xmenfirstkink | round 3 overflow post

Link: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/3278.html?thread=4546766#t4546766

Prompt: Charles has to pay for college incidentals somehow. Hooker!Charles. Client!Erik. It would be awesome if Erik also happens to be the new professor at Charles' college and Charles only finds out the day after their little "get-together" when he sees him in class. Awkwardness ensues.

Original fill at the link above.

So. Er. A sequel to take anything you give me. If you recognise the song from which I cribbed the title, congratulations -- that's the other song for the fic, which I was too embarrassed to admit to. NEVER DE-ANONING.

This is the Erik of this AU: http://tumblr.com/ZEQAlxCrPn0O (on good days, at least)

Charles at 18: http://cellno8.tumblr.com/post/13455294140

I'm terrible at planning out stories I'm working on, so I honestly have no idea how long this fic will be. I will try to resist the temptation of rushing into the denoument. I've reduced the age gap between Charles and Raven to two years -- though, really, given that the writers of XMFC didn't exactly make up their minds on that, why should I? I can't remember if the comics ever said anything about Charles's birthday, so I've set it in September, which in 1963 marks his first comic book appearance.

Warning: underage sex.

a man with a midas touch

Charles lost his virginity to a man he met at a bar, a few months shy of his eighteenth birthday. As with most things in his life, it was a combination of deliberate planning and complete happenstance: he'd put on his tightest shirt and strutted into the nearest bar with condoms in his pocket, but he hadn't expected to be picked up by the bar's mouthwateringly burly, Canadian bouncer.

He still thought of Logan and the 48 hours' worth of accelerated study in sexual gratification fondly, but as far as significant life events go it didn't even rate as highly as the day Harvard accepted his application. Certainly, if he were to choose the most life-changing experience he'd ever had, it would be meeting Raven -- always Raven, his sister and confidante and best beloved. He supposed he'd been lucky: while his classmates fell in and out of love, exploring the mysteries of the human heart, he'd already lived through any number of relationships -- good, bad, horrifically ugly -- several times over by the time he entered Harvard. His mother's doctor tried to put him on suppressor drugs when he was twelve ("I want to help you, Charles," Dr. Clark said, terrified out of his mind) but he didn't take to them very well. In the end they packed him off to see a government-paid psi counsellor, who smiled at him kindly and said there was nothing wrong with him, just please remember that other people take things like privacy seriously.

Charles took Raven with him when he finally packed his bags for Massachusetts, aged 17. Harvard had sent him an offer when he was 16, the year he graduated from high school, but he wrote back with a polite letter asking for a deferment. The staffmember from the College Admissions Office sounded indulgent over the phone, assuming that he was spending his gap year being white and American in a Third World country of his choice. The truth was rather less exciting: Charles worked to supplement his diminishing trust fund and worried over Raven, while searching for cheap accommodations that would accept two teenagers.

They left behind the rambling house and its rambling mistress with three suitcases weighing down the boot of Charles's car, which he promptly sold when they arrived in Cambridge. Raven held Charles's hand tight in hers all through their first night in the tiny, roach-infested flat, sharing one air mattress and listening to unfamiliar noises in the dark.

Sorry!

"We'll be all right," Charles said, and meant it, because he had never lied to Raven in his life and he wasn't about to start. "Emma said your grades qualify you for the accelerated course, and I'll tutor you in whatever subjects you need."

Raven turned onto her side, her eyes glowing yellow in the slats of light through the window. "Charles? What did you pay to get me into Emma's school?"

He kissed her forehead. "Nothing I couldn't afford to pay."

They did all right, in the two years that Raven -- in her words -- busted her ass to get through school as quickly as possible, with one eye towards scholarships. Charles kept up a steady 4.0 GPA and took any paid work he could squeeze into his calendar, even as he hounded Raven to drop a few hours from her waitressing job and -- for god's sakes, Raven -- go out and enjoy life as only a technically-a-sociopath adolescent could. He tried, he really did, finding every possible joy in the city that didn't have to be paid for. Public art on campus and along the banks of Charles River (he was teased over that one). Harvard Square and tourist-mocking. Parks in warm weather, Raven dressed in bright sundresses that set off her blue skin. Everything his student ID card got them admitted in for free. They held hands as they paced the exhibitions in the Fogg Museum, Raven's form rippling through its photography collection.

Charles turned 18 in his second year of university, and took his first client a week later -- a man who'd seen him with Logan, and thought so hard about fucking Charles's mouth that he tasted the man's desire at the back of his tongue. It was... fine. Nothing special and nothing terrible. He took another client to further test the waters, and thought, I can do this. Raven was horrified when Charles told her, unnerved when he showed her the research he did on fees and safety tips, then finally resigned to living with Charles's crazy.

"You can't just-- Charles, this isn't an internship, for fuck's sakes," she moaned.

"Language," he said, automatically.

"Fuck off, old man." She stared at him, clutching at her bright red hair with both hands. "Oh my god, I cannot believe you researched for best practices in sex work."

