fic » masquerade AU & bartender!erik AU (charles/erik, x-men: fc)
X-Men: First Class; Charles/Erik.
Masquerade AU.
“You’ve been staring at me,” Charles says, pointed, when they’re finally in the stairwell alone.
He’s pleasantly tired from dancing and mellow from wine and Erik’s looking at him again now, the same steady heat as always present in his gaze. It makes an answering warmth rise in Charles’ cheeks; must be that wine, that pleasant hum in his veins, he thinks. Must be Erik and his proximity and the expectant silence, the tension that has passed between them since this soiree began.
“How observant.” Erik’s voice is low, amused, but its roughness betrays his interest. Swallowing thickly, Charles flattens himself against the stairwell wall-a clear invitation for Erik to follow-and he does, takes two steps into Charles’ personal space, lets his hands hover above Charles’ shoulders, never quite settling.
“Take it off,” Charles breathes. “I want to see you.” He’s long since free of his own disguise, which had been an extravagant bright thing with trim and feathers because Charles Xavier never does anything halfway, not even masquerades.
Erik laughs. “Oh? What if I like the mystery?” His mouth quirks up at the corners, just below the edge of his mask, and Charles badly wants to kiss him. He wants to bite at his smile, graze his teeth over Erik’s bottom lip in that way that makes Erik shudder, then go still as if waiting for something more.
“There’s no mystery, Erik. I’ve known it was you all night,” he murmurs. “You are surprisingly transparent, my friend. Your thoughts-” Charles reads the surface of Erik’s mind, finds his turn to smirk. “-are the loudest in the room when you glance my way.”
X-Men: First Class; gen, implied Charles/Erik.
Bartender!Erik AU.
There is actually a Magneto cocktail (Rumple Minze peppermint liqueur, Jagermeister, and Goldschlager cinnamon schnapps).
“Erik Lehnsherr,” says the barkeep, introducing himself in a tone that feels too formal for past two in the morning, when the patrons have left and the place is, technically, closed. He talks as he wipes down glasses and hangs them above the bar, his motions easy, born of habit.
“Yes,” Charles answers, amicable, “I know. I’m Charles Xavier.”
“How do you-” Erik stops with his back half turned, and Charles watches his shoulders tighten, knows his grip has spasmed around the martini shaker he just rinsed.
“All here, isn’t it?” A tap to his temple. “You’ve quite an interesting past, Erik.”
Erik whirls to face Charles fully, expression furious. “You have no right inside my head, Mr. Xavier.”
“Actually, it’s been ‘Professor’ for some months now… but please, do call me Charles.”
“I don’t practice familiarity with trespassers.”
Charles smiles ruefully. “I assure you, I didn’t mean to read your mind. I won’t do so again.” He adds, “You see, you are projecting your thoughts rather raucously.”
“…Projecting?”
“Oh, yes. Curiosity. You were intrigued by me all evening. I could sense it from across the room.” And now his smile changes, brightens. “I admit I wondered about you, myself…”
Masquerade AU.
“You’ve been staring at me,” Charles says, pointed, when they’re finally in the stairwell alone.
He’s pleasantly tired from dancing and mellow from wine and Erik’s looking at him again now, the same steady heat as always present in his gaze. It makes an answering warmth rise in Charles’ cheeks; must be that wine, that pleasant hum in his veins, he thinks. Must be Erik and his proximity and the expectant silence, the tension that has passed between them since this soiree began.
“How observant.” Erik’s voice is low, amused, but its roughness betrays his interest. Swallowing thickly, Charles flattens himself against the stairwell wall-a clear invitation for Erik to follow-and he does, takes two steps into Charles’ personal space, lets his hands hover above Charles’ shoulders, never quite settling.
“Take it off,” Charles breathes. “I want to see you.” He’s long since free of his own disguise, which had been an extravagant bright thing with trim and feathers because Charles Xavier never does anything halfway, not even masquerades.
Erik laughs. “Oh? What if I like the mystery?” His mouth quirks up at the corners, just below the edge of his mask, and Charles badly wants to kiss him. He wants to bite at his smile, graze his teeth over Erik’s bottom lip in that way that makes Erik shudder, then go still as if waiting for something more.
“There’s no mystery, Erik. I’ve known it was you all night,” he murmurs. “You are surprisingly transparent, my friend. Your thoughts-” Charles reads the surface of Erik’s mind, finds his turn to smirk. “-are the loudest in the room when you glance my way.”
X-Men: First Class; gen, implied Charles/Erik.
Bartender!Erik AU.
There is actually a Magneto cocktail (Rumple Minze peppermint liqueur, Jagermeister, and Goldschlager cinnamon schnapps).
“Erik Lehnsherr,” says the barkeep, introducing himself in a tone that feels too formal for past two in the morning, when the patrons have left and the place is, technically, closed. He talks as he wipes down glasses and hangs them above the bar, his motions easy, born of habit.
“Yes,” Charles answers, amicable, “I know. I’m Charles Xavier.”
“How do you-” Erik stops with his back half turned, and Charles watches his shoulders tighten, knows his grip has spasmed around the martini shaker he just rinsed.
“All here, isn’t it?” A tap to his temple. “You’ve quite an interesting past, Erik.”
Erik whirls to face Charles fully, expression furious. “You have no right inside my head, Mr. Xavier.”
“Actually, it’s been ‘Professor’ for some months now… but please, do call me Charles.”
“I don’t practice familiarity with trespassers.”
Charles smiles ruefully. “I assure you, I didn’t mean to read your mind. I won’t do so again.” He adds, “You see, you are projecting your thoughts rather raucously.”
“…Projecting?”
“Oh, yes. Curiosity. You were intrigued by me all evening. I could sense it from across the room.” And now his smile changes, brightens. “I admit I wondered about you, myself…”