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schmericaYou know how you wake up sometimes and there is a tiny thing lying in your head, already three-quarters-formed, and you have no idea where it came from, but it's there and now you have to write it? Yeah.
Fences
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class. Erik/Charles. ~750 words. PG. Post-movie.
Summary: One weekend, once a year; no more, no less.
They take turns selecting the location for their rendezvous. One weekend, once a year; no more, no less. Erik likes the clarity of it, the firmness of the rule. He might have weaknesses he can't eliminate from his life, but it's a comfort to think they can be isolated.
It's a lie, of course, a comforting untruth he should know better than to allow himself. It may only be a few days, but it's not as if he ever truly succeeds in containing his feelings about Charles within the borders he's allowed them; they bleed over, like watercolors running across the page. There are good and valid reasons why he keeps an eye always on the Westchester school, but he's not certain he can sort out those ones from the weaker excuses.
It's his turn to choose this year. New York is out, of course, much to close to the mansion and the memories there. Erik is disinclined to select anywhere in America, honestly, just because of the odd taste it leaves in his mouth when he thinks about the cities and hotels they shared when they were traveling together for the first time, locating mutants.
The rest of the world, though, is open to them. It takes him a few weeks to settles on Paris. Charles's French is thorough but highly accented, and Erik takes a distinct pleasure in listening to him speak. As with so many things with Charles, what should be irritating comes off as rather charming, instead.
He can't remember whether his favorite hotel in the city would be accessible for Charles's wheelchair. He takes a day to visit the city by himself and check that, along with some of the restaurants, walks, parks. Another failure of containment.
It's not as if Erik is the only one who breaks the rules, though. Charles is not any better. The oldest rule, the most important one, is that they don't speak of politics or ideology. It's the two of them, together, and nothing of the outside world should intrude. But the fences they erect are just as flimsy on this side, it seems. Their record for the longest they've gone before breaking that commandment is a little over seven hours. It turns out that neither of them is very skilled at pillow talk. Unlike most things, they seem to get worse at it the more opportunities they have.
Erik packs his helmet in his suitcase every year. He has never once unpacked it while he is there, but Charles surely knows it is present, nonetheless. That, at least, is something they succeed in avoiding acknowledging.
"I trust you can handle things while I'm away," he tells Mystique. He means it, now, as he didn't in the beginning. Mystique is amazingly capable; he trusts her more than any other being living.
She looks at him with an expression somewhere between pity and contempt. Even if he tries to look for it, he can barely the Raven he first met within her anymore. There's no weakness of sentiment within her, and he wonders how she managed to cut it off so neatly, so perfectly. "And where are you two lovebirds off to this year?"
"Paris," he says shortly. "I've left you contact information, but I don't expect to hear from you."
"Yes, I know," she says. "Only if the world is ending. Go, already. You're useless here like this."
Cruel, but accurate. His thoughts are already a continent ahead of him - crisp hotel linens beneath his back; the shattering crust of a fruit tart as he takes a first bite; the jazz records Charles insists on playing; Erik's fingertips brushing against the faint, rough stubble of Charles's cheek as Charles closes his eyes beneath him.
"Goodbye," Erik says. He kisses Mystique on the cheek and makes her a silent promise to return to her with his head cleared, prepared to continue their work without these stupid distractions in his way. It's a promise he's prepared to keep. His weaknesses are not as controlled as he would like, it's true, but he's no slave to them either. He knows his way, and he's not going to let himself down, let alone his underlings.
This is just a break, a pause somewhere out of time and real life. Forty-eight hours, Erik thinks. It starts now.
Fences
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class. Erik/Charles. ~750 words. PG. Post-movie.
Summary: One weekend, once a year; no more, no less.
They take turns selecting the location for their rendezvous. One weekend, once a year; no more, no less. Erik likes the clarity of it, the firmness of the rule. He might have weaknesses he can't eliminate from his life, but it's a comfort to think they can be isolated.
