X-Men: First Class fic - Assassination (It's Not For Everyone) 2/?
Oh my god, you guys. An update only a day after my last post. THIS IS UNPRECEDENTED. Somehow, writing this is so easy, which says an embarrassing amount about my psyche.
Few things about this part:
1) I know only a very basic amount about genetics, and biology in general. To get the book titles you'll see shortly I just did a quick Google search and picked the ones that were longest and contained the most sciencey-looking words. This may or may not amuse you to know that was how my entire university career went.
2) It gets a little bit darker in this next bit, right before it gets a million times stupider. I couldn't help it; I blame Charles for the former and Alex for the latter.
3) Porn. Almost. Things are definitely heading in that direction, anyway.
4) I'd say I was sorry for the cliffy but ... I REGRET NOTHING :D.
Once again, ALL the love goes to ascoolsuchasi: You've made my week, bb!
Part one (and summary, ratings, warnings etc.) is here.
It becomes apparent, somewhere between a truly spectacular breakfast and an equally magnificent tour of the mansion, that the Professor is … well.
He’s kind of a nerd. A sexy nerd, don’t get him wrong, but still. A nerd.
There are books everywhere - not just in the library, the countless studies, bedrooms, and sitting rooms, but in the kitchen, and the wine cellar, in every one of the bathrooms, and there are at least a dozen closets overflowing with them. And they all have long, complicated titles like Advances in Genetics: Tissue-Specific Vascular Endothelial Signals and Vector Targeting, Part A, and Pcr Applications: Protocols for Functional Genomics, and even, Transcriptional Regulation in Eukaryotes: Concepts, Strategies, and Techniques. Whatever the hell any of that even means; Erik gets a headache just looking at them.
And this would be fine if the Professor, having seen Erik staring at the books with his head tilted to one side, trying to understand if they’re even in English (they are. Just about.), didn’t mistake Erik’s simple confusion for interest. Because then Erik gets a three hour lecture about “the beauty of the human genome, Erik, it’s indescribable, truly,” and “you and I share a mutation, you know - did I tell you my specialty was mutations, well it is, and we both have a mutated MC1R gene, otherwise known as blue eyes -” and then, “do you have much interest in genetics, Magneto?”
At which point Erik, shaken out of a bored stupor by the question, says, “Not really,” without thinking, and then, as the Professor’s face crumples, adds hastily, “I mean, I’ve never really thought about it that much.”
The Professor still looks slightly put out, so Erik, who’s always been a soft touch for kicked-puppy expressions, quickly casts about for a distraction.
He finds it in a chessboard sitting innocently on a nearby table. When the Professor follows his gaze he says, in the strained tones of one trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, “Do you play?”
“I haven’t in a while,” Erik says, after a pause that he hopes went unnoticed.
“Capital,” Professor X says, clapping his hands together. “I’ll go see about getting us something to drink while you set up the board, yes?”
Erik nods and the Professor smiles and exits the room, muttering to himself about tea.
“He’ll keep you playing for hours, you know,” says a quiet, knowing voice behind him.
Erik absolutely does not jump at the sound. You can’t prove it, and anyway, he’ll just deny it. Instead he turns to find Mystique curled up in an armchair, reading a book. She hasn’t even bothered to look up.
“Do you often lurk in dark corners just waiting to ambush unsuspecting people?” Erik asks, irritated and annoyed at the fact that he’s irritated.
“I’m hardly lurking in a dark corner,” she replies, sounding amused and gesturing to the dozen or so lamps that are currently lighting the room. She looks up at him and adds, “And I doubt you’ve ever been unsuspecting in your life.”
She has a point.
Disregarding this completely, Erik says loftily, “What were you saying about the Professor?”
“Just that he’ll be glad to finally find someone to play that stupid game with.” Mystique turns a page idly. “I stopped after he kept trying to lose on purpose to make me feel better. He’ll keep you playing well into the morning if you let him.” She flicks a glance up at him and says, slyly, “I get the feeling you wouldn’t mind that at all.”
Erik is not blushing, it’s just that it’s … warm in here. Yeah.
“You know, even though you’re the kind of trouble we can do without, you’re good for him.” Mystique closes her book, turning serious. “Like just there, when he was doing his whole -” she waves a hand vaguely “genetics spiel. Most people would’ve walked out, I think. You just stood there and … listened.”
Erik feels slightly guilty at this, because he hadn’t exactly been listening, not that he’s going to tell Mystique that.
“He does that a lot then?” he asks, trying to get the conversation onto safer ground.
