Fic: Fighting Fit (X-Men First Class)

[jemisard]

Title: Fighting Fit
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles Xavier, Erik Lensherr
Rating: Teen
Summary: Charles fights people about his disability every day. Except the odd occasion when he doesn’t.
Written for this prompt on the X-Men Kink Meme.
Warnings: Mild language, violence, spoilers for the movie, two adults in bed.


Charles was not a man prone to pity, for himself or others.

Empathy. Sympathy. Shared grief. But not pity. It simply wasn’t really his nature to pity.

But right now, lying sprawled on his bedroom floor, his chair out of reach and nothing nearby that he could use to haul himself onto his bed, Charles felt something terribly akin to self pity.

Help was just a telepathic call away. Hank was just down the hallway, his mind bubbling with numbers and chemical formulas. It would take nothing to nudge his mind and ask for a hand up. Hank was more than capable of picking him up and putting him in his chair as he desired.

But he wasn’t going to.

Nor was he going to fight to drag himself over the floor.

He was going to lie here, staring at his ceiling and feeling tears trickling down the sides of his face and into his hair line.

Because it wasn’t fair.

All he’d done was tried to stop a war, tried to stop one friend from killing another, got up at the exact wrong second and now he was here, trapped with legs that would never feel, never move, never do anything but be useless, be dead weight that he had to drag about and it wasn’t fair.

Moira fired the bullet, but she walked away.

Erik deflected the bullet, but he walked away. Floated away and got to walk and fly and all those wonderful things.

And Charles, who had tried to stop everyone being insane, Charles got a bullet to the spine.

He slammed his fists into the carpet, trying to force back the sobs, to control his emotions again.

“No amount of pity will change a thing,” he whispered to himself.

“It isn’t fair,” he agreed.

“I didn’t deserve this,” he told himself.

“It was a horrible accident. I wouldn’t wish this on either of them,” he almost countered.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel sorry for yourself. It wasn’t a them or you. It just was,” he sighed.

“It’s hard. It’s so hard. Every day is a fight and it’s too hard to do it all on my own,” he almost sobbed.

“Nothing’s too hard,” he finally whispered. “Nothing is too hard, Charles Xavier. Especially not for you.”

“Professor,” Hank called through the door. “Are you okay?”

He sat himself up with a fight, wiping his face and looking to the door. “I’m fine, Hank. Thank you.”

“Do you need a hand?”

“No.” He looked at his chair with renewed determination. “I can do this on my own, thank you.”

It might have taken him another hour to get down to breakfast, washed and dressed, but he had done it entirely on his own.

And would from that day on.

*~*~*

The problem with the military is that they tended to have a lot of ignorant yobs in their numbers.

Their higher ups could sometimes be reasoned with. Fresh faced recruits were yet to have their individuality beaten from their hides. It was the soldiers that Charles found hard to cope with. The reminded him of the jocks he’d known all his life, the boys who were bigger and meaner and so scared of themselves and not being man enough that it hurt Charles’ head to keep them out.

And now he was trying to get a squad of them to listen to him as he talked to them about the practical applications of genetic research and variation and the possibility of genetically coded weaponry that could not be fired by anyone but the owner.

And they weren’t listening. Most of them were just wondering why they had to listen to an egg head cripple.

He wheels himself away from the podium. “Gentlemen, if I may speak frankly?”

He got a bit more of their attention.

“I’m a professor, yes. And yes, I am in wheelchair. That does not make me some object of ridicule or contempt. I can’t bench press like most of you, but there is probably not a single one of you that I couldn’t beat for chin up or weight lifting reps and I can complete a marathon in this chair.” He took off his jacket and moved himself down closer to them, letting them see how strong his arms actually were. “You might not respect my intelligence, but you will respect the fact that I took a bullet and still live a normal life, because any, one, of, you could be here, in this chair. God willing, you won’t, but any one of you could be me.”

They were silent.

“Good.” He wheeled himself back to his podium and parked his chair. “Now, as I was saying, your weapons could in fact be customised not only in the grips, but in circuitry that will respond only to your unique genetic code...”

And they paid attention for the rest of the talk and subsequent discussion section.

*~*~*

Charles preferred to come on mission when he could. He might’ve been stuck in the chair, but his mind was powerful and he could spread it far without needing to leave the plane.

