[fic] Magdalene 3/4 (Nc-17; X-Men First Class/Inglourious Basterds crossover)
Title: Magdalene
Author: punahukka / Jester
Fandom: X-Men: First Class / Inglourious Basterds
Disclaimer: Playing with Marvel’s and Tarantino’s toys.
Rating: Nc-17
Warnings: fairly graphic sex and Nazi-killing, smoking and drinking, talking about religion, AU
Pairing: Erik Lehnsherr/Shosanna Dreyfus, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Summary: A First Class/Basterds crossover, with Shosanna surviving Operation Kino and Erik struggling with the two loves of his life.
A/N: This chapter has been a pain in the ass, but here, have your daily dose of emotionally challenged Erik with a Charles topping! Comments are loved to bits and pieces. ^^
3/4
I couldn't love a man so purely
Even prophets forgave his crooked way
I've learned love is like a brick, you can
build a house or sink a dead body
Lady Gaga - Judas
It’s their first night in New York City, and they remain unnoticed by blending in the crowds: hiding in plain sight. A handsome couple, dining at some modest restaurant, going to see a Hitchcock film and having a debate about the female lead and the purposes of film industry over a glass of wine. They have seen the greatest cities of Europe but this American little brother is something different; what it lacks in ancient dignity it makes up with its cockiness and hectic pulse, watching and waiting.
*
“Is something wrong?”
The answer is pretty obvious since Charles sits at the end of his bed, shoulders hunched and face buried in his hands, lifting his gaze to him only after a few heartbeats from his question. He’s in his underwear, socks still lying on the floor next to his feet. It’s yet another hotel room before returning to the headquarters in a couple of days, a room with two beds and a small bathroom and a view over nothing, and Erik’s first guess would be homesickness. He has taken a shower and dressed for bed and tosses his damp towel over the bathroom door to cautiously cross the distance to his fellow mutant.
“I find myself at the gates of a very remarkable what next? This has been happening awfully fast.”
Erik sits down beside him, concluding it’s as good an option as any other since he has no idea what he should be doing with his presence. “I’m sure the CIA will be more than happy to tell you what to do.” It’s a bad joke, and even worse when it’s not a joke, but it forces a shadow of a smile to the telepaths lips.
“And that’s another one I have to admit I’ve been worrying about, my friend.” Charles turns his head to face him. “Will it be me or us?”
“I know better than to make promises I’m not sure I can keep.”
“I don’t want you to promise,” Charles says, very quietly, and some inner struggle is lost or won when he fixes his gaze to Erik’s. “I want you closer.”
*
The unbelievably scarred man has taken Shosanna a year and a half to track down, and they are grateful he finds their plans for Colonel Landa very hilarious.
He invites them into his cosy apartment, shoos a huge crossbred dog away from the couch so that they can have a seat, makes coffee and digs up some maps and photographs. Back in the day Smithson Utivich, Erik learns, has perfected Nazi-killing into a profession, and he provides them with a location and a few names to work with.
When they’re done Utivich sends them off with heartfelt handshakes and a wide smile. “Tell those fuckers the Bastards said hi!”
*
There’s a whole new struggle of I can’t and can I? dripping from his mind, but Charles swallows and leans in for a chaste kiss, his dry lips brushing briefly against Erik’s.
“Close enough?” Erik asks, hating his voice for sounding so hoarse.
For once Charles doesn’t talk but settles for shaking his head. The warmth of the next kiss is only paving way for the rising heat, and Erik’s arms snake around the smaller man by a will of their own as Charles’ tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, pleading access to play with its kind.
*
“It’s still too far from the main land,” he sighs, impatiently, a pen circling an inch above Nantucket Island on the map. “It’s very unlikely we wouldn’t have to shoot our way out.”
Shosanna sits down beside him on the floor and crosses her legs, unfolding a smaller piece of paper, absent-mindedly catching the pen hanging in the air and starting to tap it to her knee. “There is an Irene Hahne residing in Westchester who might have something to tell us.”
“Who is she?”
“A sweet little American housewife with too many former Gestapo assignments for my tastes.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
*
Charles makes no objection as Erik slides his hand down, across his chest and stomach to palm him through the fabric of his boxers, only to find out just how much the little ladies’ man is enjoying himself.