It's a lie, of course, a comforting untruth he should know better than to allow himself. It may only be a few days, but it's not as if he ever truly succeeds in containing his feelings about Charles within the borders he's allowed them; they bleed over, like watercolors running across the page. There are good and valid reasons why he keeps an eye always on the Westchester school, but he's not certain he can sort out those ones from the weaker excuses.
It's his turn to choose this year. New York is out, of course, much to close to the mansion and the memories there. Erik is disinclined to select anywhere in America, honestly, just because of the odd taste it leaves in his mouth when he thinks about the cities and hotels they shared when they were traveling together for the first time, locating mutants.
The rest of the world, though, is open to them. It takes him a few weeks to settles on Paris. Charles's French is thorough but highly accented, and Erik takes a distinct pleasure in listening to him speak. As with so many things with Charles, what should be irritating comes off as rather charming, instead.
He can't remember whether his favorite hotel in the city would be accessible for Charles's wheelchair. He takes a day to visit the city by himself and check that, along with some of the restaurants, walks, parks. Another failure of containment.
It's not as if Erik is the only one who breaks the rules, though. Charles is not any better. The oldest rule, the most important one, is that they don't speak of politics or ideology. It's the two of them, together, and nothing of the outside world should intrude. But the fences they erect are just as flimsy on this side, it seems. Their record for the longest they've gone before breaking that commandment is a little over seven hours. It turns out that neither of them is very skilled at pillow talk. Unlike most things, they seem to get worse at it the more opportunities they have.
Erik packs his helmet in his suitcase every year. He has never once unpacked it while he is there, but Charles surely knows it is present, nonetheless. That, at least, is something they succeed in avoiding acknowledging.
"I trust you can handle things while I'm away," he tells Mystique. He means it, now, as he didn't in the beginning. Mystique is amazingly capable; he trusts her more than any other being living.
She looks at him with an expression somewhere between pity and contempt. Even if he tries to look for it, he can barely the Raven he first met within her anymore. There's no weakness of sentiment within her, and he wonders how she managed to cut it off so neatly, so perfectly. "And where are you two lovebirds off to this year?"
"Paris," he says shortly. "I've left you contact information, but I don't expect to hear from you."
"Yes, I know," she says. "Only if the world is ending. Go, already. You're useless here like this."
Cruel, but accurate. His thoughts are already a continent ahead of him - crisp hotel linens beneath his back; the shattering crust of a fruit tart as he takes a first bite; the jazz records Charles insists on playing; Erik's fingertips brushing against the faint, rough stubble of Charles's cheek as Charles closes his eyes beneath him.
"Goodbye," Erik says. He kisses Mystique on the cheek and makes her a silent promise to return to her with his head cleared, prepared to continue their work without these stupid distractions in his way. It's a promise he's prepared to keep. His weaknesses are not as controlled as he would like, it's true, but he's no slave to them either. He knows his way, and he's not going to let himself down, let alone his underlings.
This is just a break, a pause somewhere out of time and real life. Forty-eight hours, Erik thinks. It starts now.
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(no subject)
1/3/12 22:21 (UTC)Well, there's some headcanon I didn't know I had. Not that they meet for trysts, I always love that idea... but that this is how Erik rationalizes it. ;_;
(no subject)
2/3/12 01:53 (UTC)Obviously Charles binges are the solution. Erik has thought this through. It doesn't really matter that he doesn't even believe his own excuses, because this is kind of close to working for them, you know?
(no subject)
2/3/12 01:53 (UTC)He can't remember whether his favorite hotel in the city would be accessible for Charles's wheelchair. He takes a day to visit the city by himself and check that, along with some of the restaurants, walks, parks. Another failure of containment. I love this paragraph. Not very fucking contained, but perhaps just contained enough that Erik can justify himself, because the consequences were he to go cold turkey would be exceedingly far-ranging.
To be clear, I dearly love this.
(no subject)
3/3/12 11:52 (UTC)