Fic: Long Way Down (X-Men First Class, PG-13)
title: Long Way Down
author: ilovetakahana
word count: 980
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]
pairing: Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr
rating: PG-13
notes: Plays very fast and very loose with one of the big action sequences in the movie: the confrontation at the blockade line. Already half an AU.
Written for
kink_bingo. Kink: bodies and body parts. My card is here.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
The plane weaves a tightly drunken spiral through the sky and Charles has since given up and closed his eyes. He can feel Hank's fists on the joysticks, his fierce concentration on just keeping them all alive and aloft - and his fierce joy, too, since this is something he can do, no matter what he looks like he is still one hell of a pilot and Charles thinks that if they get through this Hank will have to start teaching classes himself.
Moira is humming - she has a surprisingly sweet voice - and she is thinking incongruously of jelly doughnuts and black coffee. He sees a brief image of her hands moving over her service pistol, disassembling the gun and cleaning every part thoroughly.
Raven's laughter is also half a panicked shout; she's torn between yelling with fear and whooping with joy; it's the same as when he'd gone with her to a fair and she'd laughed and screamed her way up and down the rickety, click-clacking wooden roller coaster.
The wind roars in his ears. He can feel every sickening spin, and he cracks one eye open and the world is lurching, upside-down to right side up and back again. The sounds of distress and fear, screaming thoughts of death and hope and desperation. The wind wafts a distant stink of sulfur his way: the Hellfire Club's teleporter, everywhere and nowhere at once.
“We have incoming,” someone suddenly shouts, and Charles knows that voice, cannot resist that call, and he opens his eyes and Erik is pinning him down. Those dark eyes, that stern mouth. His knuckles white around the safety bar he's holding on to, his eyes directed right at the submarine as he levitates it out of the water, his voice rasping as he yells into the microphone attachment of his headset: “Take them out, Sean, and get Alex to help you!”
Charles can hear Sean's answering affirmative, and he zeroes in on the redhead, and then all hell breaks loose.
“We're going down!” Hank is yelling, and now Raven is afraid, and Moira is silently tightening their seat belts, and she is praying in Latin, the verses simultaneously beautiful and terrifying: Dies iræ, dies illa, dies tribulationis et angustiæ, dies calamitatis et miseriæ....
And in the same moment when he remembers - Oh, I'm still standing. This is not good - the plane begins to roll, shaking itself to pieces as it falls out of the sky.
He has a flash of impact, his own ribs already bruising as he hits the wall and the ceiling and the other wall in stomach-wrenching succession; he hears himself shouting. Another voice, calling his name.
He's falling, now, and there are the bomb bay doors hanging open and the submarine with its exposed propeller, and, well, it's been a good life, he thinks. There is absolutely nothing in the world that can stop him from falling out and hitting something and bashing his own brains out. So much for his dreams.
Wham.
“Breathe, Charles.”
He opens his eyes slowly. The world is still spinning, and Raven is shouting at him.
And there are hands on either side of his head, someone is holding him down, and he doesn't feel afraid at all. He doesn't even hurt any more.
“I've got you.”
Erik is just an inch or two away, all long planes and lines of muscle, and if Charles concentrates hard enough to get past the wind roaring in his ears, past the screaming and the terror, past his own barely-suppressed fight-or-flight reflex, he can feel Erik straining, twin Herculean efforts: he's still guiding the sub, and now he's keeping them both firmly anchored and safely in place.
The sea and the sky rolling past through the bomb bay doors, the teleporter flashing past, Angel and Sean actually dogfighting, a loud scream and a red blast, the sub being flung ashore, and....
“Charles!”
“Yes!” he answers, half on instinct, half to say, I'm listening, what do you want?
And then Erik is pulling him close, he's close enough to hear Erik chanting Hold on hold on hold on in his mind, and Charles obeys: he's moving his hands against the terrific pressure, arms wrapping around Erik's broad shoulders, are those Erik's ankles hooked around his knees?
Yes, because you're fighting me, Erik half-shouts and half-laughs in his mind.
I've been known to do that, Charles yells back, and then one of Erik's hands is pushing Charles's head down, tucking him into a safe place between the metal and Erik's body, and there's an almighty impact that makes Moira scream in shock, that rattles the breath from his lungs and the thoughts from his mind, that slams him down and Erik into him.
Erik, who is all bowed spine and tense muscles. His arms are crossed in a protective X behind Charles's head. And when he raises his eyes to meet Charles's, the first words in his mind are Are you all right?
“I'm fine, Erik, thank you,” Charles says, and then: Perhaps you might let me get up and see to the others?
“Ah, yes, sorry.” Erik does not sound apologetic, brief flash of a blush and a darkly affectionate grin, and he untangles himself from Charles, gesturing to release Moira and Raven's seat belts.
Leaving Charles in an untidy sprawl, confused because a part of him is mourning the loss of contact. Those arms and legs drawing him in, keeping him safe. Gone now, and the world returns with the dogs of war baying at their heels.
He steps out onto the beach and Erik is halfway to the sub. “Erik!” he shouts.
Yes.
Be safe.