Mystique nods. “Oh yeah. He’s a genetics professor at NYU, and you will never meet anyone more suited to the job.”
“So the nickname … isn’t actually a nickname?”
“Nope. It’s a job description.” Mystique looks briefly alarmed. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” she says uncomfortably. “He wouldn’t want it to get out that he’s a for-hire killer by night. It could ruin his career.” She descends into thought for a few seconds. Then she shrugs. “Ah, what the hell. He’s earning more as an assassin anyway.”
Erik doesn’t really know what to say to this, besides a heartfelt promise that he won’t breathe a word of this to anybody, but that would just be embarrassing for all concerned so he keeps a lid on it. Thankfully, he is spared the trouble of coming up with something else when the Professor re-enters the room carrying two crystal tumblers and a bottle of scotch.
“I thought you were getting tea?” Mystique says, arching an eyebrow at him.
The Professor shrugs. He avoids her eyes as he says, “I thought Magneto might prefer something stronger.”
Mystique smirks. “Uh-huh. Sure you did.”
“Anyway,” the Professor says hurriedly, “have you got that board set up, Magneto?”
“Just about,” Erik says, putting the last few pieces in their respective places. “I should warn you,” he says, as he sits down, and the Professor takes the seat on the other side of the table, “I’m very good.”
The Professor takes a long, slow sip of scotch, and then shoots him a smile that is just shy of filthy and says, “I’m better.”
When Erik loses the game a disastrous forty-five minutes later he blames it entirely on Mystique, but he knows he’s not fooling anyone.
***
Not being able to take a contract is making Erik kind of twitchy.
It doesn’t help that Mystique can and does go out regularly to relieve people of their existence, and, occasionally, various body parts. Every time she does it she grins at Erik on her way out the door, and he has to fight down the urge to plant a boot in her throat, he’s that jealous.
What also doesn’t help, although in quite different ways, is the fact that being unable to do his job means he’s often in close proximity to the Professor. This makes Erik twitchy for a very different reason.
Namely that if he has to sit through one more chess game with the Professor smirking suggestively at him - and twiddling the pieces between those long, pale fingers, and biting his indecently red lips while considering his next move, and staring at the board so intensely that Erik can’t help but wonder what that intensity would feel like in other, much more enjoyable scenarios - well, Erik’s going to drag the Professor across the table and either fuck him or kill him.
It says something about Erik’s state of mind that he can’t quite decide which of those would be more satisfying.
***
Since the Professor also has a day job, Erik only really sees him at night, although this is quite enough, in that way that it’s not actually enough at all.
And because the Professor is so damn cheerful all the time, Erik assumes the lack of a bit of healthy contract killing isn’t bothering him nearly so much as it is Erik.
So it comes as something of a surprise, early one Wednesday morning, to hear the sounds of destruction coming from one of the studies and, upon going to investigate, discovering that the Professor is the one behind it.
He’s currently in the process of ripping the pages out of some book, and Erik winces because he hates to see any book being treated that way. (Even those trashy vampire novels that the Professor swears he doesn’t read but has nevertheless got first editions of in his collection).
“Everything alright?” Erik asks lightly, as the Professor tosses the ruined book aside and picks up the nearest lamp.
“Oh, yes, everything’s just peachy,” the Professor says, hurling the lamp across the room with surprising venom. “Why on earth would you think otherwise?”
Erik wants to say, because you’ve just thrown half of your beloved thesis into the fire, but the crash of the lamp sailing straight through the window stops him. Also, the Professor might cry. He loves that fucking thesis.
“You seem … tense,” he hazards, and then realises how ridiculous that sounds. He’s just not sure what to say; he’s never seen the Professor like this.
“Do I? Well, that is strange, I wonder why I’d be tense.” The sarcasm is still attractive, Erik would just like to point out, even if it does sound bitter and helpless in a way that he’s never associated with Professor X. “Can you think of any reason why I’d be tense, Magneto?”
Erik thinks he has a good idea about the reason behind the Professor’s tension because it’s same one he’s been suffering for the past few days - the inability to go out and kill some deserving motherfuckers, and an epic case of blue balls, although that last one might just be him. Before he can commiserate, however, the Professor whirls around to face him.
His hair is crazy and makes him look like he’s just received an electric shock, and his eyes are wild when he says, “I’m going fucking stir crazy in this house. I go from here to work and back again and I haven’t so much as -” He breaks off with a frustrated growl and kicks at a small side table viciously, sending it and everything on it careening across the room. “I haven’t taken a contract in days and it’s driving me insane, and I know it shouldn’t, I should be able to, to rise above it or some rubbish, but if I could just take one, just one ..."
