Author: Emo-Pirate PM
A Christmas present for my friend Gill, who requested a whole bunch of Cherik Magavier, McFassy, Fassavoy etc ficlets. This will be updated semi-regularly...or whenever I feel like it.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - Magneto & Xavier, C. - Chapters: 3 - Words: 5,827 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 21 - Follows: 15 - Updated: 01-15-12 - Published: 12-01-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7600380
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: SnippetsParing: Magavier
rating: T through M (this section rated lightly M)
The Alphabet Game
There was no hiding Erik was an ass-man. He had always been an ass-man, and that pert little bottom attached to Charles Xavier just solidified his affections for that certain piece of anatomy.
He found himself staring intently at said bottom as Charles made dinner and Erik sat intently at the kitchen table, "helping". Charles raised his expressive eyebrows as he brought a ladle of soup to his lips. "Really Erik," he chuckled, "control yourself."
Charles enjoyed bath-time. It was his favorite time of the day, especially with the added edition of one sopping wet, soaped up Erik Lensherr. Erik's hair was almost black when it was wet, tinted gold at the tips. Bath-time became less of a cleaning ritual than an unwinding of tense muscles and strained brains. The little metal faucets on the tub would slowly start to melt into the relaxed patterns Charles would draw on Erik's scalp, and Erik would chuckle as Charles would softly project half formed sentences like A little to the left and Yes…right….
Later that night, when Charles and Erik were wrapped up in quickly drying towels, still starkers and stretched out on their bed, Charles would smile softly, his own eyes reflected in Erik's green eyes. Bath-time was the best time of the day.
Charles had never imaged Erik to be a cuddler. He imagined Erik was more of a "dine and dash" sort of lover. However, he couldn't be more wrong. After their first night, Charles woke up so tangled up in Erik's muscled arms he could barely move. And it wasn't just a fluke. It was every night; every morning Charles would wake up hazy and warm and every inch of him covered in his extra-cuddly shark.
When Charles had been shot, he thought he had died. Even afterwards, as he lay senseless on the beach, he felt like he was dying. And afterwards, when he found himself in a soft white bed somewhere, he was sure he had died, especially when he opened his eyes and found Erik's head in his lap, half sprawled on the bed.
"Erik." Charles murmured, and Erik almost instantly woke, green eyes flashing open.
He looked at Charles, confused for a moment, and the next thing Charles knew, he had Erik's head in the crook of his shoulders, muscled shoulders shaking as sobs wracked his body. "Charles…oh my Charles." Erik sobbed, "I'm so sorry."
"What happened?" Charles asked. "Was it Azazel?"
"What?" Erik looked up. His eyes were red, his cheeks were hollow. He looked like hell.
"We're dead, aren't we?" Charles asked. He looked around him. The white-washed walls, the medical equipment…the wheelchair. This was a strange version of the afterlife. Charles looked at Erik incredulously when Erik began to laugh through his streamed down his cheeks, and Erik choked on his sob-laughs.
"No…" Erik struggled to find his words, "no, no, no. You're alive, I'm alive, see?" Erik grabbed Charles' hand and pressed it to his warm chest. Charles felt the steady beating of that heart he knew so well.
"We're alive?" Charles asked, blinking. "We're alive?"
"Yes!" Erik laughed breathily, and then grabbed Charles' face between his rough elegant hands. "God you're alive!" Erik pressed his lips to Charles' in a rushed, thankful kiss. Against his lips, Charles felt Erik's lips move in a silent prayer of forgiveness.
Charles has the most vivid blue eyes Erik had ever seen, and considering he had grown up in Nazi Germany, he had seen many blue eyes-crystaline, dark blues, light almost gray eyes. But Charles' eyes were like shallow pools of water, or the sky on a brave October day. They hardly ever changed color- a sign of the permanence Erik craved so much. It was permanence Charles gave the wayward, wandering self proclaimed "monster"; permanence and a pair of vivid blue eyes.
F-Fuck (I couldn't resist XP) (romance)
Erik called it "fucking", Charles called it "making love", together they figured out exactly what "it" was. Charles taught Erik that "it" could be soft, loving, slow and sensual, as much about pleasing the other partner as it was for pleasing himself. Erik taught Charles to be fierce in bed, to demand things, to demand to be pleased, to leave angry red trails down Erik's spine from his blunt fingernails. Somehow, the wound up between "fucking" and "making love".
