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 187/?

[tahariel.livejournal.com]

Her eyebrows rise, at least as eloquent as her televised speeches have been in her ongoing campaign to be recognised as a political party. Both of them know he has the power to approve that, a carrot to dangle from a very particular stick. “I must confess I’m at a loss as to what this meeting is about, sir. You’ve never shown any interest in the PIP before other than to call us ‘a bunch of troublemakers and whiners’.” She flips her long brown hair back behind her shoulder with a dismissive hand, her gaze still fixed steadily on his, not giving an inch. “What is it you wanted to speak to me about?”

“An area of mutual interest,” he says, as Rogue knocks on the outer door and comes in a moment after, carrying a tray of tea and coffee, which she places carefully on the table between them. “Rogue, see to it Ms McTaggert and I aren’t disturbed.”

The girl nods, glancing between the two of them with scarcely an ounce less curiosity than a cat. “Yes, sir.” At the very least she is well-trained enough not to sass him in front of company.

“I wasn’t aware we had mutual interests,” McTaggert says once Rogue has closed the door behind her, leaning forward to pour herself a coffee. Black, which is telling in and of itself. “In fact, I would say we have mutual disinterests.”

He resists the urge to smirk. “Not if you want to be legally recognised.”

The coffee cup pauses on the way to her mouth, then slowly lowers back to its saucer with a quiet clink of china, resting neatly on her knee. “I’m listening,” she says, and waits for him to speak.



XIX

Charles has taken to baking again, which is a better obsession for him to return to at least than the month he had spent building a matchstick house. His fingers had been permanently glue-spattered and raw, and the apartment had smelled like old fish for at least a month after he had given it up for a bad job and binned the thing.

There is already a huge chunk of today’s cake missing, more than Erik would have thought even Charles with his sweet tooth could have eaten in one sitting. The human is curled up on the windowseat watching people go by outside, but he has a notebook in his lap and a pencil in one hand, so he has not, at least, returned to the absent days when he had gone wandering so far off in his own mind that Erik had been afraid he might never come back.

The sunlight that creeps in through the windows as the sun goes down plays softly in Charles’ hair, makes it halo-like in silhouette, the line of his nose and jaw so familiar and dear to Erik that he stops for a moment just to look at him, heartsick and longing.

He’s not ready for this to be over, for there never to be Charles again, to turn and look at Erik with eyes that know the worst in him and still smile to see him watching. “Hey,” Charles says, quietly, his face half-hidden in the shine of the bright outdoors. “Is everything okay?”

“I just love you, is all,” Erik says, and tries to smile in return, but it’s weak, a mere twitch of his mouth that could be a grimace. Taking off his helmet is a welcome excuse to look away. Underneath it his hair is sweat-soaked and disarranged, and he runs his hands through it, irritated and trying to flatten it down. He doesn’t hear Charles coming closer until there is another hand on his head, smoothing along the line of his skull and pressing his hair back into place.

“Oh, Erik. I love you, too, it’s not about that.” Charles’ face is very close to Erik’s, and his eyes crease at the corners with a matching longing that Erik recognises, suddenly, like looking into a mirror. “I just don’t want to make you think I’ve backed down, because I haven’t. I don’t want to lead you on that I’ve got it out of my system and I’m staying now. That’s been our problem all along - every time I fight you on this I just let things go back to normal, after, and you’re too used to that.”

He shrugs, hand staying in Erik’s hair, curling to the shape of his head. “It’s not going back to being like that, Erik. I won’t let it.”

“A fate worse than death,” Erik murmurs, and leans forward until his forehead meets Charles’, rests there, lets his eyes close so he doesn’t have to look at Charles’ expression any more, pained and affectionate. “What did you make today?”