“Closer?”
Charles lets out a lovely muffled sound as he squeezes gently and kisses the side of his neck before dropping to the floor, positioning himself between Charles’ legs, running his hands up and down, marvelling the smooth skin, sucking a mark on his inner thigh. Charles lifts his ass to help Erik pull the boxers down, a faint shade of red colouring his cheeks as the visible exposing of his erection makes it all much more real.
Erik keeps his eyes fixed to Charles’ face when he gives the first experimenting lick on the head of his cock. As he would have expected, Charles can’t (is not trying to, comes the quick correction, even the mental voice out of breath) keep away from his mind, but it’s rather pleasant, the instant feedback of sensations.
*
Shosanna sleeps beside him on the double-bed, her chest rising and falling to the rhythm of her breathing, and Erik knows all too well how easy the lungs are to shut down. A few minutes without oxygen and the brain is damaged beyond repair. Her fingers are draped over Erik’s shoulder: five fingers per hand, a thrilling amount of joints to dislocate in each. Her steadily beating heart sealed in a cage along with other major organs: the point is to get past the ribs.
She might as well be what she seems to think she is: an idea made flesh, a spirit trapped in a ridiculously weak human body.
*
He can take Charles all the way to the root, his nose touching the softly curling hair of his crotch, the scent of man intoxicating; he quickly catches up on when to hollow his cheeks and suck, how to run his tongue to make his friend shake. Charles’ head is thrown back, other hand gripping the sheets, other Erik’s hair, Erik’s hands pressing his thighs to keep him still.
Can’t hold for much longer is a fair warning, but Erik is determined to see this through.
Then don’t. He eases his hold, allowing Charles’ hips to move.
Charles looks down at him, his eyes glassy, biting his bottom lip and letting out a sound that can only be described as a moan. Erik does his best not to gag as Charles fucks his mouth, coming in his throat after a few desperate thrusts, filling his mind with the white-hot glow of his orgasm.
*
Shosanna makes three phone calls and one threatening visit while Erik finds them a car.
“Westchester is old money,” Shosanna says when she hops to the front seat, dressed to kill with the black and the hat, and lights a cigarette. “Let us hope the neighbours are dignified enough to mind their own business.”
“The nearest one to the Hahne’s house is almost two miles away. We can get rid of the car later.” Erik doesn’t have to tell her that he has no driving license or that they couldn’t afford being too picky with the one he finally got, but the vehicle feels safe enough, the metal around purring to him quietly.
Maybe somehow, somewhere, Shosanna senses it, how he gently stretches out with his power, and she says nothing but looks at him and smiles.
*
He wipes his mouth and gets up from his front-row seat (his legs are shaking), coming aware of the fact that he’s still wearing his pyjama bottoms (too tight) when Charles, breathing heavily but smiling in a manner somewhere between genuinely happy and dirty, points at them. “Take those off.”
He does, and Charles pushes himself back on the bed, making room for Erik to settle beside him.
“Get on your back.”
Erik has a nagging feeling he’s too obedient to commands spilling from that pair of lips but doesn’t regret when Charles straddles his thighs, bringing one delicate hand to stroke his now painfully hard cock. He grips Charles’ hips, running his thumbs over sharp hipbones, the other fingers pressing their prints on the skin. The telepath bends down to attack his neck, shoulders, chest, kissing and licking and sucking and biting, still humming a tune of pleasure in his mind, and Erik opens his mouth to a silent cry as their bellies and Charles’ hand are coated with his seed.
*
“Do you think we are any better than them?” Erik asks, not for the first time but this once out loud.
“I never said I did,” Shosanna answers without lifting her eyes from the map on her lap. “We have to turn right.”
*
They’ve both taken a new shower and kept talking to the minimum, but finally Charles forms a full sentence: “Can I sleep with you?”
It stirs something in his chest that sex cannot reach, and for a blinding moment Erik cannot breath.
“I suppose you can.”
It turns out (he should have guessed) that Charles Xavier is a cuddler, and Erik holds him, waiting for him to be asleep before moving to the other bed.
