round 3 overflow post

[starkmodistries.livejournal.com]

Round 3 Overflow Post

This post is for Round 3 fills only. We ask that when a round hits 8500 comments, fillers begin moving their fills to this post.

Format:
SUBJECT LINE -- Round #, short description of fic (ex: "Alex/Hank, lab partners")
--- Link to the prompt
--- Text of the prompt

--- Link to the fill
OR
--- Entire text of the fill

EXAMPLE:
Prompt: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6437.html?thread=1038472#t2038174

Charles/Erik -- Charles is a bakery owner whose most frequent customer is Erik.

Fill: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6437.html?thread=0139482#t4502942

Charles started off the morning the same way he always did...

Comments

FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 145/?

[tahariel.livejournal.com]

Charles shifts, uncertain, and then stands, the gleam of his eyes little more than a suggestion in the darkness of the apartment. “I’m scared,” he says, and steps forward, closer to Erik, until his shadow is lapping over Erik’s feet like waves, burying them. “I can never be one hundred per cent sure that what I feel for you is real, and not just – manufactured by this situation. I don’t want to lead you on, Erik.”

Erik laughs. “You’re already sleeping with me, Charles. How much worse can it get?”

“Then – ” the other man hesitates, steps closer, until his shadow reaches Erik’s waist, leaving him hip-deep in Charles’ shade, eclipsed. “Then – Erik, I – ”

“Don’t,” Erik says, in sudden alarm, and steps back and away. “Don’t say it – ”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t care, Erik. I love you,” Charles says, and he looks as spooked as Erik feels, biting at his lower lip until it’s wet and shining. “Regardless of all the reasons I shouldn’t, and ignoring everything else. I love you.”

It’s like being punched in the gut.

“No, you don’t.” Erik can feel every cell in his body fizzing and crackling with a rising elation, one he firmly tries to batter down, resolute. “You don’t.”

“I do,” and Charles steps forward again, once, twice, three steps until he reaches out and pulls Erik’s head down to kiss him, hard, teeth knocking together and fingers tight. “You are – a prejudiced, violent, wrongheaded, funny, gentle, unexpectedly kind misanthropic neanderthal,” Charles says when he pulls back, leaving Erik’s lips stinging from the force of his kiss. “Every time I think you’re unsalvageable you do something that changes my mind all over again. And it’s all very well me sitting on my high horse about it, but. I’m already so deeply tangled up in you that admitting it makes very little difference to me and a big difference to you. And I want you to be happy, too.”

Everything stops for a moment, and Erik finds that his heart is thudding so hard in his chest it might burst, his breath shallow and shaky. When he forces himself to inhale it makes a sound like a sob, though it’s not, it’s absolutely not, and he cups Charles’ cheek in his palm and kisses him back, just as hard, his other hand moving to press between Charles’ shoulders and drag him in close, until they’re leaning against one another and biting at each others’ mouths, and he feels half-crazed and euphoric and terrified.

Charles says he loves him. Loves Erik.

How is he ever going to let him go?



XXXX

They stumble sidelong into the bedroom as though drunk, making it there only by way of the couch, where Charles had got his hands up under Erik’s tunic; the kitchen table; and then the wall in the corridor, where they had slammed up against it, still kissing, half-stripped and tripping on abandoned clothes. Charles’ skin against Erik’s is burning hot, branding him everywhere they touch, until he’s surprised not to be covered in red welts when he looks down at Charles’ mouth on his chest, kissing him above his heart even as he pushes Charles down onto the bed, climbing up over him and leaning down to meet his mouth again.

“Please,” Erik says against the hard puffs of Charles’ breath, strokes his hands over all the skin he can reach, and hopes that he is branding Charles too, covering him entirely with Erik’s name. There are fingers in his hair, scraping over his scalp, holding him there as Charles’ hips jerk against his own, rocking them together and shaking a moan out of them both.

“Off,” Charles says, and pushes his free hand down the back of Erik’s pants, grabbing at his ass and pulling them closer even as Erik goes to undo their belts, making it all but impossible; he resorts to using his powers, shifting the metal around the leather instead of drawing it through and popping the fastenings open with excessive force, probably ruining the zippers. “Erik!” Pulling them down and off is awkward, but he manages, the steel dragging the fabric with it and flinging it off the end of the bed.