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schmericaPlainer to my sight
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Charles/Erik, PG. ~600 words.
Summary: Charles sleeps, Erik doesn't.
*****
Charles falls asleep sprawling and messy, taking up much more room than he has any right to. He is on his stomach, curled into a way that should be awkward - it looks rather like he has fallen from some distance, and simply gone to sleep in whatever jumbled position his limbs happened to land. But the awkwardness is counteracted, almost entirely, by the completeness of his surrender into his relaxation and slumber.
The bed is not so large that Charles can take up so much space and not overlap the borders of Erik's own body. Charles's foot and calf are twisted around Erik's ankle like a snare. His hand is splayed open, and it rests gently on Erik's bare chest. It's a small enough weight, and yet there's something about it that Erik finds almost unbearably heavy. A stone pressing against him; no matter how steady and even Erik keeps his breaths, the back of his mind is still convinced that the room is running out of air.
He imagines himself rising out of the bed. Walking out of the room. Outside, into the fresh air of the strange hours between midnight and the morning. One of Erik's favorite times, when there are so few others around, so few things to distract him, nothing but the stillness and quiet. It's a good time for planning; a better time for putting plans into action.
Erik doesn't sleep very much, nor very well.
He wants a cigarette so badly he can almost taste it. He can sense his lighter, still in the pocket of his jacket, thrown aside on the dresser across the room.
A cigarette, and a walk. A walk to clear his mind. How far could he walk, Erik wonders, before he would be out of Charles's range - before Charles's mind would lose him. He thinks it would follow him far. It would cling. He's almost certain.
The room is too dark to see anything, but Erik keeps his eyes open nonetheless, gazing steadily at the ceiling above. He raises his own hand to his chest and traces his fingers over Charles's skin. Rough and smooth, soft and callused, strong and gentle: Charles is a mass of contradictions. Charles is so warm, here and every other time they've touched; sometimes it makes Erik feel cold-blooded in comparison, a basking lizard to Charles's sun.
He has, suddenly, the urge to raise up Charles's hand, to bring it to his mouth. He presses his dry lips to Charles's palm, quickly and fervently, barely even a kiss. When he carefully sets Charles's arm down again, it's firmly on Charles's side of the bed.
Erik takes a deep breath, and he reaches out with his power to the other side of the room. He finds his coin instantly, familiar like nothing else in the world; even the anger it inspires is almost a comfort of its own after all these years. He floats the coin across the room until it rests in his open hand, and then he wraps his fingers around it, squeezing tightly and letting the edge of the metal dig into his skin.
Only then does Erik close his eyes. He listens to the soft sounds of Charles's sleep beside him and tries to concentrate on nothing at all.
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Charles/Erik, PG. ~600 words.
Summary: Charles sleeps, Erik doesn't.
*****
Charles falls asleep sprawling and messy, taking up much more room than he has any right to. He is on his stomach, curled into a way that should be awkward - it looks rather like he has fallen from some distance, and simply gone to sleep in whatever jumbled position his limbs happened to land. But the awkwardness is counteracted, almost entirely, by the completeness of his surrender into his relaxation and slumber.
The bed is not so large that Charles can take up so much space and not overlap the borders of Erik's own body. Charles's foot and calf are twisted around Erik's ankle like a snare. His hand is splayed open, and it rests gently on Erik's bare chest. It's a small enough weight, and yet there's something about it that Erik finds almost unbearably heavy. A stone pressing against him; no matter how steady and even Erik keeps his breaths, the back of his mind is still convinced that the room is running out of air.
He imagines himself rising out of the bed. Walking out of the room. Outside, into the fresh air of the strange hours between midnight and the morning. One of Erik's favorite times, when there are so few others around, so few things to distract him, nothing but the stillness and quiet. It's a good time for planning; a better time for putting plans into action.
Erik doesn't sleep very much, nor very well.
He wants a cigarette so badly he can almost taste it. He can sense his lighter, still in the pocket of his jacket, thrown aside on the dresser across the room.
A cigarette, and a walk. A walk to clear his mind. How far could he walk, Erik wonders, before he would be out of Charles's range - before Charles's mind would lose him. He thinks it would follow him far. It would cling. He's almost certain.
The room is too dark to see anything, but Erik keeps his eyes open nonetheless, gazing steadily at the ceiling above. He raises his own hand to his chest and traces his fingers over Charles's skin. Rough and smooth, soft and callused, strong and gentle: Charles is a mass of contradictions. Charles is so warm, here and every other time they've touched; sometimes it makes Erik feel cold-blooded in comparison, a basking lizard to Charles's sun.
He has, suddenly, the urge to raise up Charles's hand, to bring it to his mouth. He presses his dry lips to Charles's palm, quickly and fervently, barely even a kiss. When he carefully sets Charles's arm down again, it's firmly on Charles's side of the bed.
Erik takes a deep breath, and he reaches out with his power to the other side of the room. He finds his coin instantly, familiar like nothing else in the world; even the anger it inspires is almost a comfort of its own after all these years. He floats the coin across the room until it rests in his open hand, and then he wraps his fingers around it, squeezing tightly and letting the edge of the metal dig into his skin.
Only then does Erik close his eyes. He listens to the soft sounds of Charles's sleep beside him and tries to concentrate on nothing at all.
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