He trails off and leans on the back of the sofa. Erik watches the taut lines of his shoulders with a mixture of lust and sympathy, because he gets it, he totally understands where the Professor is coming from.
Fun fact about assassins: they like to say they’re only in it for the money, like if they could find something that pays better they’d give it up in a heartbeat, but it’s a lie. There’s nothing like watching a target beg and plead for mercy, seeing the life and blood leave their pathetic, fragile bodies and knowing you’ll get to do it all over again the next night, and the next, and the next … The truth of it, the real truth, is that killing is addictive, and every assassin is only two steps and a twisted sense of morality away from being a serial killer.
Getting paid to do it is just a way to keep score.
“Have you tried the gun range?” Erik asks quietly. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but maybe shooting off a few rounds will help the Professor in some small way.
The Professor lets out an awful, near-hysterical laugh. “If I pick up a gun I’m going to kill someone, and it might just be you.”
There is no reason why that should make them both go utterly still, or why Erik’s stomach goes molten with want and he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. And there’s certainly no reason why it should make him want to pull the Professor to the debris-strewn floor and fuck the frustration out of them both. The fact that it does is just another mark of how screwed up they both are. As if Erik needed the reminder.
“You just,” Erik chokes out, “you just need a distraction.”
“So distract me,” the Professor says desperately, his hands biting into the back of the sofa, and that is it.
Erik is across the room and pushing the Professor up against a conveniently located desk before either of them knows what’s happening.
“This,” the Professor says, swallowing hard. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“Liar,” Erik hisses into his ear, and digs his fingers into the Professor’s thigh.
“Alright, alright,” the Professor gasps out, spreading his legs in a way that makes Erik curse loudly. “This was exactly what I had in mind, and if you don’t touch me in the next five seconds I will fucking end you.”
“Jesus Christ,” Erik mutters, and then, “Threats are not sexy.”
The Professor laughs and wraps his legs around Erik’s waist. “Now who’s the liar?” he breathes, and starts pulling Erik’s shirt out from his pants.
Erik can’t even remember what they were talking about. He just stares at the Professor’s mouth and thinks how much he wants to kiss him and wondering how much that fucking mask is going to get in the way of him doing just that.
“Take it off,” he says, leaning into press a kiss to the Professor’s neck. “The mask. Take it off.”
The Professor goes still, though not for long as Erik hits a spot on his neck that makes him squirm and clutch at Erik with a whimper.
“But I -” he says finally. “I can’t - I -"
“No offence, but it’s a stupid fucking mask,” Erik tells him, and then bites at his collarbone. “And more than that, I - I want to see you.” He slides his hand down to the Professor’s ass and pulls him forward so that he’s pressing down on Erik’s dick, and they both let out a startled groan. “Please.”
“Oh, god.” The Professor sucks in a breath, his nails digging into Erik’s back under his shirt, and then, in a rush, says, “Yes, whatever you want, take it off, fucking burn it if you want, I don’t really give a -”
“Hey, Professor, what the hell, man, I’ve been ringing the doorbell for like - oh, my god, my eyes!”
Erik has a second to register another voice, and then he’s on his back on the floor, and a guy in blue leather and glasses - seriously, what is it with these guys and blue leather? - has his hand around Erik’s throat. Distantly, Erik can hear the same voice in the background wailing, “My eyes, I think I’m scarred for life, Jesus Christ, my eyes!”
Then the Professor pushes the guy in glasses aside and helps Erik up, and while Erik massages his neck and takes deep breaths, the Professor says, sternly, “Boys, I’d like you to meet Magneto.”
“Oh, shit,” someone says.
***
“Listen, man, we’re really sorry we interrupted you and the Professor, uh, y’know,” says the tall, black guy that Erik now knows is Darwin.
“Yeah,” grimaces the blond kid, otherwise known as Havok. “Like, unbelievably sorry, you have no idea. I’m never gonna be able to get that image out of my head.” He shudders theatrically.
“Also, I apologise for almost killing you,” says the one in the glasses, who Erik had been surprised to find out was Beast. He’d heard about Beast before and about how exactly he got that nickname, and Erik had emphatically not been expecting the guy to look like he did, which is basically like an anxious, nerdy hipster kid.
Erik doesn’t really feel like speaking right now, so he just stares the three of them down and takes a seat on the sofa. The Professor is still over by the desk and there’s a bright red mark on his collarbone and it’s really not helping matters at all.
Erik wouldn’t have minded being interrupted, but he hadn’t even gotten the Professor’s pants open. That’s what’s unfair about this whole thing.