He had never expected it to come to this.

The team were incapacitated, trapped inside the mind and games of Cadenski, a hitman turned torturer.

And Charles couldn’t risk using his telepathy. He was trying to keep his own mind protected from the constant battering it was getting as Cadenski watched him closely.

Finally, he stood up, blinking. “Well then, I might just leave you in here for now. I don’t need line of sight to keep feeling, Professor. You drop those shields, try to sleep, try to reach your team and I’ll have you.” He grinned widely. “Have fun.”

And he left.

Left without locking the door, clearly trusting that Charles without his chair would be helpless.

Charles kept his mind safely tucked away and started looking around him.

He tore up the rest of his shirt, using it to bind his legs together, to make moving them easier and keep the joints locked. Then he set about systematically dismantling the bed to make crude crutches.

It was difficult. Even with his legs bound tight to force them to take his weight, it was difficult to move. He had to check each time that his body was tilted right, would hold for the few precious seconds needed to swing the crutches around again.

Sanity won out and he broke down the crutches and tied his legs into a crouch. His knees would just have to take the punishment of being dragged and rested on until they got out of here. Like that he could move about better, hefting on his arms and dragging his legs behind him, ignoring the trail of blood that he slowly started to leave behind him as he managed to drag himself across the gravel to the hut where he knew Cadenski was resting up, tormenting his team.

He could hear the whimpering as he got closer, quieting his movements as best he could. Slowing down, however much strain it caused his arms to hold himself up for torturously long minutes, moving quiet to the door and settling himself down by it.

He looked about and then hefted one of the crutches, hurling it against the truck parked off to the side. The noise was loud in the silence of the forest and Cadenski came running.

The crutch smashed into his leg as he stepped by and as he fell Charles raised it up and brought it down on his head, once, twice, until he stopped trying to get up and instead lay silent and bleeding, still breathing but unconscious.

And then he loosed his powers, locking down all that malicious, delusional power, holding it tight and freeing it from his team’s minds.

They slowly staggered up and out, stopping as they looked down at Cadenski and Charles himself, leaning against the wall of the shack.

“I hate to impose,” he said with a terse smile. “But I feel rather shaken right now. Would someone give me a hand back to my chair?”

*~*~*

Three years without someone you love is a long time.

Charles sat by the window, watching as the car pulled up slowly and the lean figure got out, looking about.

He still wore the helmet, of course, but it didn’t stop Charles from recognising the look on his face, reading his emotions in the way he moved.

Hank, I need to borrow you before Erik comes up here.

He felt Hank’s attention and assent before moving himself to his armchair, setting up things as best he could.

“Come in, Hank.”

Hank stepped in. “What can I help with?”

“Drag the other chair over, would you, and then tuck that in the closet, would you?” He nodded at his wheel chair. “I don’t know what Erik knows, but I don’t want to have a conversation of guilt and grief with him until I know where we stand with each other and that won’t happen if he’s immediately aware of disability.”

Hank nodded, obliging in moving things around quickly and hiding the wheelchair away before letting himself out. Just in time, in fact, to meet Erik as he stepped in, their gazes meeting and Hank frowning.

“We’ll be fine, Hank, thank you.”

The young man stepped out, shutting the door behind him. Erik stepped in. “He becomes more magnificent each time we see each other.”

“Should I be worried about you stealing away my prize colleague, Magneto?” Never Erik in the helmet, Erik existed outside the cage of metal that shielded him from the world.

“No, Charles, you know nothing would steal Hank away.” He nodded to the chair. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” He gestured the board. “I thought we might play. Hank inevitably beats me unless I’m using telepathy and the only other student who plays is going through a discouragement period of tactical games to learn to have fun.” He turns the board. “I’ll even let you pick which side to play.”

“Black.” Erik moved to the liquor cabinet with old ease and familiarity, pouring them both a drink and bringing them over. It drew a small smile to Charles’ face, and made Erik pause when he realised he had presumed.

“I don’t mind,” Charles said before he could comment. “I’ve missed this. And thank you.” He took his snifter and made his first move on the board.

“You’re wondering why I’m here.” Erik shifted a pawn.

“Naturally. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. Since the beach.”

