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 189/?

[tahariel.livejournal.com]

“This won’t make you popular with the hardcore humanists,” Magneto says, signing the topmost paper on his desk and placing it into his out tray. From the corner of his eye he can see her pause at the door, half-turning to look at him. “Working with us instead of against us.”

“I didn’t get into politics to be popular, Magneto. I did it to make a difference, the same way I always have.” The door closes behind her with a soft click.

After a moment’s thought, he puts in a call to his security team, and asks them to arrange something for Ms McTaggert, covertly, at least until after the press conference. Wolverine makes a surprised noise when he realises his new protectee is human, but he’s smart enough not to ask questions, and at least if she puts two bullets in him when she spots him - and Magneto doesn’t doubt she will - the man won’t die.



XXI

“Charles? Where are you?”

A far off sound of water splashing, then, “Here.”

Erik stops beside the couch as the door swings shut behind him, having only determined before that Charles was far enough away not to need Erik to hold onto the bracelets, not precisely where he was. He’s having a bath, then.

Considering the way things have been between them - chaste, more like roommates than lovers, Charles avoiding intimacy beyond the most simple of conversations - all the momentum he’d built up on the walk up from his office vanishes, and he’s left unexpectedly wrongfooted. He’d made up his mind to tell Charles everything once it was set in motion, everything agreed; sitting downstairs with the agreement in place it had seemed a good idea, but now -

“Come here,” Charles calls, voice echoing off the tiles. “No point yelling between rooms.”

- now it’s awkward, feels as though he’s telling his wife about the present he’s buying his mistress.

Erik walks through to their bedroom where the bathroom door is, tugging off his gloves as he goes. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Once in the bedroom he can talk to Charles without shouting, but he doesn’t move to open the door, stands outside it instead, uncertain of his welcome. His cape and helmet he dumps on the bed, the tunic after, so he’s left just in the cotton undershirt that goes under it, a little damp with the day’s sweat.

There is a sound of water against porcelain again, of wet skin on wet skin. “It’s fine, Erik. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” There’s another sound, louder, and then the bathroom door is swinging toward him, Charles leaning half out of the tub to push it open, one hand braced on the wall beside the frame. “Is everything alright?” he asks, settling back into the bath and under the bubbles, sliding in with a quiet splash, knees rising from the foam like pale islands.

The bathroom is all white, tiles and fittings. Charles in the middle of it is a splash of colour, his eyes and dark hair shocking against the winter snowfield of the room.

Erik bends to slip off his boots and socks with brisk efficiency, leaves them at the foot of the bed and pads through into the bathroom. There’s just enough space to sit on the floor by Charles’ head, settling onto the cold tile and resting his elbow on the edge of the tub. The spilled water there soaks into his shirt sleeve immediately, turns the pale grey fabric cool and translucent. It feels as though they haven’t seen each other for days, moving past one another like strangers at a bus stop instead of lovers at home. “How are you,” he says, awkwardly, and is momentarily distracted by a driblet of water as it trails down the side of Charles’ face from his damp and curling hair, curving down to the corner of his mouth. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Charles smiles, and the beaded water runs onto his lip and inside. “I’m well, thank you. How about you?”

“I’m good,” Erik says, rests his chin on his arm, shifting sideways onto his hip so he’s turned towards Charles, doesn’t have to twist so far. The bathroom smells like sea salt, like whatever it is they mix in with the bubbles these days to make it smell like the ocean. Charles has his head tilted back against the sloped side, cheek to the cool porcelain so he can look at Erik, eyes half-lidded and relaxed.