“I can’t believe you tried to kill him,” the Professor admonishes Beast. “What on earth were you thinking, how could you even think -” He breaks off, apparently to angry to finish the sentence.
“He looked like he wanted to eat you!” Havok protests.
What am I, a fucking shark? Erik thinks to himself, but wisely decides not to intervene.
“Well maybe I wanted him to!” the Professor explodes.
“Oh, ew, Professor!” Havok yells, throwing his hands up to cover his ears.
“Yeah, man, too much info,” Darwin agrees, and the Professor looks chagrined.
“Alright, that was tasteless, I’m sorry,” he says, sounding very much like he’s regretting ever saying anything, ever.
“That’s what she said,” Beast mutters, but not quietly enough.
There’s a short silence, and then Havok cracks up. “Dude, high five, that was classic!” he grins at Beast, and holds up a hand. Smiling slightly, Beast high fives him, while in the background Darwin rolls his eyes and the Professor facepalms so hard his mask makes an ominous creaking noise.
“You’ve been hanging around Havok too long,” he tells Beast, who just shrugs unrepentantly, still grinning.
“And this is the future of the assassin trade,” Erik remarks to the Professor, who’s fighting a smile.
“I know, I weep for humanity - more than I usually do, at any rate.” He pushes himself off the desk and stands in front of the three boys. “Now, since you’ve apologised and there’s no permanent harm done,” he casts a pointed glance back at Erik’s throat, and even though Erik knows it was meant mostly for Darwin, Havok and Beast’s benefit, he can’t help blushing and thinking about the Professor’s mouth there, kissing away the bruises left by Beast’s hand and leaving others in their wake.
He zones out for a while on this beautiful image and when he tunes back in the Professor is saying, “- I’m sure we all have a lot of things to do today, so perhaps you should go and do them?”
“But Professor,” Havok interrupts plaintively. “You promised Bozo here you’d teach him how to shoot properly, and Mystique said she’d spar with me and Darwin the next time we came over.”
“Well remembered, Havok,” the Professor says sourly, after a pause in which Erik can practically see him looking for a way out of his promise and finding nothing. “Alright, fine, but only for a couple of hours, and if any bones get broken, I take absolutely no responsibility for them, understand?”
“Yes, Professor,” the boys chorus, and then dash out of the room excitedly.
“Sorry about this,” the Professor says into the silence. “I honestly forgot I’d promised to help them.”
“It’s fine,” Erik says, waving the apology away, because the Professor has absolutely no reason to apologise. “I’ll be here when you’ve finished. Oh, and Professor?”
“Hmm?” the Professor says distractedly, mind already on teaching Beast the wonders of the gun range.
Erik grabs at his arm as he walks past and drags him down. He presses an awkward but heated kiss to the Professor’s mouth around the mask, and then whispers, “Try to get rid of them soon, won’t you? I have plans.”
Dazed but beaming, the Professor wanders out of the room. Behind him, Erik smirks and anticipates the rest of the day.
***
At around midnight, Erik gives up waiting and goes to knock on the Professor’s door.
There’s no answer. Not even when he knocks a second, third and fourth time.
There’s maybe two reasons why there’s no answer. Firstly, that the Professor is ignoring him, which Erik supposes is possible but thinks is unlikely because he’s not actually a fourteen-year-old girl and crippled with self-doubt. He’s fairly certain the Professor wouldn’t ignore him; even if he didn’t want to speak to Erik, he’d still do it, out of some warped sense of nobility.
So that leaves the second reason: the Professor’s not in his room. Which is more troubling, because Erik’s searched the rest of the mansion and he’s not anywhere there either.
He wouldn’t have gone on a job, Erik thinks, and then stops in the middle of the hallway.
Of course he would’ve gone on a job, you moron! he thinks to himself. You saw him this morning, he would’ve wrecked the entire house if you hadn’t distracted him with filthy almost-sex.
Erik paces the hall, trying to think of all the people the Professor could possibly have gone after. He comes up blank and swears out loud for a few minutes. It makes him feel marginally better, but not by much.
Unlike Mystique, Erik knows the Professor can take care of himself when he’s out on a job. But, also unlike Mystique, he knows exactly what state of mind the Professor’s in, and how it’s likely to make him more reckless and less focused on keeping any eye out for trouble. The only reason Erik and the Professor had survived all those attempts on their lives is because they’d been watching each other’s backs, however unconsciously.
The thought of the Professor without back-up makes Erik feel sick.
And angry. Very, very angry.
Mind made up, he strides away, pulling his phone from his pocket and making a few calls.
