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schmericaI got some writing done! It's a tiny little thing, but I like it; maybe you will too.
Charles/Erik, X-men: First Class, 400 words or so, non-explicit. Title from Decemberists' "This Is Why We Fight."
Come Hell
by Pearl-o
*****
They slept together once. Only the once, one of those last nights at the mansion. One of those late nights in the study, all the children safe in their beds, while the two of them played chess and drank brandy - and for once they did not talk of one serious thing, not what would happen or when or what it would mean.
Charles had won the game. He stood up from the chair, stretching, and walked across the room to the bar to freshen their drinks. He turned at the press of Erik's hand on his arm.
Erik was looking at him with an expression that was very nearly a smile and warmth in his eyes. The tension he carried always through his body was subdued, and for a moment Charles could picture the man Erik might have been, born in a different time or different place.
Erik moved his hand to Charles's wrist, enclosing it in a tight clasp. He pushed Charles forward until the bookcase was against his back, and only Erik before him.
This angle accentuated the difference in their height, and Charles was aware of having to look up to meet Erik's eyes. He raised an eyebrow.
"You look surprised, Charles," Erik said softly. "How can thatbe? I thought you knew everything about me."
"I do," Charles said, "everything that matters."
And at that, Erik did smile. "It would appear not," he murmured.
HIs kiss was softer and more tender than Charles would have believed possible if it had occurred to him to think of a man's kiss, of Erik's in particular. It was all the more shocking for that.
Of all the memories he would have of that night, lovely and bittersweet and still erotically charged so many years later, it was that one that stayed with Charles most clearly: that vivid realization of Erik's capacity to surprise him so deeply. To change his life with a single moment's action. To make his world suddenly and utterly different.
Erik would do it again and again, in fact, but the first was this, the gentle press of his lips and his almost tentative embrace, his hand still clutching Charles's wrist with the same unbreakable grip.
Charles/Erik, X-men: First Class, 400 words or so, non-explicit. Title from Decemberists' "This Is Why We Fight."
Come Hell
by Pearl-o
*****
They slept together once. Only the once, one of those last nights at the mansion. One of those late nights in the study, all the children safe in their beds, while the two of them played chess and drank brandy - and for once they did not talk of one serious thing, not what would happen or when or what it would mean.
Charles had won the game. He stood up from the chair, stretching, and walked across the room to the bar to freshen their drinks. He turned at the press of Erik's hand on his arm.
Erik was looking at him with an expression that was very nearly a smile and warmth in his eyes. The tension he carried always through his body was subdued, and for a moment Charles could picture the man Erik might have been, born in a different time or different place.
Erik moved his hand to Charles's wrist, enclosing it in a tight clasp. He pushed Charles forward until the bookcase was against his back, and only Erik before him.
This angle accentuated the difference in their height, and Charles was aware of having to look up to meet Erik's eyes. He raised an eyebrow.
"You look surprised, Charles," Erik said softly. "How can thatbe? I thought you knew everything about me."
"I do," Charles said, "everything that matters."
And at that, Erik did smile. "It would appear not," he murmured.
HIs kiss was softer and more tender than Charles would have believed possible if it had occurred to him to think of a man's kiss, of Erik's in particular. It was all the more shocking for that.
Of all the memories he would have of that night, lovely and bittersweet and still erotically charged so many years later, it was that one that stayed with Charles most clearly: that vivid realization of Erik's capacity to surprise him so deeply. To change his life with a single moment's action. To make his world suddenly and utterly different.
Erik would do it again and again, in fact, but the first was this, the gentle press of his lips and his almost tentative embrace, his hand still clutching Charles's wrist with the same unbreakable grip.
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