Charles' face was red. "I did NOT look like a girl!" he snarled, voice breaking indignantly.
Erik was on the floor of Charles' study, surrounded by old photographs. There was one in particular Erik was laughing over, wiping tears from his eyes. "Yes you did!" Erik choked around another bought of laughter. "Look at this!" He flourished the picture, which was of Charles' baptism. He was perhaps five, and wearing a floor-length white robe with lace trim and a white bonnet keeping back his already wavy brown hair. His eyes were huge, cheeks pink and lips as red as a rose. "You're wearing a dress!"
"It's a baptism gown!" Charles snarled, blushing as red as a tomato.
"Whatever you say." Erik chuckled under his breath.
There was Hell in Erik's eyes. So much pain and so much anger and so much sadness in those poison green eyes. Charles hurt when he saw the rage in those eyes, hurt every time those eyes turned on Charles, even when they were tangled in the sheets and Erik was laughing at something Charles had accidentally projected. But Charles couldn't stay away, even though he could very well be sucked into Hell by Erik's eyes.
Charles was still cute when he was sick. Erik sighed, rubbing his forehead and wondering how a man who was so sick his eyes were puffy, throat so sore he sounded like a chainsaw, skin overheated and clammy, and hair greasy from not being washed in four days could still be so adorable.
"Erik!" Charles' throaty grumble broke Erik from his trance. "Erik can you get me some soup?" Erik blinked, and chuckled.
"Right away." he leaned over and pressed his lips to Charles' greasy hair.
Charles liked Erik's jaw. The way it tensed up right before he came, the way it relaxed when he laughed, and the fact it held in all those shark-like teeth that would flash in a rare, brilliant smile. Charles liked kissing the stubbly jaw in the mornings, or evenings, or afternoons actually. There was something oh so wonderful about that wonderful, sharp jaw attached to the fact that Charles had fallen in love with.
The first time they kissed, it had been Erik who had done it. He had lunged forward across their usual chess set, knocked the glass of scotch out of Charles' hand and smashed their faces together. It was not particularly romantic, nor emotional. Charles had gasped, entire body going rigid, before his arms found themselves around Erik and they were kissing furiously.
Their last kiss came when they were both old-a lifetime of fighting and feuding between them had carved lines into Erik's face, and had hardened the blue of Charles' eyes. Erik had been sitting limply in his plastic chair in his plastic cell, staring numbly at the floor, trying not to notice the frail bald man in the wheelchair. Then, he had seen Charles' crippled legs and when he looked up, he found Charles gently cupping his face between his rough hands, staring into his green eyes with so much sadness Erik thought he could die. Their last kiss was nothing more than a simple press of lips together, before Charles was gone and Erik was left breathless, heart beating too fast for reason.
"I'll always be there for you." was the greatest lie Erik had told Charles, one on a great list that spanned decades of fighting, forgiveness and more betrayal. However, one thing Erik said was never a lie, never in all their long years and feuding as enemies-once-lovers: "I want you by my side."
With his straining muscles and sweat-dampened shirt, eyes aflame with green fire, and hands shaking, the twisted form of what once was a beautiful candelabra at his feet, Erik really did look like the monster he professed to being. Thunder rocked the mansion, and for a moment, Charles was almost afraid.
Erik snarled gleefully, watching the life ebb out of Shaw's eyes. The barbed wire bit into Shaw's neck, drawing angry red lines across his skin. Shaw gasped, which only served to tighten the anaconda-like cords of metal that Erik had looped around Shaw's neck, squeezing the life from his lungs.
"Erik!" Shaw choked, his blue eyes swimming. "Erik please!" Erik bit back another breathy cough of laughter.
"ERIK!" the sound of Charles' forced breathing reverberated so loud through his head, Erik was jerked back, pain flaring behind his eyeballs. When he could see again, he realized he wasn't on a lonesome plain in Germany, and it was not Shaw who was struggling beneath him. Charles' face was pale, lips colorless from lack of oxygen. The necklace Charles always wore was wrapped tightly around his neck, and Charles' fingers were grappling at it. With a cry of anguish, Erik released his hold on the metal and the necklace settled back onto Charles' neck, innocent and sparkling in the moonlight. An angry red line had etched itself into the tender skin of Charles' neck.
