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 184/?

[tahariel.livejournal.com]

XIII

“What,” Erik says, sitting up and shoving the blankets down so that they sit around his waist, blinking away sleep and raising a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, try to bring his eyes into focus. There’s a deep ache between his legs that he would have liked to consider, decide if he likes it or not, but instead he’s naked in bed with the sun only just rising outside and Charles is fully-dressed in the armchair against the far wall, sat calmly and neatly, as though he’s waiting for the doctor to call him in. “Charles, I’ve only just woken up.”

“I’m sorry for the timing, but I want to discuss this now.” Charles’ face is blank of emotion, painfully neutral. All except for his eyes, which are hot and determined in a way they haven’t been for so, so long. “Before you put on your armour for the day and go off to be Magneto again, the way you always do, and pretend I’m not here until it’s convenient for you to come home.”

Erik pauses, lets his hand fall back to his lap and away from his face, and really looks at Charles, driving away sleep with an effort of will.

The human is thinner now than he was, despite the lack of space for real exercise, his cheekbones a touch more prominent, the lines of his body more sinuous now than they had been when he’d carried a little extra weight to soften his frame. In his crisp white shirt and tweed waistcoat Charles is dressed more smartly than he has bothered to be for a long time, but more than that he is alert, as though someone has taken a whetstone to the edges that had long since been blunted by his slow acceptance of his situation, has left him sharpened and ready to cut to the heart of the matter, to say his piece.

It’s difficult for Erik not to say something deep and cutting out of reflex, to get his wounds in first before Charles can make his. Not to mention how Charles has cornered Erik while he is naked and Charles is dressed, while Erik is still reeling from the way Charles had fucked him last night, tender and forceful by turns, as though Erik was something precious, something Charles wanted to keep.

It’s vicious in a way Charles so rarely is, and Erik cannot help but be a little bruised by that.

“Charles,” he starts, and is disgusted by how he can hear weakness waiting to creep into his voice, forces it out and lifts his chin to tighten his vocal cords, make sure they don’t tremble. “Charles, you know why things are like this. It’s not something I - it’s not what I would choose for you. But wishes aren’t horses, and beggars don’t ride. Nothing’s changed to make it any less of a bad idea.”

“I refuse to spend the rest of my life living in a box.” When Charles leans forward he curls his hands around the arms of the chair, white-knuckled like he might tip right out of it if he doesn’t. “That’s not living, Erik, it’s pre-emptive interment. You might as well nail me up in a coffin right here and now. I’m as good as dead to the rest of the world anyway. It’s killing me, Erik.” He leaps to his feet as though he can’t sit still any longer, and then just stands there, looking down at Erik with a mix of emotions on his face that move so quickly it’s impossible to interpret any of them before they change, melding one into the other. “I - me - the things that make me who I am - are suffocating here like this. I can’t stand it any more! I have to get out, before I go entirely bonkers and there’s nothing left of Charles Xavier but a husk that used to be him. You have to let me go.”

Erik flinches. It’s like being shot in the chest, everything imploding and driving out the air from his lungs. Erik wonders if this is how Raven had felt in the moments before she died, and then wishes he hadn’t, because the thought of her ever feeling like this is horrifying enough to deserve its own contemplation. Outside he can hear birds starting to sing to welcome the dawn, just one or two at first, then swelling, as more of them join in, a symphony as background music to his frustration and pain.