[ficlet] [X-Men] Office Hours
Office Hours
X-Men: First Class
Erik/Charles
PG-13
Summary: Normally, Charles doesn’t mind; Erik is a friend he doesn’t see often enough, and Charles still thinks he can convince him that starting a war and murdering millions is, really, not the best way to make people like you.
Words 1304
"Erik," Charles enunciates clearly, loudly, into his pillow, "If it's not life-threatening and you’re not here to kill me, can you come back later? It’s a tad early for me."
His bedroom door and windows are securely locked and his room is empty, and this late (early?) at night even Hank is asleep.
Charles keeps his eyes closed, and hopes Erik will choose to be rational, for once, and return during normal business hours. Hopefully. Possibly.
"Erik. Go away."
His window pops open, dropping the room's temperature from pleasant to frigid. Even with his eyes closed, Charles is willing to bet Erik is being silly again and refusing to step foot on the carpet in case he caught pacifist cooties, or left a trace one of the students could pick up.
"How did you know?"
"I'm secretly psychic, but don't tell anyone. Also, everyone else comes during my office hours. When it is not so ungodly early." Charles is still talking into his pillow. There is always the chance Erik will take the hint, and go away.
Normally, Charles doesn’t mind; Erik is a friend he doesn’t see often enough, and Charles still thinks he can convince him that starting a war and murdering millions is, really, not the best way to make people like you.
However, Charles has had a very long day, and does not want it to get any longer than it has already.
"How did the refectory catch fire?"
Havoc received a phone call Charles doesn’t say, or send. From his family. He wants to leave the institute.
"We put most of it out," Charles tells his bed linen. "And no one actually died."
"What a miraculous school," the bed dips under Erik's weight. "Even odds your student will not die during some fool training experiment. Complimentary parking and casket to the first fifty enrolled."
"Ha," Charles huffs, clinging to the sheets as Erik pulls him on his back. "Laugh all you like, but I'll have you know there were students in London who would've given their left kidney for free parking."
This is closer to the Erik Charles remembers, the sour humor and chilly warmth. The merciless Erik who rarely attacked until provoked.
It's hard to believe--painful, really--but Charles has missed that.
Charles had spent the majority of the day chasing Havoc (in a wheelchair, no less), getting screamed at by Havoc, students, and later the Summer parents, and managing to hire contractors to rebuild the roof and walls and restrain students from fleeing the grounds outright without psychically coercing or outright manipulating anyone.
He deserves the sleep of the just and over-worked. He doesn't have to psychic to know Erik isn't going to let him have it.
Erik's lips are cold, as thin and soft as Charles remembers. He smells woodsy, and his fingers are soft dry ice cubes trailing over Charles' neck.
"How are the students?" Erik is always serious, these days.
"Fine," Charles raises an eyebrow. He's learning to be more...cautious, as much as he dislikes it. Erik is close enough for him to rip his helmet off. "Why?"
"I need a favor."
"That's...nice. What kind?"
Erik hesitates, and Charles' stomach drops a little farther. So little is rarely easy with Erik.
"I have two children in need of a good home. Mutants," Erik clarifies unnecessarily, because the day Erik acts on the behalf of humans would be the day Charles started wearing ripped jeans and pierced his ears.
"That's...nice," because Charles not only has trouble believing Erik isn't stealing mutants from him, but because it’s so hard to picture Erik terming the institute (just recently not on fire) a 'good home'. "Where did you find them?"
"Can you take them?"
"Probably," which is what Charles would have said even if he couldn't, because really, he can't. "Are they more likely to set the school on fire though, or do they prefer live targets?"
He hates being cautious, but as advanced as he'd like homo superior to be--which a little more advanced than Erik's ideal, and considerably more advanced than what mutants actually are--teenagers are not wise with power, as a rule. They have a tendency to lash out, and rebel, and the Institute is rapidly running out of undamaged property.
As is Charles.
Additionally, he has some idea of what Erik has been collecting, and what he's been training them to do. For him to refuse these mutants...
"No, neither of them are pyrokinetically inclined."
Charles waits for the rest. He can't read Erik's face in the poor lighting, and while his body language is cagey and tense, that's more characteristic than telling.
"If you're going to insist on blowing smoke, Erik, I will be forced to tell you to screw yourself and go to hell. I am not in the mood for games and I am not taking in your psychotic refuse."
He means it as a warning, an opening shot. Erik is too used to pushing people to get what he wants, and is capable of finding hostile intentions in "Good morning".
"You didn't use to swear," Erik sounds curious.