He flicked an eyebrow at her. "I'm making my privilege work for me, love."

"Christ on a stick, you're awful." Raven whacked him with her secondhand copy of A People's History of the United States, huffing. "Forget I ever said anything -- if some working girl shanks you for being an arrogant dickhead on her territory, it'll be nothing less than what you deserve."

She was still anxious, though, worried for him. Charles took her hands in his and said, "I'm a telepath -- it helps. And no one here knows I'm a mutant, so it's exceedingly unlikely that they'll think to try to shield their minds against me. I've always said we would be all right, didn't I?"

When the Worthington Endowment for Gifted Mutants sent Raven a letter saying they would pay for half of her college tuition, he splurged on a celebratory dinner. He watched her smiling and laughing in the glow of candlelight, her mind glittering brightly with dreams, and thought that he would pay anything, everything, for this.

----------------------

Charles held his breath in his second class with Professor Lehnsherr, but the man barely acknowledged him as he filed past -- just a brief, impersonal look. Well. It looked like Charles might be able to brazen this out, after all. He settled in to listen as the first powerpoint slide clicked to life:

THE MUTANT LIBERATION FRONT AND THE CIVIL RIGHTS ERA
In the Beginning

Erik Lehnsherr was a good speaker, if a little too sure of himself and prone to bearing down like a predator on students who had the temerity to express opinions he thought were idiotic. He was slightly kinder to the ones with visible mutations, though. Almost three-quarters of the mutant undergraduates in Harvard were taking this course -- it didn't surprise Charles, but he found himself skimming their minds, idly following the entwined threads of needs, hopes and a depressingly strong streak of internalised bigotry. Charles jotted down notes to remind himself to look up the parts he felt Lehnsherr was being too generous in drawing on his own political beliefs. Lehnsherr mentioned, in passing, that before coming to Harvard he had lobbied for his former university to place Mutant Studies within the Politics department rather than Sociology; he was lured over the ocean by promises of intellectual flexibility.

By the end of the lecture, Charles was beginning to let himself hope that he and Lehnsherr would get over the unpleasant bump of social awkwardness with the time-honoured method of denial, when Lehnsherr stopped him at the door. Charles looked left and right -- he was the last student left in the hall, much to his regret.

"I need to talk to you," Lehnsherr said.

I don't, Charles thought, but gamely said, "I'm free now."

TBC

I love, love, love this version of Charles and just how aware he is of his privlege, unf, I don't know why that's hitting me so hard, but, it is. Keep up the great work!

WEEEEEEEE SEQUEL!!!! Great development so far!! The heartwrenching backstory and relationship of Charles and Raven. Cant wait for more!

moar!!!

A+++++++++++, omg, loved the first fic and this one is just so promising already!

NGL, I'm in loooove with this fic. Already, its hashing out their characters quite nicely. Can't wait for you toe update.

A short(er) update this time around, because I wanted to get this part done and over with so I can move on with the rest of the fic. Thanks very much for the comments! Sorry for not replying individually, I hope the story continues to be enjoyable.

----------------------

Lehnsherr had a corner office with a good view of the grounds, and enough natural sunlight to line every edge and curve of his desk with a soft glow. It did little to soften the austere orderliness of the room, though. Charles had the distinct feeling that every single thing in Lehnsherr's office must earn its place, preferably twice over. He had a computer, books and journals neatly slotted onto shelves, papers brimming with comments scrawled in bold blue ink, and an insectoid reading lamp that looked like it was ordered off an IKEA catalogue. There were no knick-knacks, no pictures, no posters save for one: a garish red and purple poster proclaiming, in German, Mutant Solidarity Forum: Berlin 1987. Lehnsherr didn't do anything quite so bourgeois as to actually frame it, but the poster had obviously been carefully handled in its lifetime.

Charles knew the bare outlines of the story behind it. He could hardly fail to -- every feature article on Erik Lehnsherr he could find by googling cited the fractious 1987 forum as a turning point in Lehnsherr's life. Lehnsherr had been a 14-year-old student volunteer from Dusseldorf, defying his parents' fears over his safety for the chance to rub shoulders with his personal heroes. When the police "intervened" (Lehnsherr always made it sound like an invective, in his interviews) he was among the scores arrested, beaten and detained -- and came out a changed person. There was more to the story, but Charles didn't care to track down Lehnsherr's more personal writings; he'd had the man's cock in him and was paid for it and enjoyed it, but they didn't need to be friends.

Lehnsherr gestured sharply for him to sit. Charles, after a moment's pause, elected to sit on the sofa instead of the chair placed before Lehnsherr's desk. If they were going to have it out now, he'd be damned if he allowed Lehnsherr the safety of having a desk to hide behind. Lehnsherr scowled but sat at the other end of the sofa without complaint, crossing his long legs. Fragments of thought and emotion sank into Charles's mind like pebbles dropped by a clumsy hand: Lehnsherr was nervous, was thinking about his job, wondered what the hell Charles was doing selling himself--

"It was a job and you were a client," Charles said into the silence. "It would be... unethical of me to reveal my clients' names or take advantage of their vulnerabilities. You needn't worry -- I have no intention of blackmailing you. Bad business practice."