The last time they saw one another. The day this new life started where Charles fought constantly against two prejudices, not just one.

Erik leaned forwards, elbows on his knees and eyes glittering from the shadows of the metal. “I would do anything to undo hurting you, Charles. You must know that.”

“I always knew it, my friend.” He did. “That is not why you’re here.” He made a move, shifting his weight with his arms.

“No, it is not.” Erik toyed with a chess piece, watching it. “Last week, a young mutant tried to kill me.”

Charles stayed quiet. It was hardly the first time someone had tried to kill one of them. It didn’t stop his heart skipping a beat though.

“It seems I killed his father and brother. His father was a mutant police officer who had never told anyone about his ability. His brother was also in the force, not a mutant, but the father of a mutant.” He looked troubled. “It skips generations. Some mutants don’t know they are, some humans think they are but aren’t...”

Charles understood. The complexity of it was starting to finally catch up, past Erik’s anger and resentment.

“I didn’t kill him. I could’ve, but I didn’t. I had Azazel return him home and told him to look after his brother’s children and make sure they grew up proud. If they want their revenge... I will accept that.” Erik watched the board. “I didn’t mean to kill them.”

“Yes, you did,” Charles said softly. “You didn’t intend the outcome of those deaths.” Death was meaningless to Erik. The consequences of death something he’d been trained and programmed to forget and ignore. “Your mother was human,” he said softly.

“She was,” Erik agreed. “I, my God, I don’t think she’d like me very much, Charles.”

“She would love you still.”

“But she would not like me.” He finally looked up. “Do you like me, Charles?”

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to slap him hard and kiss him and never let him go. “Most of the time. I don’t like things you do, I don’t like some parts of you, but inside? Yes, I mostly like you.”

I still love you.

“I’m tired of fighting.”

“But you’re not willing to stop.”

“No,” Erik agreed. “Not until I know we’re safe.”

“There is no safe, Erik. And we’re not a marginalised, powerless people. If they turn on us, do you think I intend to sit here and watch them take my children? Do you think those children will be powerless to fight back? I have a pair of brothers who can tear apart tanks and buildings with just a gesture. I have minds that have already developed computers small enough to fit on a desk.” He reached forwards and touched Erik’s hand. “We could have a man who could stop any bullet, any missile, just with a thought. And our powers don’t run out. Their ammunition does. I’m prepared to fight, but not if I don’t have to.”

He could feel Erik’s hand trembling.

“Take off that helmet and come home, Erik.”

He couldn’t do it for him. He wanted to. Wanted to rip it off and throw it away and use it for Hank’s experiments. But Erik had to take that step himself.

He gestured and the helmet came off. Erik’s mind flooded the room and Charles didn’t realise how intensely he’d been focusing on him until they clicked back together like they’d barely been apart.

Three years of thoughts and feelings and impressions flooded between them, nothing concrete or distinct, just impressions and sensations and Erik shoved the chess board aside and let it fall as he hit the floor on his knees, hands cupping Charles’ face and kissing him.

Charles wrapped his arms around Erik’s waist and hauled him closer, using the movement to part his own knees and tuck Erik in close, where he could kissing him and breathing him in. Erik was murmuring in German against his lips and Charles knew they were both crying and clinging and kissing just for the feel of being close again, of having missed someone like a physical pain.

The kisses finally trailed off, not that Charles let go of Erik, but he rested against him, eyes closed and holding tightly onto him, just breathing and reassuring himself that this wasn’t insanity or delusion but a real moment.

I won’t stop encouraging them to be proud and open, Erik murmured against his mind.

Don’t expect you to. He leaned in, their cheeks and temples resting against one another. “I’ve learned a little about fighting against and exploiting bigotry since we last spent time together.”

“Have you now,” Erik asked.

“I just said I have,” Charles sniped back with a warm smile. “I did take it for granted that I could so easily hide my differences before.”

“And now,” Erik asked, but Charles could feel the concern starting to prickle over them both, crawling down Erik’s shoulders and spine.

“And now, I’ve worn my obvious difference.”

He’s aware of Erik’s hand, sliding down his body to his knee where he squeezes hard, hard enough to make a man flinch, but he’s only aware because he can feel Erik’s intentions, feel his fear and then the rush of sickening guilt as he realises.

“The bullet,” Erik whispered.