It is very typical of Erik to take no offense at all, if it means making Charles trip.
"I didn't use to swear around you, and I’m just a tad tired right now."
Even to his own ears, Charles sounds snittier than usual. Fatigued. Honest.
He must work on that; doesn't do to let the side down.
Erik's teeth flash briefly, slate grey against charcoal shadows, and then those teeth are in Charles' lip. Manners have never been Erik's strong point.
"You're cute when you're cranky."
"You're insane all of the tim--" and there are lips on his again, a tongue rubbing his palate, and a bigger body pushing him down. Charles exhales through his nose, closes his eyes--this does not happen often enough, not anymore--and cards his fingers through Erik's hair, shoving the helmet off in the process. There's a brief struggle, but the helmet--ugly clunky thing, Charles can't agree with the design--tumbles to the ground. And--
Erik expected him to do that.
Charles finds out what he wanted, and shoves the other man off, which, yes, Erik expected that too.
"I should point out," Erik states, "I did warn you.
"I don't call that much of a warning." I have two children in need of a good home.
"That's because I'm more concise than you are."
Charles lets his head thump against the pillow.
"Can you take them?"
"Erik, they’re too young--they're still on the bottle. They need to be with their mother for at least another ten years."
"She's human, she can't raise them right."
"Then you should've thought of that before you slept with her." Charles rethinks what he said, considers Erik state of mind, and his own tingling lips. "If you were thinking at all. You're not even sure they're mutants."
If Charles hadn't read his mind, he never would've believed Erik had lived the life he had, much less that he survived to see maturity. He can't believe Erik would ask this of him, to pretend to be a foster parent to kidnapped toddlers, except, yes, Erik is.
"Their age will make the transition easier. And you can't call it kidnapping if she brings them to you, which she will once she knows what they are."
Erik leaves the bed and Charles as smoothly as he entered. I didn’t say yes, Erik, you can't do this.
The helmet floats to Erik's hand, and he stares at it as if it holds all secrets in the universe.
You didn't say no, and I’ve played this game with you too long now. A new world is starting; you can’t expect everything to be easy, Charles.
***
A/N: With all the crazy mutants they've created/dug up for five X-Men movies, you'd think they'd give Quicksilver and Scarlet at least a brief cameo but noooo. I doubt Northstar will ever see the screen, but still! Magneto's kids! Why not?
X-Men: First Class
Erik/Charles
PG-13
Summary: Normally, Charles doesn’t mind; Erik is a friend he doesn’t see often enough, and Charles still thinks he can convince him that starting a war and murdering millions is, really, not the best way to make people like you.
Words 1304
"Erik," Charles enunciates clearly, loudly, into his pillow, "If it's not life-threatening and you’re not here to kill me, can you come back later? It’s a tad early for me."
His bedroom door and windows are securely locked and his room is empty, and this late (early?) at night even Hank is asleep.
Charles keeps his eyes closed, and hopes Erik will choose to be rational, for once, and return during normal business hours. Hopefully. Possibly.
"Erik. Go away."
His window pops open, dropping the room's temperature from pleasant to frigid. Even with his eyes closed, Charles is willing to bet Erik is being silly again and refusing to step foot on the carpet in case he caught pacifist cooties, or left a trace one of the students could pick up.
"How did you know?"
"I'm secretly psychic, but don't tell anyone. Also, everyone else comes during my office hours. When it is not so ungodly early." Charles is still talking into his pillow. There is always the chance Erik will take the hint, and go away.
Normally, Charles doesn’t mind; Erik is a friend he doesn’t see often enough, and Charles still thinks he can convince him that starting a war and murdering millions is, really, not the best way to make people like you.
However, Charles has had a very long day, and does not want it to get any longer than it has already.
"How did the refectory catch fire?"
Havoc received a phone call Charles doesn’t say, or send. From his family. He wants to leave the institute.
"We put most of it out," Charles tells his bed linen. "And no one actually died."
"What a miraculous school," the bed dips under Erik's weight. "Even odds your student will not die during some fool training experiment. Complimentary parking and casket to the first fifty enrolled."
"Ha," Charles huffs, clinging to the sheets as Erik pulls him on his back. "Laugh all you like, but I'll have you know there were students in London who would've given their left kidney for free parking."
This is closer to the Erik Charles remembers, the sour humor and chilly warmth. The merciless Erik who rarely attacked until provoked.
It's hard to believe--painful, really--but Charles has missed that.
Charles had spent the majority of the day chasing Havoc (in a wheelchair, no less), getting screamed at by Havoc, students, and later the Summer parents, and managing to hire contractors to rebuild the roof and walls and restrain students from fleeing the grounds outright without psychically coercing or outright manipulating anyone.