And there is an image of those arms wrapping around him again, a brush of concern against him: And you.
author: ilovetakahana
word count: 980
fandom: X-Men: First Class [movieverse]
pairing: Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr
rating: PG-13
notes: Plays very fast and very loose with one of the big action sequences in the movie: the confrontation at the blockade line. Already half an AU.
Written for
kink_bingo. Kink: bodies and body parts. My card is here.
Also archived at http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org.
The plane weaves a tightly drunken spiral through the sky and Charles has since given up and closed his eyes. He can feel Hank's fists on the joysticks, his fierce concentration on just keeping them all alive and aloft - and his fierce joy, too, since this is something he can do, no matter what he looks like he is still one hell of a pilot and Charles thinks that if they get through this Hank will have to start teaching classes himself.
Moira is humming - she has a surprisingly sweet voice - and she is thinking incongruously of jelly doughnuts and black coffee. He sees a brief image of her hands moving over her service pistol, disassembling the gun and cleaning every part thoroughly.
Raven's laughter is also half a panicked shout; she's torn between yelling with fear and whooping with joy; it's the same as when he'd gone with her to a fair and she'd laughed and screamed her way up and down the rickety, click-clacking wooden roller coaster.
The wind roars in his ears. He can feel every sickening spin, and he cracks one eye open and the world is lurching, upside-down to right side up and back again. The sounds of distress and fear, screaming thoughts of death and hope and desperation. The wind wafts a distant stink of sulfur his way: the Hellfire Club's teleporter, everywhere and nowhere at once.
“We have incoming,” someone suddenly shouts, and Charles knows that voice, cannot resist that call, and he opens his eyes and Erik is pinning him down. Those dark eyes, that stern mouth. His knuckles white around the safety bar he's holding on to, his eyes directed right at the submarine as he levitates it out of the water, his voice rasping as he yells into the microphone attachment of his headset: “Take them out, Sean, and get Alex to help you!”
Charles can hear Sean's answering affirmative, and he zeroes in on the redhead, and then all hell breaks loose.
“We're going down!” Hank is yelling, and now Raven is afraid, and Moira is silently tightening their seat belts, and she is praying in Latin, the verses simultaneously beautiful and terrifying: Dies iræ, dies illa, dies tribulationis et angustiæ, dies calamitatis et miseriæ....
And in the same moment when he remembers - Oh, I'm still standing. This is not good - the plane begins to roll, shaking itself to pieces as it falls out of the sky.
He has a flash of impact, his own ribs already bruising as he hits the wall and the ceiling and the other wall in stomach-wrenching succession; he hears himself shouting. Another voice, calling his name.
He's falling, now, and there are the bomb bay doors hanging open and the submarine with its exposed propeller, and, well, it's been a good life, he thinks. There is absolutely nothing in the world that can stop him from falling out and hitting something and bashing his own brains out. So much for his dreams.
Wham.
“Breathe, Charles.”
He opens his eyes slowly. The world is still spinning, and Raven is shouting at him.
And there are hands on either side of his head, someone is holding him down, and he doesn't feel afraid at all. He doesn't even hurt any more.
“I've got you.”
Erik is just an inch or two away, all long planes and lines of muscle, and if Charles concentrates hard enough to get past the wind roaring in his ears, past the screaming and the terror, past his own barely-suppressed fight-or-flight reflex, he can feel Erik straining, twin Herculean efforts: he's still guiding the sub, and now he's keeping them both firmly anchored and safely in place.
The sea and the sky rolling past through the bomb bay doors, the teleporter flashing past, Angel and Sean actually dogfighting, a loud scream and a red blast, the sub being flung ashore, and....
“Charles!”
“Yes!” he answers, half on instinct, half to say, I'm listening, what do you want?
And then Erik is pulling him close, he's close enough to hear Erik chanting Hold on hold on hold on in his mind, and Charles obeys: he's moving his hands against the terrific pressure, arms wrapping around Erik's broad shoulders, are those Erik's ankles hooked around his knees?
Yes, because you're fighting me, Erik half-shouts and half-laughs in his mind.
I've been known to do that, Charles yells back, and then one of Erik's hands is pushing Charles's head down, tucking him into a safe place between the metal and Erik's body, and there's an almighty impact that makes Moira scream in shock, that rattles the breath from his lungs and the thoughts from his mind, that slams him down and Erik into him.
Erik, who is all bowed spine and tense muscles. His arms are crossed in a protective X behind Charles's head. And when he raises his eyes to meet Charles's, the first words in his mind are Are you all right?
“I'm fine, Erik, thank you,” Charles says, and then: Perhaps you might let me get up and see to the others?
“Ah, yes, sorry.” Erik does not sound apologetic, brief flash of a blush and a darkly affectionate grin, and he untangles himself from Charles, gesturing to release Moira and Raven's seat belts.
Leaving Charles in an untidy sprawl, confused because a part of him is mourning the loss of contact. Those arms and legs drawing him in, keeping him safe. Gone now, and the world returns with the dogs of war baying at their heels.
He steps out onto the beach and Erik is halfway to the sub. “Erik!” he shouts.
Yes.
Be safe.
And there is an image of those arms wrapping around him again, a brush of concern against him: And you.