“Both legs.” He drops his hand down to Erik’s. “I have a little feeling up in my hips. I was lucky enough to keep enough nerves to manage myself.”

“You never told me.”

“Why would I? You left. I wasn’t going to guilt you back here. I don’t want you here out of misplaced guilt,” he pointed out. “I’ve lived my life fine for three years since this happened. I want you here because you want to be here, not because you feel you have something to make up to me.”

“Misplaced guilt?” Erik tilted Charles face to look at him, despite the fact he could hardly hold his gaze. “Make up to you? Charles, that bullet was my fault. I put that piece of metal into your spine and left you... left you half a man.”

Charles straightened up, feeling the familiar bubble of anger. “Don’t. You. Dare,” he spat.

Erik looked surprised. “Charles-”

“Don’t you Charles me, Erik Lensherr! Don’t you dare sit there and so much as insinuate that losing the use of my legs has made me any less of a man!” He shoved Erik in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards. “I don’t want or need your pity, or your guilt, or your ignorance. My legs don’t make me a man, or a person, any more or less than you!”

Staring down at Erik, sprawled back onto his hands from the hard shove, Charles felt the tension and then the stray thought.

God he’s sexy like this.

Charles’ eyes went wide as he realised what Erik meant, that it was his refusal to let anyone demean him, even by accident, that Erik was finding such a turn on, but Erik’s thoughts snapped away as soon as he realised Charles had heard him.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” he blurted out. “I shouldn’t find you like this such-”

“I will hit you,” Charles warned him. “Don’t think I won’t. If you continue on this stupidity about how because I’m paraplegic, I’m somehow less a man, less sexual, less anything, I will flatten you. Do you understand me?”

Erik nodded slowly. Charles nodded back, lowering himself to the floor and Erik’s lap. “Good. Now, would you like to find out just how much this hasn’t affected me being a whole man or a while sexual being? Every time you swallow down being guilty, I’ll reward you with a bit more... information.”

Erik watched him, lips slightly flushed and parted. “Yes. I think I’d greatly like that.”

*~*~*

Charles woke up sprawled in his bed, Erik settled in against him like he had slept there every night for years.

He smiled tiredly and brushed his fingers through Erik’s hair, rolling onto his side with a bit of fidgeting to watch his lover.

Not ex-lover. Lover. Last night had certainly proved that.

“Morning,” Erik mumbled into his arm.

“Morning,” he murmured back. “I had almost forgotten how wonderfully rumpled you are in the morning.”

Erik grunted and rolled onto his back, stretching luxuriously and then rolling back into Charles’ side, wrapping his legs around Charles’ own. Charles chuckled and hugged him briefly before taping his back. “Come on, let go. I need to get up.”

“No, you don’t. You need to stay in bed with me.” Erik buried his face against Charles’ shoulder, pressing kisses to his skin.

“Erik...”

“Have I mentioned how incredibly sexy your arms are? Your hands are so strong and your arms...”

There was a brief flicker of regret, or guilt about why they were so but to his credit, Erik didn’t focus on it.

Charles rewarded it by rolling over and onto Erik, kissing him soundly while Erik sorted out their legs, wriggling to get them pressed together, all naked skin and warmth.

“I really do need to get up,” he murmured into the next kiss. “This place doesn’t run itself.”

“It will for a day. Let Hank manage the children.”

“Hank can manage complex chemical arrangements but can’t organise to get his fur brushed out.”

“Someone else will do it.” Erik’s hands slid suggestively down Charles’ back, to where he was only slightly aware of the pressure and then down to grip him and move them against one another.

And yes, he was a paraplegic, but some things were fairly autonomous and he was very grateful for that.

“You’re a tease, Erik Lensherr.”

“No, teasing would imply I won’t go fulfill my promises and we both know I always do.” He tugged on Charles’ lower lip with his teeth, drawing a groan.

“Erik...”

“Don’t whine, Charles, it’s not attractive,” Erik laughed. “There’s no rush to get today moving.”

And it was very tempting to just go with it, especially when Erik rolled them over and pinned him down with his body and hands and more kisses.

“Well... Maybe just this morning,” Charles agreed when the kiss ended. “Just this once.”

Erik grinned at him and Charles pulled him down into another kiss.