THE X-MEN FIRST CLASS KINK MEME: PROMPT POST
You know why you're here. You've seen the movie. You're asking yourself, "So where was the gratuitous Emma Frost as White Queen in a corset? When did Mystique totally make it with Beast? WHY IN HEAVENS DID XAVIER AND MAGNETO NEVER MAKE OUT
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He had never expected it to come to this.
The team were incapacitated, trapped inside the mind and games of Cadenski, a hitman turned torturer.
And Charles couldn’t risk using his telepathy. He was trying to keep his own mind protected from the constant battering it was getting as Cadenski watched him closely.
Finally, he stood up, blinking. “Well then, I might just leave you in here for now. I don’t need line of sight to keep feeling, Professor. You drop those shields, try to sleep, try to reach your team and I’ll have you.” He grinned widely. “Have fun.”
And he left.
Left without locking the door, clearly trusting that Charles without his chair would be helpless.
Charles kept his mind safely tucked away and started looking around him.
He tore up the rest of his shirt, using it to bind his legs together, to make moving them easier and keep the joints locked. Then he set about systematically dismantling the bed to make crude crutches.
It was difficult. Even with his legs bound tight to force them to take his weight, it was difficult to move. He had to check each time that his body was tilted right, would hold for the few precious seconds needed to swing the crutches around again.
Sanity won out and he broke down the crutches and tied his legs into a crouch. His knees would just have to take the punishment of being dragged and rested on until they got out of here. Like that he could move about better, hefting on his arms and dragging his legs behind him, ignoring the trail of blood that he slowly started to leave behind him as he managed to drag himself across the gravel to the hut where he knew Cadenski was resting up, tormenting his team.
He could hear the whimpering as he got closer, quieting his movements as best he could. Slowing down, however much strain it caused his arms to hold himself up for torturously long minutes, moving quiet to the door and settling himself down by it.
He looked about and then hefted one of the crutches, hurling it against the truck parked off to the side. The noise was loud in the silence of the forest and Cadenski came running.
The crutch smashed into his leg as he stepped by and as he fell Charles raised it up and brought it down on his head, once, twice, until he stopped trying to get up and instead lay silent and bleeding, still breathing but unconscious.
And then he loosed his powers, locking down all that malicious, delusional power, holding it tight and freeing it from his team’s minds.
They slowly staggered up and out, stopping as they looked down at Cadenski and Charles himself, leaning against the wall of the shack.
“I hate to impose,” he said with a terse smile. “But I feel rather shaken right now. Would someone give me a hand back to my chair?”
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THIS. AWESOME.
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