Fic: Rom by Mipp, Magneto/Magda, het, rated M for Mature
Title: Rom
Author: Mipp
Prompt: 616 | Erik Lehnsherr/Magda | het | There was a time when they had hope.
Rating: M for Mature
Word count: 1052
Disclaimer: The characters and settings featured in this story are the property of Marvel Entertainment. This is a work of homage and no copyright infringement is intended.
They crisscross Yugoslavia, and wander across the border from Slovenia into Trieste, Italy. After months of sleeping under haystacks, walking until their heels crack, and stealing vegetables out of gardens, it's pleasant to be in a real city, with paved streets and opportunities to scrounge up money. They find a Gypsy troupe, and Magda talks them into letting Erik repair their wagons. After they give Erik a purse of money, they try to talk Magda into leaving with them, but she declines. Erik's hackles rise. He's learned enough Romani to pass as a Gypsy among gadjo, but the Gypsies aren't fooled for a second. They see their kinswoman running the roads with an outsider.
This life is unworthy of her, Erik knows. Magda deserves a real life, safe and happy. She deserves to hold her head up high. His father had worked and saved for years before proposing to his mother. Like Jacob, he worked for seven years before coming to her father's house, hat in hand. Magda can tell something is bothering him, and so she says, "Walk with me, Erik. Let's explore the city together." He follows her like a dog, a faithful lover, always looking for her. Somehow, Erik already knows that whatever happens, he will always look for her face in every crowd, search for her in every woman he meets.
Magda and Erik sup at a cafe in Citta Vecchia, the ancient heart of the city, and then stroll down the jumbled streets until the ringing of bells catches their attention. They watch a wedding party leaving a nearby church, the bride hidden beneath a veil, the groom's face glowing in the fading evening light, as though lit from within. The joy surrounding them is palpable.
They continue their walk, but Erik can't stop thinking about the sight of the bride and groom, and somehow he knows Magda can't, either. A downpour catches them, sends them running for cover in a nearby cathedral. Magda pulls her soaked cap off her head and looks at him mournfully through tangled strands of dark hair, and Erik blurts, "Marry me, Magda. Marry me." Belatedly, he drops to his knees.
She doesn't answer right away and Erik screws his eyes shut. Then a soft hand touches his cheek, and he hears a whisper. He cracks open one eye, and hesitantly asks, "What was that?"
Magda gives him a half-smile. "Y-yes. I said yes."
He doesn't give her a chance to change her mind. He frantically knocks on the cathedral door until a priest sticks his head out, a man with the red nose and red cheeks of a drunkard. Erik tells him in stuttering Italian that they want to be married right away, yes, now. A handful of witnesses are found, a washerwoman, a streetsweeper, and a housewife. The priest's plump mistress lends Magda her second best pair of shoes.
So they're married in a leaky cathedral by the drunkest Catholic priest in the world. He mispells their names as 'Enrico' and 'Magdalena' on the marriage certificate, but Erik doesn't mind too much. Afterwards, they take a room at a cheap hotel, their wedding feast sandwiches and hot coffee. It's near midnight before Erik follows Magda up the endless winding staircase to their room, taking care on the crumbling mortar. She smiles when, in his haste, Erik stumbles on the corner of a rug. He fumbles the key, drops it, but Magda catches it before it hits the floor. Taking that as a good omen, Erik unlocks the door, swings Magda into his arms, and carries her inside.
He lays her gently on the bed, then steps back, undoing his tie. He can't see the look in her eyes in the dim light, and his nerve breaks. He tosses the tie over a chair, and sits on the bed, hands on his knees. Magda stands and crosses the room, unbuttoning her blouse as she goes. She steps out of her shoes and skirt, and the blouse drops to the floor, forgotten. Erik watches hungrily as Magda slowly brushes out her hair, standing in front of the cracked mirror in her chemise, the outline of her body just visible in the moonlight.
"Erik," Magda says to his reflection in the mirror. "Rom," she calls him, the word for 'husband' in her native tongue. She turns to face him, her brown hair tossled and curly, her lips slightly open. She takes one step, then another. Erik unlaces his shoes, keeping his gaze on Magda.
She lifts her lashes and looks at him with those dark, liquid eyes, and Erik's heart beats wildly like a drum, rhythmic as her footsteps as she crosses the floor. He reaches out and touches the chemise, warm from her body heat, and he shivers. "Rom," she says as she kisses his forehead, and "Rom," when she kisses the dimple above his lips, and "Rom," when she kisses his lips. Erik thinks, This is what other men have. Love. Hope. and he feels lightheaded. Magda plucks at his shirt, and he almost rips it pulling it over his head. Here, in the dark, neither can see the scars marring their bodies, only hear the other's pants and whispers, and feel the other's skin and warm lips. Together, they aren't two broken souls, but man and wife. He holds her beneath him, and loves her until she comes apart in his arms, until she calls him Erik again.
She wakes in the night gasping, clutching at her spasming legs. Erik sits up and gently kneads her legs until Magda's eyes slide shut. He rubs away the pain and the nightmares, rubs her right to sleep. He lays back and dreams of a little house in a valley somewhere, Magda surrounded by beautiful healthy children. Safe and sound. He sighs and thinks the time of blood and iron is passed.
She sleeps late the next morning, and wakes to find a welcome ache between her legs and a cool spot next to her. Sitting up, Magda blearily blinks her eyes until she sees Erik sitting on the windowsill, a newspaper in hand. He's already dressed. He winks at her. "Magda, what do you think of the Ukraine? We could head north, across the Carpathians, find a little village..."
