round 3 overflow post

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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: The Better Men (20c/30ish)

[(Anonymous)]

"I need you to understand," Charles said, "I only received that letter two days ago. And only got up the courage to read it this very morning."

Erik stared at him. "But… how…" He felt his face harden. "Raven."

"Yes," Charles said softly. "And we've already had words about it. She had her reasons. But we can talk about Raven later."

Erik looked down at the parchment in his hand, trying to absorb the meaning of what he was hearing. Charles hadn't ignored his letter, or burned it unread, hadn't read the words I can take anything from you but silence and decided that was exactly what Erik deserved. "You thought I never wrote," he realized, voice hoarse. "You thought I never even tried, that I didn't want – Charles—"

"I didn't understand how you could be so angry about not hearing from me in ten years, when you hadn't given me a word either." Charles smiled wryly, even as his eyes grew wet. "What a pair we made, fencing in the dark."

Erik drew a steadying breath, tried to keep his voice conversational. "And now that you've read this letter at last, what do you think of it?"

"Well," Charles said dryly, "it's certainly representative of its sender. I never knew begging and demanding could sound so alike. Virtually indistinguishable."

"I suppose I may have been… a bit dramatic."

"Mm. Said you couldn't live without me, for instance, and yet you seem to have survived."

"No, not really," Erik breathed.

"You also said you would fight for me," Charles said, his voice breaking suddenly. "Why didn't you write again?"

"I… It never occurred to me that you hadn't read it. Esther delivered it to your house herself, it wasn't like the Muggle postal system where things get lost and no one knows it. I thought this – nothing – was my answer. Writing again would have been… Shameful. Pathetic. Creepy, even, trying to force my affection on someone who had made his wishes clear. If it had ever occurred to me that you'd never received it…" He felt hot and cold all over, sick at the idea of so many years lost, wasted… Depending on what Charles's true reply might have been. He wet his lips and asked, "Would you have written back?"

"I don't know," Charles admitted bleakly. "I had vowed to burn any and all letters from you, unopened. That was one reason Raven hid it from me. I don't know if I would have followed through. I do know that if I'd burned this letter I would have regretted it the rest of my life. I do know that it killed me that you never wrote."

The tears in his eyes, in his voice, were unmistakable now, and Erik went instictively to his side. Charles stood, tried to turn away, but at Erik's gentle hand on his shoulder he turned back, let Erik bracket unsteady hands on either side of his neck, thumbs ghosting along his jaw, barely touching.

"And if you had replied?" Erik felt dizzy with fear, but he had to know. "What would you have said? Would you have forgiven me?"

Charles closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. "Oh, Erik. That one incident – all the incidents, even – you do realize our personal conflicts are only half the problem? Forgiving you doesn't fix everything." His voice sank to a whisper. "But yes. Yes, I forgive you all of it, everything – for good or ill, all I ever needed for that was for you to actually be sorry—"

"I am sorry," Erik said brokenly, and leaned forward to press a soft, hesitant kiss to Charles's lips. "I'm sorry." Another kiss. "I'm sorry."

Charles didn't let him pull away a third time, locking arms around his neck and burying himself in the kiss.

Erik wasn't particularly aware of slamming Charles against the thick oak door, but he wasn't particularly aware of anything beyond the taste of Charles's lips, the sweet sharp pain of Charles's nails digging into his back, Charles arching up against him and wrapping his legs around Erik's waist. Some part of him was trying to go slower, gentler, trying to savor this, trying to make every touch into proof that Charles was not just wanted but loved. It was hard to focus on these noble goals with Charles tearing right through the buttons of his shirt to get to the skin underneath.