When he sleeps, he dreams of cigarette smoke and blood-red lipstick staining Charles’ smile.
Author: punahukka / Jester
Fandom: X-Men: First Class / Inglourious Basterds
Disclaimer: Playing with Marvel’s and Tarantino’s toys.
Rating: Nc-17
Warnings: fairly graphic sex and Nazi-killing, smoking and drinking, talking about religion, AU
Pairing: Erik Lehnsherr/Shosanna Dreyfus, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Summary: A First Class/Basterds crossover, with Shosanna surviving Operation Kino and Erik struggling with the two loves of his life.
A/N: This chapter has been a pain in the ass, but here, have your daily dose of emotionally challenged Erik with a Charles topping! Comments are loved to bits and pieces. ^^
3/4
I couldn't love a man so purely
Even prophets forgave his crooked way
I've learned love is like a brick, you can
build a house or sink a dead body
Lady Gaga - Judas
It’s their first night in New York City, and they remain unnoticed by blending in the crowds: hiding in plain sight. A handsome couple, dining at some modest restaurant, going to see a Hitchcock film and having a debate about the female lead and the purposes of film industry over a glass of wine. They have seen the greatest cities of Europe but this American little brother is something different; what it lacks in ancient dignity it makes up with its cockiness and hectic pulse, watching and waiting.
*
“Is something wrong?”
The answer is pretty obvious since Charles sits at the end of his bed, shoulders hunched and face buried in his hands, lifting his gaze to him only after a few heartbeats from his question. He’s in his underwear, socks still lying on the floor next to his feet. It’s yet another hotel room before returning to the headquarters in a couple of days, a room with two beds and a small bathroom and a view over nothing, and Erik’s first guess would be homesickness. He has taken a shower and dressed for bed and tosses his damp towel over the bathroom door to cautiously cross the distance to his fellow mutant.
“I find myself at the gates of a very remarkable what next? This has been happening awfully fast.”
Erik sits down beside him, concluding it’s as good an option as any other since he has no idea what he should be doing with his presence. “I’m sure the CIA will be more than happy to tell you what to do.” It’s a bad joke, and even worse when it’s not a joke, but it forces a shadow of a smile to the telepaths lips.
“And that’s another one I have to admit I’ve been worrying about, my friend.” Charles turns his head to face him. “Will it be me or us?”
“I know better than to make promises I’m not sure I can keep.”
“I don’t want you to promise,” Charles says, very quietly, and some inner struggle is lost or won when he fixes his gaze to Erik’s. “I want you closer.”
*
The unbelievably scarred man has taken Shosanna a year and a half to track down, and they are grateful he finds their plans for Colonel Landa very hilarious.
He invites them into his cosy apartment, shoos a huge crossbred dog away from the couch so that they can have a seat, makes coffee and digs up some maps and photographs. Back in the day Smithson Utivich, Erik learns, has perfected Nazi-killing into a profession, and he provides them with a location and a few names to work with.
When they’re done Utivich sends them off with heartfelt handshakes and a wide smile. “Tell those fuckers the Bastards said hi!”
*
There’s a whole new struggle of I can’t and can I? dripping from his mind, but Charles swallows and leans in for a chaste kiss, his dry lips brushing briefly against Erik’s.
“Close enough?” Erik asks, hating his voice for sounding so hoarse.
For once Charles doesn’t talk but settles for shaking his head. The warmth of the next kiss is only paving way for the rising heat, and Erik’s arms snake around the smaller man by a will of their own as Charles’ tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, pleading access to play with its kind.
*
“It’s still too far from the main land,” he sighs, impatiently, a pen circling an inch above Nantucket Island on the map. “It’s very unlikely we wouldn’t have to shoot our way out.”
Shosanna sits down beside him on the floor and crosses her legs, unfolding a smaller piece of paper, absent-mindedly catching the pen hanging in the air and starting to tap it to her knee. “There is an Irene Hahne residing in Westchester who might have something to tell us.”
“Who is she?”
“A sweet little American housewife with too many former Gestapo assignments for my tastes.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
*
Charles makes no objection as Erik slides his hand down, across his chest and stomach to palm him through the fabric of his boxers, only to find out just how much the little ladies’ man is enjoying himself.
