http://starkmodistries.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
starkmodistries.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
xmenfirstkink2011-12-18 05:18 pm
starkmodistries.livejournal.com) wrote in xmenfirstkink2011-12-18 05:18 pm
Entry tags:
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...
FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 171/?
secondly - you should all check out this beautiful art (http://kannibal.tumblr.com/post/18683026577/the-fall-spoilerssss-latest-everyday-love-in) by the amazing talented
This part kicked my ass from here to China and back. I only hope you guys like it and my pain is worth it!
Erik takes the latest journal with him when he finally gives up on wrestling the last set of reports into something resembling coherence, tucks it under his arm as he keeps the bowl of custard-covered pie steady in his other hand, trying not to spill. The main office outside his door is dark, the usual bustle of aides and secretaries emptied for the night, rows of desks lined up like shadows with only one or two still lit and in use. His own desk occupies most of the space in his private office - the South Americans had sent him one built entirely of stainless steel as a moving gift. At the least it makes it impossible for visitors to forget whom they have come to see.
He checks that the drawers are locked with a casual flick of his power as he leaves, gives Rogue an absent wave when she looks up from her paperwork to wish him goodnight.
Out in the Capitol Building proper - it’s more palace than parliament, but the name seems to have stuck - he follows the path his feet take him without really thinking about where he’s going. The carpet beneath his feet is soft and deep, swallows his footsteps, until he feels as though he’s somehow been transported back in time, to when stealth was his stock in trade. Caught briefly in the reminiscence, it’s easier to follow the steel bones of the building than to pay attention to his route, to use them like a map, feel out their resonance for his landmarks. And at the very top of the building – he is always aware of it, always has it at the edge of his mind, like a touchstone - is the solid metal box surrounding the apartment he shares with Charles, keeping Emma and every other psy-talent out.
There are no memories of Raven here. It makes him fonder of the place than it deserves on its own merit, but he is fond of it nonetheless.
Erik takes the central stairwell as high as it will go before he has to turn into the private wing where the guest rooms are, walks along to the far end of the building before he reaches the way up to the penthouse suite. Nobody bothers him along the way. He’s a regular enough sight in the Capitol that they all know to leave him alone at this time of night.
He can feel Charles moving about when he gets close enough, and on the landing at the top of their staircase he reaches out to find Charles through the bracelets he wears all the time, caresses the metal with his power, the warmth of skin on the inside and cool air on the outside curve.
It’s easy to hold Charles’ wrists still for the moment while the door is open, to hold him where he is with hands paused above the page until Erik is inside and the door is shut against Emma’s mind. Charles himself is sat at the desk writing something, curled up in his chair. When he turns to meet Erik’s gaze his blue eyes are half-squinting from looking at print all day, and then he smiles, a little, just the corner of his mouth curling upward, hair tousled and chest wrapped up in one of his enormous cardigans the way he always is. Charles gets cold easily now, skinnier than he used to be, but he’s too stubborn to put more wood on the fire.
Today is a good day - Charles is working, not sat at the window, or curled up asleep on the bed, limbs held in close to his body and blankets dragged close around him, face hidden in the pillows. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if he’s moved at all while Erik is gone.