(But, because there’s secretly a fourteen-year-old girl in all of us, not before knocking on the Professor’s door a fifth time. Just to make sure).
Part three
Few things about this part:
1) I know only a very basic amount about genetics, and biology in general. To get the book titles you'll see shortly I just did a quick Google search and picked the ones that were longest and contained the most sciencey-looking words. This may or may not amuse you to know that was how my entire university career went.
2) It gets a little bit darker in this next bit, right before it gets a million times stupider. I couldn't help it; I blame Charles for the former and Alex for the latter.
3) Porn. Almost. Things are definitely heading in that direction, anyway.
4) I'd say I was sorry for the cliffy but ... I REGRET NOTHING :D.
Once again, ALL the love goes to ascoolsuchasi: You've made my week, bb!
Part one (and summary, ratings, warnings etc.) is here.
It becomes apparent, somewhere between a truly spectacular breakfast and an equally magnificent tour of the mansion, that the Professor is … well.
He’s kind of a nerd. A sexy nerd, don’t get him wrong, but still. A nerd.
There are books everywhere - not just in the library, the countless studies, bedrooms, and sitting rooms, but in the kitchen, and the wine cellar, in every one of the bathrooms, and there are at least a dozen closets overflowing with them. And they all have long, complicated titles like Advances in Genetics: Tissue-Specific Vascular Endothelial Signals and Vector Targeting, Part A, and Pcr Applications: Protocols for Functional Genomics, and even, Transcriptional Regulation in Eukaryotes: Concepts, Strategies, and Techniques. Whatever the hell any of that even means; Erik gets a headache just looking at them.
And this would be fine if the Professor, having seen Erik staring at the books with his head tilted to one side, trying to understand if they’re even in English (they are. Just about.), didn’t mistake Erik’s simple confusion for interest. Because then Erik gets a three hour lecture about “the beauty of the human genome, Erik, it’s indescribable, truly,” and “you and I share a mutation, you know - did I tell you my specialty was mutations, well it is, and we both have a mutated MC1R gene, otherwise known as blue eyes -” and then, “do you have much interest in genetics, Magneto?”
At which point Erik, shaken out of a bored stupor by the question, says, “Not really,” without thinking, and then, as the Professor’s face crumples, adds hastily, “I mean, I’ve never really thought about it that much.”
The Professor still looks slightly put out, so Erik, who’s always been a soft touch for kicked-puppy expressions, quickly casts about for a distraction.
He finds it in a chessboard sitting innocently on a nearby table. When the Professor follows his gaze he says, in the strained tones of one trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, “Do you play?”
“I haven’t in a while,” Erik says, after a pause that he hopes went unnoticed.
“Capital,” Professor X says, clapping his hands together. “I’ll go see about getting us something to drink while you set up the board, yes?”
Erik nods and the Professor smiles and exits the room, muttering to himself about tea.
“He’ll keep you playing for hours, you know,” says a quiet, knowing voice behind him.
Erik absolutely does not jump at the sound. You can’t prove it, and anyway, he’ll just deny it. Instead he turns to find Mystique curled up in an armchair, reading a book. She hasn’t even bothered to look up.
“Do you often lurk in dark corners just waiting to ambush unsuspecting people?” Erik asks, irritated and annoyed at the fact that he’s irritated.
“I’m hardly lurking in a dark corner,” she replies, sounding amused and gesturing to the dozen or so lamps that are currently lighting the room. She looks up at him and adds, “And I doubt you’ve ever been unsuspecting in your life.”
She has a point.
Disregarding this completely, Erik says loftily, “What were you saying about the Professor?”
“Just that he’ll be glad to finally find someone to play that stupid game with.” Mystique turns a page idly. “I stopped after he kept trying to lose on purpose to make me feel better. He’ll keep you playing well into the morning if you let him.” She flicks a glance up at him and says, slyly, “I get the feeling you wouldn’t mind that at all.”
Erik is not blushing, it’s just that it’s … warm in here. Yeah.
“You know, even though you’re the kind of trouble we can do without, you’re good for him.” Mystique closes her book, turning serious. “Like just there, when he was doing his whole -” she waves a hand vaguely “genetics spiel. Most people would’ve walked out, I think. You just stood there and … listened.”
Erik feels slightly guilty at this, because he hadn’t exactly been listening, not that he’s going to tell Mystique that.
“He does that a lot then?” he asks, trying to get the conversation onto safer ground.
Mystique nods. “Oh yeah. He’s a genetics professor at NYU, and you will never meet anyone more suited to the job.”
“So the nickname … isn’t actually a nickname?”