"Charles I…" Erik moaned, tears coming to his eyes as he gingerly traced the angry red impression of the chain.
"Erik," Charles wheezed, "shhh my Erik." Charles stroked Erik's cheek. "It was only a nightmare." How could Charles be so forgiving when Erik could have killed him? Erik never quite forgave himself.
Erik was an obsessive person. When he clamped his interest around something, it never really went away. It was as if he was magnetically attracted to things that piqued his interest. First it was the shiny metal buttons on his father's blazer, then it was his mother, then it was killing Shaw. For so many years, all he thought about was killing Shaw. It invaded his sleeping and waking hours-that face with the cruel blue eyes and the thin cold lips. And then, suddenly, Erik realized he wasn't obsessed with Shaw anymore. He realized this when, with a start, he realized he hadn't been thinking about Shaw. He had been thinking about the early morning sunlight glinting on the fine golden hairs on Charles' shoulder as the telepath slept. Hm. Sure Erik still thought about Shaw constantly, or more specifically how he was going to destroy the fiend, but now, every waking and sleeping hour was no invaded by the image of the sunlight on Charles' skin in the early morning hours.
"You wear too much wool." Erik growled into Charles' lap. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the stifled gasp as Charles tried to move away from Erik's inquisitive nose. "It can't be good for you." However, Charles' endless pairs of wool trousers were heavenly looking on the slender man. The way they hugged at all the right places, outlining Charles' fine legs and smooth calves, all the way up to that adorable little bottom.
"I like my wools." Charles murmured, finally stopping his squirming and carding his fingers through Erik's shorn brown hair.
"I like your pants too, Charles." Erik replied, "but I'd rather see them slung over the chair."
Charles had first heard the word in the fifties, when he had made an innocent comment about how his professor looked in his turtle-neck. His professor was indeed very attractive-relatively young, broad shoulders, dark eyes. Another classmate had given Charles a dirty look and thought he's a queer. Charles had been hurt initially and almost sent the boy into a hazy fantasy full of naked men and club music, however he stopped himself. Charles had been cautious after that, until he met Erik, until his entire little peaceful world went crashing down around him and he found himself swallowed up in fire and lust and perhaps love all pooled in fiery green eyes.
Charles moaned, face drawn into a pleasurable line of pain, brows drawn together. His mind grumbled in complaint after such a hard day of hearing the children practically screaming their thoughts across the mansion. All he needed was this right now-the naked hands, the heat, the low rumble of Erik's chuckle behind him.
"Ah!" Charles whined when Erik's experienced hands kneaded into a painful spot on his neck.
"Did I hurt you?" Erik asked quietly.
"No…keep going." Erik obliged without another word, rubbing his hands over Charles' neck and back and skull, giving Charles the best shoulder massage he had ever had in his life. "Feeling better?" Erik asked in the dimness of their bedroom.
"Mm." Charles sighed, "very well rested."
"Is that right?" Charles felt Erik's lips on his shoulder and those lips curved into a smile.
Charles half turned in Erik's arms and pressed a kiss to Erik's lips. "Indeed."
Afterwards, Charles felt even more exhausted than before, though his head had stopped aching.
There was never silence for Charles. In the night, he heard people's dreams almost screaming at him, or even the low buzz of half-formed thoughts. During the day, he was bombarded with thoughts and feelings. Charles had a headache half the time. All he wanted was a little silence.
However, Charles mused happily, half moaning with the motion of Erik beside him, he quite enjoyed these noises: the gasping, the moaning, the half formed thoughts of I love you filtering over his sensitive brain. Erik's heartbeat thundering at Charles' back, the sweat slicked bodies moving together, making the delicious snapping noise muffled by blankets. Erik's low cry when he came, the breathy chuckling that always came afterwards. Charles enjoyed these noises.