“Closer?”
Charles lets out a lovely muffled sound as he squeezes gently and kisses the side of his neck before dropping to the floor, positioning himself between Charles’ legs, running his hands up and down, marvelling the smooth skin, sucking a mark on his inner thigh. Charles lifts his ass to help Erik pull the boxers down, a faint shade of red colouring his cheeks as the visible exposing of his erection makes it all much more real.
Erik keeps his eyes fixed to Charles’ face when he gives the first experimenting lick on the head of his cock. As he would have expected, Charles can’t (is not trying to, comes the quick correction, even the mental voice out of breath) keep away from his mind, but it’s rather pleasant, the instant feedback of sensations.
*
Shosanna sleeps beside him on the double-bed, her chest rising and falling to the rhythm of her breathing, and Erik knows all too well how easy the lungs are to shut down. A few minutes without oxygen and the brain is damaged beyond repair. Her fingers are draped over Erik’s shoulder: five fingers per hand, a thrilling amount of joints to dislocate in each. Her steadily beating heart sealed in a cage along with other major organs: the point is to get past the ribs.
She might as well be what she seems to think she is: an idea made flesh, a spirit trapped in a ridiculously weak human body.
*
He can take Charles all the way to the root, his nose touching the softly curling hair of his crotch, the scent of man intoxicating; he quickly catches up on when to hollow his cheeks and suck, how to run his tongue to make his friend shake. Charles’ head is thrown back, other hand gripping the sheets, other Erik’s hair, Erik’s hands pressing his thighs to keep him still.
Can’t hold for much longer is a fair warning, but Erik is determined to see this through.
Then don’t. He eases his hold, allowing Charles’ hips to move.
Charles looks down at him, his eyes glassy, biting his bottom lip and letting out a sound that can only be described as a moan. Erik does his best not to gag as Charles fucks his mouth, coming in his throat after a few desperate thrusts, filling his mind with the white-hot glow of his orgasm.
*
Shosanna makes three phone calls and one threatening visit while Erik finds them a car.
“Westchester is old money,” Shosanna says when she hops to the front seat, dressed to kill with the black and the hat, and lights a cigarette. “Let us hope the neighbours are dignified enough to mind their own business.”
“The nearest one to the Hahne’s house is almost two miles away. We can get rid of the car later.” Erik doesn’t have to tell her that he has no driving license or that they couldn’t afford being too picky with the one he finally got, but the vehicle feels safe enough, the metal around purring to him quietly.
Maybe somehow, somewhere, Shosanna senses it, how he gently stretches out with his power, and she says nothing but looks at him and smiles.
*
He wipes his mouth and gets up from his front-row seat (his legs are shaking), coming aware of the fact that he’s still wearing his pyjama bottoms (too tight) when Charles, breathing heavily but smiling in a manner somewhere between genuinely happy and dirty, points at them. “Take those off.”
He does, and Charles pushes himself back on the bed, making room for Erik to settle beside him.
“Get on your back.”
Erik has a nagging feeling he’s too obedient to commands spilling from that pair of lips but doesn’t regret when Charles straddles his thighs, bringing one delicate hand to stroke his now painfully hard cock. He grips Charles’ hips, running his thumbs over sharp hipbones, the other fingers pressing their prints on the skin. The telepath bends down to attack his neck, shoulders, chest, kissing and licking and sucking and biting, still humming a tune of pleasure in his mind, and Erik opens his mouth to a silent cry as their bellies and Charles’ hand are coated with his seed.
*
“Do you think we are any better than them?” Erik asks, not for the first time but this once out loud.
“I never said I did,” Shosanna answers without lifting her eyes from the map on her lap. “We have to turn right.”
*
They’ve both taken a new shower and kept talking to the minimum, but finally Charles forms a full sentence: “Can I sleep with you?”
It stirs something in his chest that sex cannot reach, and for a blinding moment Erik cannot breath.
“I suppose you can.”
It turns out (he should have guessed) that Charles Xavier is a cuddler, and Erik holds him, waiting for him to be asleep before moving to the other bed.
When he sleeps, he dreams of cigarette smoke and blood-red lipstick staining Charles’ smile.