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 153/?

[tahariel.livejournal.com]

His heart sinks and clenches, and Erik’s expression must answer the question, because Charles turns away with a huff of frustration, laying the pictures down finally on the coffee table and going to sit on the couch, elbows propped on his knees. “I’m sorry,” Erik says, coming around to join him, and setting the helmet down on the table beside the photos. “There’s simply no way to do it that guarantees you won’t be seen. And even if you weren’t, Emma would pick you out in a heartbeat, and she’d be more likely than not to shoot first and ask questions later. I value your brain unscrambled too highly to risk it, liebchen.”

A finger-tousled head comes to rest on Erik’s shoulder, but only for a moment before Charles is sitting bolt upright again and giving him an incredulous look, eyebrows rising. “What did you call me?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, and reaches up to undo the clasp of his cape from where it’s suddenly tight around his throat, lays it aside over the arm of the couch and does not meet Charles’ eyes. He has a terrible suspicion that he might be blushing.

When he turns back Charles is smiling at him, wry and warm, but he doesn’t ask the question again. Instead he says, “We’ll have to get them a present. What do you think they’d like?”

“She’s your sister.”

“He’s your godson.”

“Charles,” Erik says, with a dash of amusement at his own expense, “I barely managed to hold onto him without dropping him, what makes you think I have any clue of what an appropriate gift would be? Besides, I’ve been making the mobile. You’ll have to think of your own gift.”

“Rats,” and there’s good humour there again too, Charles pulling his legs up onto the couch to sit tailor-fashion, tipping his head back against the cushions to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling. “You would have to go and be all German about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

A grin. “Desperately efficient and making the rest of us look bad. Look, can’t I claim some sort of couple’s benefits and bogart yours? Joint present?”

“I think the metalwork might give it away.”

“I’m an uncle,” Charles says, and his voice is full of wonder. Erik has no choice but to look at him, to take in the long line of his throat where Charles is swallowing down amazement, the loose curl of his hair, getting rather long again - it will need cutting again soon - his broad, strong shoulders and blunt, capable fingers, the trim line of his waist and the easy stretch of his thighs where they press against the fabric of his trousers. Sometimes it’s hard to think of anything else but Charles, the easy grace of him. He feels everything so strongly that sometimes Erik thinks it might be catching, because he can barely breathe sometimes for feeling things.

“Raven will bring him up as soon as she’s able, you know that,” he replies eventually, meeting Charles’ eyes when the human tips his head to the side to look at Erik and smile, hair flopping across his forehead and getting caught in his lashes. “She won’t be able to resist showing off.”

“You’re terrible.” Charles’ arms shift, though, to lie across his chest as though he’s cradling a baby, his gaze somewhere fond and far away. “He’s obviously a mutant - I wonder what his power will be, if he has one. If he’ll have one or both of theirs. It’s going to be very interesting, finding out what it means to be a second generation mutant.”

“It’s going to be interesting enough trying to get diapers to fit around a tail.”

“He has a tail?”

“You can’t see it in the photographs, but yes. He looks a lot like his father.”

“He looks a lot like my sister,” Charles says, “like his mother,” and he spends the rest of the evening looking up from whatever he’s doing at the time at some invisible point off in the distance, smiling quietly to himself. Erik doesn’t interrupt him. The look on Charles’ face is enough to keep him from speaking, somewhere between longing and pride.