He deserves the sleep of the just and over-worked. He doesn't have to psychic to know Erik isn't going to let him have it.
Erik's lips are cold, as thin and soft as Charles remembers. He smells woodsy, and his fingers are soft dry ice cubes trailing over Charles' neck.
"How are the students?" Erik is always serious, these days.
"Fine," Charles raises an eyebrow. He's learning to be more...cautious, as much as he dislikes it. Erik is close enough for him to rip his helmet off. "Why?"
"I need a favor."
"That's...nice. What kind?"
Erik hesitates, and Charles' stomach drops a little farther. So little is rarely easy with Erik.
"I have two children in need of a good home. Mutants," Erik clarifies unnecessarily, because the day Erik acts on the behalf of humans would be the day Charles started wearing ripped jeans and pierced his ears.
"That's...nice," because Charles not only has trouble believing Erik isn't stealing mutants from him, but because it’s so hard to picture Erik terming the institute (just recently not on fire) a 'good home'. "Where did you find them?"
"Can you take them?"
"Probably," which is what Charles would have said even if he couldn't, because really, he can't. "Are they more likely to set the school on fire though, or do they prefer live targets?"
He hates being cautious, but as advanced as he'd like homo superior to be--which a little more advanced than Erik's ideal, and considerably more advanced than what mutants actually are--teenagers are not wise with power, as a rule. They have a tendency to lash out, and rebel, and the Institute is rapidly running out of undamaged property.
As is Charles.
Additionally, he has some idea of what Erik has been collecting, and what he's been training them to do. For him to refuse these mutants...
"No, neither of them are pyrokinetically inclined."
Charles waits for the rest. He can't read Erik's face in the poor lighting, and while his body language is cagey and tense, that's more characteristic than telling.
"If you're going to insist on blowing smoke, Erik, I will be forced to tell you to screw yourself and go to hell. I am not in the mood for games and I am not taking in your psychotic refuse."
He means it as a warning, an opening shot. Erik is too used to pushing people to get what he wants, and is capable of finding hostile intentions in "Good morning".
"You didn't use to swear," Erik sounds curious.
It is very typical of Erik to take no offense at all, if it means making Charles trip.
"I didn't use to swear around you, and I’m just a tad tired right now."
Even to his own ears, Charles sounds snittier than usual. Fatigued. Honest.
He must work on that; doesn't do to let the side down.
Erik's teeth flash briefly, slate grey against charcoal shadows, and then those teeth are in Charles' lip. Manners have never been Erik's strong point.
"You're cute when you're cranky."
"You're insane all of the tim--" and there are lips on his again, a tongue rubbing his palate, and a bigger body pushing him down. Charles exhales through his nose, closes his eyes--this does not happen often enough, not anymore--and cards his fingers through Erik's hair, shoving the helmet off in the process. There's a brief struggle, but the helmet--ugly clunky thing, Charles can't agree with the design--tumbles to the ground. And--
Erik expected him to do that.
Charles finds out what he wanted, and shoves the other man off, which, yes, Erik expected that too.
"I should point out," Erik states, "I did warn you.
"I don't call that much of a warning." I have two children in need of a good home.
"That's because I'm more concise than you are."
Charles lets his head thump against the pillow.
"Can you take them?"
"Erik, they’re too young--they're still on the bottle. They need to be with their mother for at least another ten years."
"She's human, she can't raise them right."
"Then you should've thought of that before you slept with her." Charles rethinks what he said, considers Erik state of mind, and his own tingling lips. "If you were thinking at all. You're not even sure they're mutants."
If Charles hadn't read his mind, he never would've believed Erik had lived the life he had, much less that he survived to see maturity. He can't believe Erik would ask this of him, to pretend to be a foster parent to kidnapped toddlers, except, yes, Erik is.
"Their age will make the transition easier. And you can't call it kidnapping if she brings them to you, which she will once she knows what they are."
Erik leaves the bed and Charles as smoothly as he entered. I didn’t say yes, Erik, you can't do this.
The helmet floats to Erik's hand, and he stares at it as if it holds all secrets in the universe.
You didn't say no, and I’ve played this game with you too long now. A new world is starting; you can’t expect everything to be easy, Charles.
***
A/N: With all the crazy mutants they've created/dug up for five X-Men movies, you'd think they'd give Quicksilver and Scarlet at least a brief cameo but noooo. I doubt Northstar will ever see the screen, but still! Magneto's kids! Why not?