“Nope. It’s a job description.” Mystique looks briefly alarmed. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” she says uncomfortably. “He wouldn’t want it to get out that he’s a for-hire killer by night. It could ruin his career.” She descends into thought for a few seconds. Then she shrugs. “Ah, what the hell. He’s earning more as an assassin anyway.”
Erik doesn’t really know what to say to this, besides a heartfelt promise that he won’t breathe a word of this to anybody, but that would just be embarrassing for all concerned so he keeps a lid on it. Thankfully, he is spared the trouble of coming up with something else when the Professor re-enters the room carrying two crystal tumblers and a bottle of scotch.
“I thought you were getting tea?” Mystique says, arching an eyebrow at him.
The Professor shrugs. He avoids her eyes as he says, “I thought Magneto might prefer something stronger.”
Mystique smirks. “Uh-huh. Sure you did.”
“Anyway,” the Professor says hurriedly, “have you got that board set up, Magneto?”
“Just about,” Erik says, putting the last few pieces in their respective places. “I should warn you,” he says, as he sits down, and the Professor takes the seat on the other side of the table, “I’m very good.”
The Professor takes a long, slow sip of scotch, and then shoots him a smile that is just shy of filthy and says, “I’m better.”
When Erik loses the game a disastrous forty-five minutes later he blames it entirely on Mystique, but he knows he’s not fooling anyone.
***
Not being able to take a contract is making Erik kind of twitchy.
It doesn’t help that Mystique can and does go out regularly to relieve people of their existence, and, occasionally, various body parts. Every time she does it she grins at Erik on her way out the door, and he has to fight down the urge to plant a boot in her throat, he’s that jealous.
What also doesn’t help, although in quite different ways, is the fact that being unable to do his job means he’s often in close proximity to the Professor. This makes Erik twitchy for a very different reason.
Namely that if he has to sit through one more chess game with the Professor smirking suggestively at him - and twiddling the pieces between those long, pale fingers, and biting his indecently red lips while considering his next move, and staring at the board so intensely that Erik can’t help but wonder what that intensity would feel like in other, much more enjoyable scenarios - well, Erik’s going to drag the Professor across the table and either fuck him or kill him.
It says something about Erik’s state of mind that he can’t quite decide which of those would be more satisfying.
***
Since the Professor also has a day job, Erik only really sees him at night, although this is quite enough, in that way that it’s not actually enough at all.
And because the Professor is so damn cheerful all the time, Erik assumes the lack of a bit of healthy contract killing isn’t bothering him nearly so much as it is Erik.
So it comes as something of a surprise, early one Wednesday morning, to hear the sounds of destruction coming from one of the studies and, upon going to investigate, discovering that the Professor is the one behind it.
He’s currently in the process of ripping the pages out of some book, and Erik winces because he hates to see any book being treated that way. (Even those trashy vampire novels that the Professor swears he doesn’t read but has nevertheless got first editions of in his collection).
“Everything alright?” Erik asks lightly, as the Professor tosses the ruined book aside and picks up the nearest lamp.
“Oh, yes, everything’s just peachy,” the Professor says, hurling the lamp across the room with surprising venom. “Why on earth would you think otherwise?”
Erik wants to say, because you’ve just thrown half of your beloved thesis into the fire, but the crash of the lamp sailing straight through the window stops him. Also, the Professor might cry. He loves that fucking thesis.
“You seem … tense,” he hazards, and then realises how ridiculous that sounds. He’s just not sure what to say; he’s never seen the Professor like this.
“Do I? Well, that is strange, I wonder why I’d be tense.” The sarcasm is still attractive, Erik would just like to point out, even if it does sound bitter and helpless in a way that he’s never associated with Professor X. “Can you think of any reason why I’d be tense, Magneto?”
Erik thinks he has a good idea about the reason behind the Professor’s tension because it’s same one he’s been suffering for the past few days - the inability to go out and kill some deserving motherfuckers, and an epic case of blue balls, although that last one might just be him. Before he can commiserate, however, the Professor whirls around to face him.
His hair is crazy and makes him look like he’s just received an electric shock, and his eyes are wild when he says, “I’m going fucking stir crazy in this house. I go from here to work and back again and I haven’t so much as -” He breaks off with a frustrated growl and kicks at a small side table viciously, sending it and everything on it careening across the room. “I haven’t taken a contract in days and it’s driving me insane, and I know it shouldn’t, I should be able to, to rise above it or some rubbish, but if I could just take one, just one ..."
He trails off and leans on the back of the sofa. Erik watches the taut lines of his shoulders with a mixture of lust and sympathy, because he gets it, he totally understands where the Professor is coming from.
