He expects to be called downstairs sometime around midmorning, but the call never comes. So instead he makes breakfast for both himself and Charles in the cramped kitchenette, its ugly Formica cabinets a faded shade of sunshine yellow that he hasn’t quite got around to replacing. When the eggs start to sizzle in the pan he can hear Charles’ stomach rumble from where he has curled up with a book in a nest of blankets, the imprinted creases from the pillowcase still livid on his cheek.
“Tea, Charles?” he asks, using the tinfoil he has wrapped around the block of cheese to hold it upright for the grater.
“Hmm?”
Erik can feel the corners of his mouth edging up in a smile. “Would you like some tea?”
Charles looks up from his book where it is propped against the slope of his knees. “Oh. Yes, please. White, one sugar please.”
Erik’s smile widens, threatens to show. “I know how you like your tea, Charles.”
The smile he gets in return is wan and self-deprecating. “Yes, of course. What a considerate jailer you are, Erik.”
Erik scowls, turning his back and taking the omelette off the stovetop before it has a chance to burn. “I promised your sister I would look after you, and that’s what I’m doing. Don’t forget, Charles, that you made this bed for yourself. Don’t blame me if you have to lie in it, too.”
Charles reacts like a scolded cat, scrambling to his feet as the blanket slips off his shoulders to tangle around his ankles. When he strides over to stand at Erik’s elbow he sets his hands to his hips, his eyes ablaze and more alive than they’ve been in weeks, burning the fierce blue of late summer. “You’re the one that keeps me here, Erik, not Raven and certainly not me. I’d rather be, be free range, and take my chances, than be kept in a box like some pet you take out to play with when it suits you.”
Without turning, Erik tips the pan to let the omelette slide out onto the plate he’d laid out for Charles, and says, “I made a promise to Raven, Charles, and so did you. And I’ll be damned if I’ll break it now. Eat your damn breakfast before I throw you to the humans after all.”
“Do you really think that after all this time, anybody is going to care what I said anymore? Surely they have bigger things to worry about than me.”
Erik snorts, shaking his head and picking up his fork to rip off a piece of the omelette, chews it slowly while Charles seethes. “If they didn’t hate mutants enough before, they certainly do now, and sympathisers even worse. It would be like tossing a lamb in with a pack of starving wolves.”
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