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 180/?

[tahariel.livejournal.com]

“Kurt,” Magneto says as sternly as he can, and the boy startles, jumping straight into the air and turning 180 degrees mid-leap until he lands facing his godfather, feet smacking down with those golden eyes wide and surprised. “You know you’re not supposed to be playing in here.”

The pout deepens, and Kurt drags one - bare - foot across the carpet, biting at his lower lip and rolling it between his teeth. “Was an accident,” he mumbles, but the way he’s glancing up through his lashes is enough to let Erik know that it’s more calculated than cowed. “I was in my bedroom and then I sneezed and fell in your office. Sorry, Uncle Erik.”

In the big, stark room, wood-panelled and old-fashioned in that old-world style that Erik hates but knows gives gravitas to his position, and against the thick cream carpet, four-year-old Kurt is a flash of colour, of blue skin and muddy knees and messy hair that he refuses to have cut, his red t-shirt still too big for him and bagging away from his body like it’s trying to escape - Azazel tends to buy bigger, to give him room to grow into them. It hardly seems any time at all since he was a tiny thing, unable to take care of himself and motherless, crying for days when she didn’t come back.

Erik has always tried harder than he might have otherwise, for that, and for the loss of the boy’s real uncle, too. Somebody has to compensate. He’s not very good with children, but he tries, nonetheless.

When he smiles at Kurt it’s enough to encourage the boy to sidle across the room to his desk, leaning up over the edge to peer at the multi-coloured trays. “Wotcha doing?”

“Oh, nothing important,” Erik says, and takes the reprieve. He’ll go and see Emma later, once he’s thought a little more about what he wants to say. “Come on, I’ll take you back upstairs. Your nanny will be wondering where you’ve got to this time.”

Kurt crosses his arms across his weedy little chest and pouts up at him, stubbornness in the line of his brow. “I’m not a baby, Uncle Erik. I know where my room is.”

“I know.” He stands up from his chair, reaches down to take Kurt’s hand in his the way Azazel does, the way he thinks Charles might, given the chance. It folds into his palm, very small and soft, if slightly sticky. “Come on. I have meetings all day, so if you don’t hurry up then I’ll have to hand you over to Rogue to take back.”

“I like Rogue,” Kurt says, but he trots along happily enough at Erik’s side when they go out of the office, chattering away about the things he and his friends have been up to, and it’s difficult not to think that the people Emma wants to free are the ones that meant Raven never got to have this.



X

Magneto goes to see Emma that afternoon, but apparently there is some kind of natural disaster happening in Africa and they spend the rest of the day, that night and most of the following day on that, instead, gulping down cups of strong, overbrewed coffee and eating whenever food is presented to them. Erik doesn’t go home until the following midday, and Charles just puts him to bed when he gets back, strips him of his tunic and cape and tucks him in under the bedclothes, brings a book along with him and sits down beside Erik to read it, one hand resting on Erik’s hair where his forehead is pressed against the bone of Charles’ hip, arm looped over Charles’ lap to hold him there as he falls asleep.