Fun fact about assassins: they like to say they’re only in it for the money, like if they could find something that pays better they’d give it up in a heartbeat, but it’s a lie. There’s nothing like watching a target beg and plead for mercy, seeing the life and blood leave their pathetic, fragile bodies and knowing you’ll get to do it all over again the next night, and the next, and the next … The truth of it, the real truth, is that killing is addictive, and every assassin is only two steps and a twisted sense of morality away from being a serial killer.
Getting paid to do it is just a way to keep score.
“Have you tried the gun range?” Erik asks quietly. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but maybe shooting off a few rounds will help the Professor in some small way.
The Professor lets out an awful, near-hysterical laugh. “If I pick up a gun I’m going to kill someone, and it might just be you.”
There is no reason why that should make them both go utterly still, or why Erik’s stomach goes molten with want and he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. And there’s certainly no reason why it should make him want to pull the Professor to the debris-strewn floor and fuck the frustration out of them both. The fact that it does is just another mark of how screwed up they both are. As if Erik needed the reminder.
“You just,” Erik chokes out, “you just need a distraction.”
“So distract me,” the Professor says desperately, his hands biting into the back of the sofa, and that is it.
Erik is across the room and pushing the Professor up against a conveniently located desk before either of them knows what’s happening.
“This,” the Professor says, swallowing hard. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“Liar,” Erik hisses into his ear, and digs his fingers into the Professor’s thigh.
“Alright, alright,” the Professor gasps out, spreading his legs in a way that makes Erik curse loudly. “This was exactly what I had in mind, and if you don’t touch me in the next five seconds I will fucking end you.”
“Jesus Christ,” Erik mutters, and then, “Threats are not sexy.”
The Professor laughs and wraps his legs around Erik’s waist. “Now who’s the liar?” he breathes, and starts pulling Erik’s shirt out from his pants.
Erik can’t even remember what they were talking about. He just stares at the Professor’s mouth and thinks how much he wants to kiss him and wondering how much that fucking mask is going to get in the way of him doing just that.
“Take it off,” he says, leaning into press a kiss to the Professor’s neck. “The mask. Take it off.”
The Professor goes still, though not for long as Erik hits a spot on his neck that makes him squirm and clutch at Erik with a whimper.
“But I -” he says finally. “I can’t - I -"
“No offence, but it’s a stupid fucking mask,” Erik tells him, and then bites at his collarbone. “And more than that, I - I want to see you.” He slides his hand down to the Professor’s ass and pulls him forward so that he’s pressing down on Erik’s dick, and they both let out a startled groan. “Please.”
“Oh, god.” The Professor sucks in a breath, his nails digging into Erik’s back under his shirt, and then, in a rush, says, “Yes, whatever you want, take it off, fucking burn it if you want, I don’t really give a -”
“Hey, Professor, what the hell, man, I’ve been ringing the doorbell for like - oh, my god, my eyes!”
Erik has a second to register another voice, and then he’s on his back on the floor, and a guy in blue leather and glasses - seriously, what is it with these guys and blue leather? - has his hand around Erik’s throat. Distantly, Erik can hear the same voice in the background wailing, “My eyes, I think I’m scarred for life, Jesus Christ, my eyes!”
Then the Professor pushes the guy in glasses aside and helps Erik up, and while Erik massages his neck and takes deep breaths, the Professor says, sternly, “Boys, I’d like you to meet Magneto.”
“Oh, shit,” someone says.
***
“Listen, man, we’re really sorry we interrupted you and the Professor, uh, y’know,” says the tall, black guy that Erik now knows is Darwin.
“Yeah,” grimaces the blond kid, otherwise known as Havok. “Like, unbelievably sorry, you have no idea. I’m never gonna be able to get that image out of my head.” He shudders theatrically.
“Also, I apologise for almost killing you,” says the one in the glasses, who Erik had been surprised to find out was Beast. He’d heard about Beast before and about how exactly he got that nickname, and Erik had emphatically not been expecting the guy to look like he did, which is basically like an anxious, nerdy hipster kid.
Erik doesn’t really feel like speaking right now, so he just stares the three of them down and takes a seat on the sofa. The Professor is still over by the desk and there’s a bright red mark on his collarbone and it’s really not helping matters at all.
Erik wouldn’t have minded being interrupted, but he hadn’t even gotten the Professor’s pants open. That’s what’s unfair about this whole thing.
“I can’t believe you tried to kill him,” the Professor admonishes Beast. “What on earth were you thinking, how could you even think -” He breaks off, apparently to angry to finish the sentence.