The truth of the matter was Charles knew Erik would leave him one truth of the matter was Charles didn't mind. The truth of the matter was that Charles was in love with Erik. The truth of the matter was Charles' heart ached when he saw Erik. The truth of the matter was when Charles was alone in his bed, all he wanted was to feel that warm body beside him, even knowing that the body was no longer warm, no longer welcoming, no longer his.
The truth of the matter was Erik knew he would leave one day. The truth of the matter was Erik hated himself for leaving. The truth of the matter was that Erik was in love with Charles. The truth of the matter was Erik's soul ached when he saw Charles. The truth of the matter was when Charles was sleeping, frail and crippled, Erik would glide into the window, helmet on, and watch him sleep, wishing for the feeling of grappling sweaty limbs and legs tangled together, knowing that the legs could not feel, knowing that it was Erik's fault.
U-Underneath (romance/ light angst)
Charles was always underneath Erik, at least in bed. It was an unspoken rule. Erik would give, Charles would receive. However, one thing Charles had never really thought of: when he was under Erik was he above Raven? Raven who so obviously wanted Erik, but could not have him? Raven who won everything…when Charles was panting and whining under Erik, gripping those broad shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, he was above Raven, and under Erik.
Anger was Erik's vice. He had a short temper, easily provoked, and ready to fight when it happened. When he struck Charles, he immediately felt remorse, and yet somehow he didn't feel guilty. His anger had risen up, and manifested itself in a blooming purple hand print on Charles' cheek.
Forgiveness was Charles' vice. He never got angry, never lashed out. When someone wronged him, he immediately forgave, even when it was Erik, who struck him more than once. He always forgave the metal-bender, even as his face burned and he hurt mentally and physically. Even when he was bound into a wheelchair because of Erik, he always forgave.
Water made Charles' eyes even more blue. When he stood out on the lawn in the middle of the night, soaked to the bone, and smiling like an idiot, his blue eyes seemed to almost glow in their brilliance. It was the same when he cried-the blue would brighten so much they almost hurt to look at. And yet, Erik liked that pain. He loved looking into Charles' eyes when water dripped from his lashes and his skin was clammy from the rain, or the salty ocean, or from tears.
The Xaviers had a dark history-drugs, alcohol and finally the suicide of Mrs. Xavier when Charles was in secondary school. It was a miracle that Charles was still so pure, and yet Erik saw the look in Charles eyes. They were the eyes of an old man who had lived a hard life, trapped in the face of a twenty-something man. Charles Xavier was a unique creature, not just because he could see into man's mind. Charles Xavier was almost holy, the last living Xavier, the last living real Xavier. Erik felt almost as if he were sinning against God when they slept together. He was touching something so holy, and yet it could only be described as touching heaven when he touched his Xavier.
Erik rarely wore anything but black, and so on a balmy summer day when Erik appeared outside carrying lemonade and wearing a breezy yellow shirt unbuttoned to his ribs, Charles thought he was dreaming. The yellow looked superb on Erik too, Charles thought jealously. Erik sat beside Charles on the lawn chair, watching the children play in the fountain. He sipped his lemonade and glanced at Charles, who was staring at him with a slack jaw.
"What?" Erik asked, smiling humorously.
"Nothing!" Charles almost squeaked, snapping his head back to watch the children. Erik laughed, and even his laughter was yellow.
"Do you think a zebra is a white horse with black stripes or a black horse with white stripes?" Charles asked suddenly, sitting up in bed from a dead slumber and poking Erik awake.
"What?" Erik asked groggily, sure he was still dreaming.
"Is a zebra a white horse with black stripes or a black horse with white stripes?" Charles asked again.
Erik chuckled and stared up at Charles' wide inquisitive eyes. "What sort of question is that?" he asked.
"I was just curious…" Charles yawned, "goodnight." he flopped lifeless back onto the bed, half on top of Erik and promptly was asleep again.
Erik chuckled and stroked Charles' soft floppy hair. Oh the joys of sleeping with a telepath. He sometimes had the oddest quandaries in the middle of the night, no doubt from flitting through the dreams of other sleepers. Now, Erik mused, staring at the ceiling, which one of the children was dreaming about zebras?
So there's the first little bit for you. More to come soon. This will probably keep going once I get all of Gill's requests in, so start sending me ideas! All of these chapters will be standalone unless otherwise noted.