"If it were that straightforward, we would not be having this conversation. I'd hoped you would drop the class, but it appears I let my guilt delude me." Lehnsherr barked out a hard, ugly laugh. "You're my student. It would be unethical for me to continue as your professor when--"

"If you were a regular at a restaurant where I was a waiter, would you still say that?" Charles cut in sharply.

Lehnsherr's anger spiked, making Charles flinch. "Don't be obtuse. Regardless of the debate about whether prostitution is work--"

"--It's sex work, and yes, it bloody well is--"

"--Harvard has guidelines on professional conduct for the faculty. They all but nail it to our fucking doors that sexual relationships with students are verboten. I have always prided myself on questioning human standards before submitting to those I choose, but on this, there was never any question in my mind." Erik's mouth softened, just a little. "Xavier, why are you doing this? If you need the money, I have contacts in the mutant network who give people like us good, safe jobs."

But I'm already as safe as I could be, Charles thought. He conducted his business through websites for sugar babies seeking sugar daddies and Craigslist, not on the streets, and always made sure to leave his appointment diary behind in a locked case where Raven knew to find it. His eidetic memory didn't need the aid -- it was insurance, in case something happened. He was a bloody telepath, for god's sakes. He didn't even need to be paid upfront, because anyone who wanted to do a runner would soon find himself agreeing to fork over twice the agreed fee to an unamused Charles. And he never told any of his clients about Raven.

It's the mutants he had to look out for. He loved mutants and their many wonders, but he never had to worry about psi-resistant bad clients when it came to ordinary humans.

"I'm fine," Charles said, managing to make himself sound half-way gracious. "I don't need to be saved, professor. I chose a job that suits my needs -- unlike most of my classmates, I'll be graduating without debt. It doesn't cut into my study hours, and my regulars are more than happy to pay for incidentals."

Like travel costs. Food. Books. Clothes. The movie tickets he and Raven hadn't been able to afford. The trip to New York he'd taken with Raven to re-acquaint themselves with the city before she started college. Raven had stayed with a friend -- but Charles had stayed in a palatial suite at the Four Seasons with a man who liked Charles to whisper filthy things as he sucked Charles's cock.

Charles licked his lips, remembering. Lehnsherr's gaze fell to his mouth as if magnetised, then reluctantly dragged itself up to meet Charles's eyes. A flush reddened his cheeks momentarily, but his eyes remained unapproachably severe.

"You don't have a relationship with me," Charles said, hammering the point in. "We had a business transaction, that's all."

"Forgive me my excessive sentimentality," Lehnsherr snapped. "My point stands: I cannot be expected to assess you objectively as a student with-- with that hanging over every word we exchange in class. Even if I am hardly worth remembering among your many other clients."

Charles wanted to put his head into his hands in despair. "You can, and you will. Or I'll--"

"What? File a complaint? Blackmail me?" Lehnsherr said. "Not so professional now, are we?"

"That was unnecessarily cruel, professor. And unworthy of you," Charles said, soft. His hands felt icy-cold -- shock, he thought, detached -- and he warmed them between his knees. Which, helpfully, also suppressed the trembling.

Lehnsherr sighed and seemed to deflate, raking his fingers through his hair. He was watching Charles with a strange expression on his face, somewhere between anger and desire. Charles probed his mind gently, slipping just a little deeper than he usually would--

Ah. Lehnsherr was thinking about the phone number Charles gave him, scrawled across a piece of paper torn off the hotel notepad. He was going to call, Charles realised, when Charles walked into the lecture hall and upended Lehnsherr's life. He was viciously regretting the weak moment when he clicked on Charles's profile on that website, and saying yes to a meet-up. He wanted to fuck Charles again and hated that he couldn't look at Charles without the intrusion of lurid fantasies.

"Fine," Charles said, mostly to himself. "If that's how it is, then... fine."

Lehnsherr frowned. "What?"

"I'll take you on as a client," Charles said. "For a fee of your objectivity and impartiality in assessing my work in your class. And getting me out of your system."

TBC

i is making the dolphin noises rn.

Hee! This is awesome!

Go Charles! I love how smart and self-confident he is in this story.

Oh yes this is gon' be guud~

wow Charles, just wow! XD I love how self-confident Charles is, especially towards Erik. I'd love to read more! :D

There IS more of this! Right? RIGHT??!

round 3 overflow post

Round 3, Charles/Erik, Charles/others, hooker!Charles

a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (1a/?)

Warning: references to technically underage sex in section above ^^

a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (1b/?)

a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (1c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (1c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (1c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (1c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (1c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (1c/?)

a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (2a/?)

a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (2b/?)

a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (2c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (2c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (2c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (2c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (2c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (2c/?)

Re: a man with a midas touch, Charles/Erik, Charles/others (2c/?)