ficlet february 4: "half an hour before sunrise"
This is short and a mess again today, but....whatever. This month is more for me than anyone else.
(List)
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Ficlet February 4: "half an hour before sunrise"
It's a half an hour before sunrise and Erik's eyes snap open. It's not an alarm or even a sound drifting in from the cracked window that's woken him, it's his internal clock.
This is his routine, now--he spends the day training and strategizing. He spends the night in Charles' bed. The two don't crossover--he won't let them--and that means Erik wakes with the sun to sneak across the hall to his own bedroom before the teenagers get up.
He thought it would be easy.
Through the window, he sees the grey light of pre-dawn. The house is quiet--not even the movement of springs catches Erik's attention. He should be returning to his bed. He should be in his bed already, catching another hour of sleep before he gets up for his run. There should be no hesitation here, no pause in his stride.
But.
Here he is, trapped halfway between the bed and the door, his gaze returning again and again to Charles. Charles is asleep and objectively a mess. His face is red and swollen and mashed into the pillow. He's drooling. His breath is whistling slightly, just this side of a snore. He looks spoiled and soft, like everything Erik has grown to resent.
But.
Erik can't turn away. He's never been able to turn away--that first night in the water, the night at the CIA base when Erik tried to leave, every stop of their recruiting tour when Erik got bored and frustrated and antsy and dreamed of turning his back on Charles and chasing after Shaw. He can never stay away from Charles for long; even when he tries to leave, his course corrects itself and here he is again, staring down at Charles with his blue eyes and his suggestive smile and his ludicrous ideas.
He thinks, fleetingly, of the sirens of ancient Greece, luring sailors to their deaths with their beauty and song. He thinks of those sailors trying and failing to turn away.
And today, with the last of his resolve, he manages. Today, he pulls his eyes from Charles' face, drags himself away from Charles' body, one step then two then three and then he's striding across the room and out the door and closing it quietly.
It's easier with Charles behind the closed door, easier to walk quickly across the hall and slip into his room, his bed, with its cool, crisp, clean sheets. There's no evidence here of Charles and Erik feels like he can think again, like the mist that covers his eyes in Charles' presence has lifted and he knows himself again. He breathes easier.
For the moment. Because knowing himself means knowing that while he may spend today working towards his cause, the sun will set eventually and he's not out of Charles' thrall yet.
***
ficlet february!
Get some sleep
Five minutes away
Faint recognition
Half an hour before sunrise
Useless, but beautiful
Something’s broken
Surprise celebration
There were signs and signals
Rituals
Write about a postcard
What are you looking for?
You remind me of someone
A meeting, a beginning
Lasting impression
Long drive
Behind closed doors
Ask questions later
Six impossible things
Day off
Lost in a city
A door key
A late night phone call
Someone else’s mortification
Something from music
Something from a picture
(List)
***
Ficlet February 4: "half an hour before sunrise"
It's a half an hour before sunrise and Erik's eyes snap open. It's not an alarm or even a sound drifting in from the cracked window that's woken him, it's his internal clock.
This is his routine, now--he spends the day training and strategizing. He spends the night in Charles' bed. The two don't crossover--he won't let them--and that means Erik wakes with the sun to sneak across the hall to his own bedroom before the teenagers get up.
He thought it would be easy.
Through the window, he sees the grey light of pre-dawn. The house is quiet--not even the movement of springs catches Erik's attention. He should be returning to his bed. He should be in his bed already, catching another hour of sleep before he gets up for his run. There should be no hesitation here, no pause in his stride.
But.
Here he is, trapped halfway between the bed and the door, his gaze returning again and again to Charles. Charles is asleep and objectively a mess. His face is red and swollen and mashed into the pillow. He's drooling. His breath is whistling slightly, just this side of a snore. He looks spoiled and soft, like everything Erik has grown to resent.
But.
Erik can't turn away. He's never been able to turn away--that first night in the water, the night at the CIA base when Erik tried to leave, every stop of their recruiting tour when Erik got bored and frustrated and antsy and dreamed of turning his back on Charles and chasing after Shaw. He can never stay away from Charles for long; even when he tries to leave, his course corrects itself and here he is again, staring down at Charles with his blue eyes and his suggestive smile and his ludicrous ideas.
He thinks, fleetingly, of the sirens of ancient Greece, luring sailors to their deaths with their beauty and song. He thinks of those sailors trying and failing to turn away.
And today, with the last of his resolve, he manages. Today, he pulls his eyes from Charles' face, drags himself away from Charles' body, one step then two then three and then he's striding across the room and out the door and closing it quietly.
It's easier with Charles behind the closed door, easier to walk quickly across the hall and slip into his room, his bed, with its cool, crisp, clean sheets. There's no evidence here of Charles and Erik feels like he can think again, like the mist that covers his eyes in Charles' presence has lifted and he knows himself again. He breathes easier.
For the moment. Because knowing himself means knowing that while he may spend today working towards his cause, the sun will set eventually and he's not out of Charles' thrall yet.
***
ficlet february!
Get some sleep
Five minutes away
Faint recognition
Half an hour before sunrise
Useless, but beautiful
Something’s broken
Surprise celebration
There were signs and signals
Rituals
Write about a postcard
What are you looking for?
You remind me of someone
A meeting, a beginning
Lasting impression
Long drive
Behind closed doors
Ask questions later
Six impossible things
Day off
Lost in a city
A door key
A late night phone call
Someone else’s mortification
Something from music
Something from a picture