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 173/?

[tahariel.livejournal.com]

He cannot mind that it diverts Charles’ attention away from Erik, that the first thing he does is flick open the cover to look at the index, because when Charles sees his name - the cypher of his name, the substitution, but nonetheless his - he smiles broad and beautiful, eyes crinkling at the corners as though he has won a prize, as though he has not had countless papers published before and will likely have countless more, because he is brilliant. Beast always says so, and Erik can only imagine the conversations the two of them would have, if they could meet.

He drags the bowl towards him across the table with two fingers hooked over the rim, finishes the last of the pie while Charles is still reading, chases the last crumbling fragments of crust around the bowl with his fork and watches Charles read. The pie is delicious, made with the last of the summer’s meagre haul of fruit, boiled and softened until it could be spread thinner, shared among more people. When he’s done he stands and gathers the dirty bowl and glasses to put in the sink for later, looks down at the top of Charles’ bowed head, the uneven line of his parting and the tumble of his hair. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Mmm,” is the only response he gets, along with a twitch of Charles’ right hand as though he’s trying to tap a pen he isn’t holding against the tabletop. Erik has always found it an endearing habit, and he correctly locates Charles’ favourite fountain pen where he’s tucked it behind his ear, plucks it from its perch and slides it into Charles’ hand. He presses a kiss to Charles’ temple, soft and brief. The skin is thin there, and he can feel the pulse just under it, beloved and throbbing warm in time with Charles’ thoughts.

Then he takes the dirty crockery away, and goes to change out of what he has come to think of as his uniform into something more comfortable, which lets them both pretend for a while that Erik isn’t essentially the ruler of the world, now.



II

After all of their caterwauling and wailing and gnashing of teeth, Europe had essentially bent its neck to him of its own accord, and he had hardly had to do any conquering at all.

In the wake of Raven’s death, it had been rather disappointing. He could have done with somebody to fight, to take out his anger productively against, something he could beat; something he could defeat with the strength of his mutation and his fists, physical and draining. Sometimes it’s the only way he can keep a wound from festering, by burning out his feelings with something stronger.



III

Sometimes Erik feels like he could never love Charles more than he does already, and then every time Charles will turn and look at him or smile or say something, and he finds a little more room to love him even more fiercely, has to crush the feeling down until it crystallises to make more space, like a diamond.

Other times it feels more like a pearl - beautiful, but there is a speck of dirt, an irritant at the heart of it, and there is no way to get it out without breaking it.



IV

In the late evening the light is dim, soft and encroaching only from the fire in the other room, yellowed and old-fashioned. It makes the bedroom close, intimate instead of claustrophobic. Tonight Charles kisses him back with passion, pulls Erik down on top of him with hands that catch and cling to his clothes, drag him in close; when Erik reaches for the hem of Charles’ sweater the human raises his arms to make it easier to take off, slithers out of it and before Erik has even tossed it to the side Charles is grabbing for Erik’s shirt in return, baring them both to the waist. They slide together, sweat to sweat, slick and wanting.

Keeping Charles is a guilty pleasure as well as a necessity. The only place Charles can be really safe is here, with Erik - it’s absolutely necessary, for him to be safe. And here.

But Erik cannot deny that there is a part of him that likes having something precious that belongs to him alone, a captive treasure he doesn’t have to share. He knows it’s not - right.

But.

He’s never really had anything like that, before.