“He looked like he wanted to eat you!” Havok protests.
What am I, a fucking shark? Erik thinks to himself, but wisely decides not to intervene.
“Well maybe I wanted him to!” the Professor explodes.
“Oh, ew, Professor!” Havok yells, throwing his hands up to cover his ears.
“Yeah, man, too much info,” Darwin agrees, and the Professor looks chagrined.
“Alright, that was tasteless, I’m sorry,” he says, sounding very much like he’s regretting ever saying anything, ever.
“That’s what she said,” Beast mutters, but not quietly enough.
There’s a short silence, and then Havok cracks up. “Dude, high five, that was classic!” he grins at Beast, and holds up a hand. Smiling slightly, Beast high fives him, while in the background Darwin rolls his eyes and the Professor facepalms so hard his mask makes an ominous creaking noise.
“You’ve been hanging around Havok too long,” he tells Beast, who just shrugs unrepentantly, still grinning.
“And this is the future of the assassin trade,” Erik remarks to the Professor, who’s fighting a smile.
“I know, I weep for humanity - more than I usually do, at any rate.” He pushes himself off the desk and stands in front of the three boys. “Now, since you’ve apologised and there’s no permanent harm done,” he casts a pointed glance back at Erik’s throat, and even though Erik knows it was meant mostly for Darwin, Havok and Beast’s benefit, he can’t help blushing and thinking about the Professor’s mouth there, kissing away the bruises left by Beast’s hand and leaving others in their wake.
He zones out for a while on this beautiful image and when he tunes back in the Professor is saying, “- I’m sure we all have a lot of things to do today, so perhaps you should go and do them?”
“But Professor,” Havok interrupts plaintively. “You promised Bozo here you’d teach him how to shoot properly, and Mystique said she’d spar with me and Darwin the next time we came over.”
“Well remembered, Havok,” the Professor says sourly, after a pause in which Erik can practically see him looking for a way out of his promise and finding nothing. “Alright, fine, but only for a couple of hours, and if any bones get broken, I take absolutely no responsibility for them, understand?”
“Yes, Professor,” the boys chorus, and then dash out of the room excitedly.
“Sorry about this,” the Professor says into the silence. “I honestly forgot I’d promised to help them.”
“It’s fine,” Erik says, waving the apology away, because the Professor has absolutely no reason to apologise. “I’ll be here when you’ve finished. Oh, and Professor?”
“Hmm?” the Professor says distractedly, mind already on teaching Beast the wonders of the gun range.
Erik grabs at his arm as he walks past and drags him down. He presses an awkward but heated kiss to the Professor’s mouth around the mask, and then whispers, “Try to get rid of them soon, won’t you? I have plans.”
Dazed but beaming, the Professor wanders out of the room. Behind him, Erik smirks and anticipates the rest of the day.
***
At around midnight, Erik gives up waiting and goes to knock on the Professor’s door.
There’s no answer. Not even when he knocks a second, third and fourth time.
There’s maybe two reasons why there’s no answer. Firstly, that the Professor is ignoring him, which Erik supposes is possible but thinks is unlikely because he’s not actually a fourteen-year-old girl and crippled with self-doubt. He’s fairly certain the Professor wouldn’t ignore him; even if he didn’t want to speak to Erik, he’d still do it, out of some warped sense of nobility.
So that leaves the second reason: the Professor’s not in his room. Which is more troubling, because Erik’s searched the rest of the mansion and he’s not anywhere there either.
He wouldn’t have gone on a job, Erik thinks, and then stops in the middle of the hallway.
Of course he would’ve gone on a job, you moron! he thinks to himself. You saw him this morning, he would’ve wrecked the entire house if you hadn’t distracted him with filthy almost-sex.
Erik paces the hall, trying to think of all the people the Professor could possibly have gone after. He comes up blank and swears out loud for a few minutes. It makes him feel marginally better, but not by much.
Unlike Mystique, Erik knows the Professor can take care of himself when he’s out on a job. But, also unlike Mystique, he knows exactly what state of mind the Professor’s in, and how it’s likely to make him more reckless and less focused on keeping any eye out for trouble. The only reason Erik and the Professor had survived all those attempts on their lives is because they’d been watching each other’s backs, however unconsciously.
The thought of the Professor without back-up makes Erik feel sick.
And angry. Very, very angry.
Mind made up, he strides away, pulling his phone from his pocket and making a few calls.
(But, because there’s secretly a fourteen-year-old girl in all of us, not before knocking on the Professor’s door a fifth time. Just to make sure).
Part three