Author: Mipp
Prompt: 616 | Erik Lehnsherr/Magda | het | There was a time when they had hope.
Rating: M for Mature
Word count: 1052
Disclaimer: The characters and settings featured in this story are the property of Marvel Entertainment. This is a work of homage and no copyright infringement is intended.
They crisscross Yugoslavia, and wander across the border from Slovenia into Trieste, Italy. After months of sleeping under haystacks, walking until their heels crack, and stealing vegetables out of gardens, it's pleasant to be in a real city, with paved streets and opportunities to scrounge up money. They find a Gypsy troupe, and Magda talks them into letting Erik repair their wagons. After they give Erik a purse of money, they try to talk Magda into leaving with them, but she declines. Erik's hackles rise. He's learned enough Romani to pass as a Gypsy among gadjo, but the Gypsies aren't fooled for a second. They see their kinswoman running the roads with an outsider.
This life is unworthy of her, Erik knows. Magda deserves a real life, safe and happy. She deserves to hold her head up high. His father had worked and saved for years before proposing to his mother. Like Jacob, he worked for seven years before coming to her father's house, hat in hand. Magda can tell something is bothering him, and so she says, "Walk with me, Erik. Let's explore the city together." He follows her like a dog, a faithful lover, always looking for her. Somehow, Erik already knows that whatever happens, he will always look for her face in every crowd, search for her in every woman he meets.
Magda and Erik sup at a cafe in Citta Vecchia, the ancient heart of the city, and then stroll down the jumbled streets until the ringing of bells catches their attention. They watch a wedding party leaving a nearby church, the bride hidden beneath a veil, the groom's face glowing in the fading evening light, as though lit from within. The joy surrounding them is palpable.
They continue their walk, but Erik can't stop thinking about the sight of the bride and groom, and somehow he knows Magda can't, either. A downpour catches them, sends them running for cover in a nearby cathedral. Magda pulls her soaked cap off her head and looks at him mournfully through tangled strands of dark hair, and Erik blurts, "Marry me, Magda. Marry me." Belatedly, he drops to his knees.
She doesn't answer right away and Erik screws his eyes shut. Then a soft hand touches his cheek, and he hears a whisper. He cracks open one eye, and hesitantly asks, "What was that?"
Magda gives him a half-smile. "Y-yes. I said yes."
He doesn't give her a chance to change her mind. He frantically knocks on the cathedral door until a priest sticks his head out, a man with the red nose and red cheeks of a drunkard. Erik tells him in stuttering Italian that they want to be married right away, yes, now. A handful of witnesses are found, a washerwoman, a streetsweeper, and a housewife. The priest's plump mistress lends Magda her second best pair of shoes.
So they're married in a leaky cathedral by the drunkest Catholic priest in the world. He mispells their names as 'Enrico' and 'Magdalena' on the marriage certificate, but Erik doesn't mind too much. Afterwards, they take a room at a cheap hotel, their wedding feast sandwiches and hot coffee. It's near midnight before Erik follows Magda up the endless winding staircase to their room, taking care on the crumbling mortar. She smiles when, in his haste, Erik stumbles on the corner of a rug. He fumbles the key, drops it, but Magda catches it before it hits the floor. Taking that as a good omen, Erik unlocks the door, swings Magda into his arms, and carries her inside.
He lays her gently on the bed, then steps back, undoing his tie. He can't see the look in her eyes in the dim light, and his nerve breaks. He tosses the tie over a chair, and sits on the bed, hands on his knees. Magda stands and crosses the room, unbuttoning her blouse as she goes. She steps out of her shoes and skirt, and the blouse drops to the floor, forgotten. Erik watches hungrily as Magda slowly brushes out her hair, standing in front of the cracked mirror in her chemise, the outline of her body just visible in the moonlight.
"Erik," Magda says to his reflection in the mirror. "Rom," she calls him, the word for 'husband' in her native tongue. She turns to face him, her brown hair tossled and curly, her lips slightly open. She takes one step, then another. Erik unlaces his shoes, keeping his gaze on Magda.
She lifts her lashes and looks at him with those dark, liquid eyes, and Erik's heart beats wildly like a drum, rhythmic as her footsteps as she crosses the floor. He reaches out and touches the chemise, warm from her body heat, and he shivers. "Rom," she says as she kisses his forehead, and "Rom," when she kisses the dimple above his lips, and "Rom," when she kisses his lips. Erik thinks, This is what other men have. Love. Hope. and he feels lightheaded. Magda plucks at his shirt, and he almost rips it pulling it over his head. Here, in the dark, neither can see the scars marring their bodies, only hear the other's pants and whispers, and feel the other's skin and warm lips. Together, they aren't two broken souls, but man and wife. He holds her beneath him, and loves her until she comes apart in his arms, until she calls him Erik again.
She wakes in the night gasping, clutching at her spasming legs. Erik sits up and gently kneads her legs until Magda's eyes slide shut. He rubs away the pain and the nightmares, rubs her right to sleep. He lays back and dreams of a little house in a valley somewhere, Magda surrounded by beautiful healthy children. Safe and sound. He sighs and thinks the time of blood and iron is passed.
She sleeps late the next morning, and wakes to find a welcome ache between her legs and a cool spot next to her. Sitting up, Magda blearily blinks her eyes until she sees Erik sitting on the windowsill, a newspaper in hand. He's already dressed. He winks at her. "Magda, what do you think of the Ukraine? We could head north, across the Carpathians, find a little village..."