turtletotem said: regarding 11, I had an idea once for “aliens abduct them and won’t let them go until they demonstrate earthling mating rituals” and it still makes me sad that the fic does not exist but i can’t write crack or porn much less both so it remains unwrote
—we should do this thing. I will if you will. Come on:
"Seriously," Charles said, and stared at the alien. "Seriously. No."
Erik also wanted to protest, because seriously no, they were not performing for anyone’s amusement; except that Erik also wanted to be offended, because wait, what, why wouldn’t Charles want to sleep with him? Not that he wanted to sleep with Charles. Not that he didn’t want to sleep with Charles. Charles was incredibly attractive, and kind, and utterly amazing. It was just—Charles. Who’d never so much as indicated any interest in sleeping with Erik.
Why didn’t Charles want to sleep with Erik? Charles slept with lots of people. What was wrong with Erik?
Well. Possibly a constantly threatening demeanor and a laser-precise focus on killing the man named Schmidt and the tiny fact of all the blood on Erik’s hands. But that was all necessary. Surely Charles could see that. And Erik would do a lot worse than that to protect Charles, because someone had to, because Charles was attractive and kind and amazing, and the world would never allow him to stay that way, and Erik would wade through actual Shakespearean oceans of blood to protect Charles, and Charles didn’t even want to think about sleeping with him even though they were both starving and it was only practical to get them food.
"You will demonstrate," the alien repeated, implacable, "and then you may have food."
"Erik," Charles said pathetically, "my telepathy doesn’t even work. My telepathy doesn’t work, Erik.”
"You’re the one who got on the damned spaceship," Erik said. "The damned plastic spaceship. It’s fascinating, you said. New life, you said. New civilizations. And then you got on the damned spaceship."
"Well," Charles said, "you didn’t have to come."
"Yes I did," Erik said, "I wasn’t going to let you get on a spaceship alone," and then they stared at each other for a while.
"A successful mating demonstration will earn you food," the alien reminded them helpfully, from the other side of the clear glowing door.
IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING TO ME AM I ACTUALLY DOING THIS
Erik looked at the alien — a spindly little gray-green thing he could easily have snapped between his fingers if he could only get to it through the glowing portal thing — and then around them at the room they’d been given. The walls, floor and ceiling seemed to be made of some faintly luminous white plastic, arranged in peculiar sets of triangles; their light gave the room the shadowless antiseptic look of an operating theatre. Which made the enormous, petal-strewn, heart-shaped bed in the middle of the room look all the more ridiculous.
"We have researched your needs," the alien said, "and provided the proper ritual artifacts. Are they not acceptable?"
"Acceptable," Charles choked, "no, they’re not accept—"
"No!" Erik blurted, struck by sudden brilliance. "No, see, part of the ritual is food, we can’t possibly… erm… proceed without the ritual meal.”
The alien made a soft honking noise that somehow communicated suspicion. “What manner of ritual meal?”
"Um. Chocolates, for one. Oysters. Steak."
"Wine," Charles put in. "And candles. They’re very important."
The alien honked again, more thoughtfully. “It’s true, I have observed the use of these items. Perhaps I underestimated their importance.”
"You certainly did," Charles said primly.
One sharp honk. “Very well.” The alien was gone, the door with him, before they could say another word.
Oh, we’re doing this. No escape now. Much like the poor boys.
The alien was gone. The door was gone. The bed, however, was there. Very much there.
It sat there and loomed meaningfully at them. With petals.
"Well," Charles said, eventually, "thank you for that."
Erik, who had been scowling at the petals and wondering whether there was a- any way to extract iron from dismembered rose pieces, and b- any chance that Charles might think that roses were romantic, and if so, c- would Charles under normal non-extraterrestrial circumstances like roses if Erik brought them to him, said, “What?”
"For the food." Charles looked up at him, sighed—Erik couldn’t read his expression—and then wandered over to the bed and poked it with an experimental finger. "I’ve never been more thrilled with your deviousness than I am right now."
Compliment? Or mere observation? Or was that a warning, about keeping this all a pretense, deflection, putting off the moment when they might actually have to—
"You asked for wine," Erik said, mostly just for something to say, and a little bit because he wanted Charles to keep talking to him. "And candles. Do we need candles?"
"Well," Charles said, "I do have some standards, Erik, I appreciate a decent attempt at scene-setting and atmosphere before engaging in mating rituals with anyone,” and it was plainly meant to be a joke, so Erik tried to smile.
Would Charles have wanted him, ever, if he’d brought wine and candles over beside the chessboard? Would Charles have smiled, if Erik had popped open the bottle’s cork with a twist of metal, and poured? How did one go about setting a scene or creating an atmosphere when one person was a telepath and the other person was, well, Erik himself, whose idea of a romantic evening was not even an idea, because the concept had extremely little to do with stalking or knife-throwing or body-disposal?
He didn’t even have his pocket paper-clips. No metal in the room, no metal in the simple white shirt and trousers they’d awakened in. His bones itched, fretful.
Charles was rubbing his temple, eyes shut. Erik walked over and sat down on the bed beside him. Charles jumped; Erik cursed himself for being too habitually silent and stealthy. “Are you all right?”
"Oh…yes, more or less…it’s just quiet." Charles sighed again. "In here. My head. I can’t—this feels wrong."
"Oh," Erik said, and then, because he didn’t know what else to do and he couldn’t do nothing, he’d never been good at doing nothing, reached over and set fingers against Charles’s other temple, lightly, and mimicked Charles’s attempt at rubbing the headache away.
"Mmm," Charles said, and leaned against him, and then actually slid down on the bed and put his head in Erik’s lap, which prompted instant mental panic for several reasons, but Erik’s hands went on offering the massage without showing the panic, because Erik’s hands were well trained.
"I’m sorry," Charles said, after a while, just when Erik was wondering whether this might count as romantic after all, and if so what he should do about it. "I was the one who got on the damned spaceship. I got us into this.”
"You were curious," Erik said. "You always are. It’s not your fault. Or only half. A third. At most. It’s our voyeuristic extraterrestrial kidnapper’s fault. Their fault. Is there more than one of them?"
"I’ve no idea," Charles said, "sorry," and lifted a wryly indicative hand toward his temple again, which, because Erik’s hand hadn’t stopped, meant that their fingers met.
Charles looked up at him, and didn’t move away. Erik swallowed.
The bed was very soft, beneath them. Even the luminous plastic walls stayed quiet, letting the moment spin itself out into gold.
The wall irised into that window-door-translucent-spot again. “Ah,” the alien said, sounding impossibly pleased, standing there with what appeared to be an entire table abducted from a five-star hotel restaurant, “the artifacts are acceptable, then, and the ritual can begin?”
Fic written for mrkinch for donating to the Abortion Access Bowl-a-Thon! A little office-sex porn snippet set in Politico. I think it works okay as a pwp if you haven’t read Politico.
Once they’ve been dating for a few weeks Charles starts coming by Erik’s office for lunch. This unnerves his staff at first—they’re not used to Erik having friends, nonetheless a boyfriend—but they soon come to appreciate having Erik away and out of their hair for an hour or two. It takes four of these visits before Erik realizes that Charles has a hidden motive.
Thank you! You seem cool as well ♥
Erik/Raven aside, Raven/Irene is clearly the superior ship. When do we get THAT movie?
The only way I can think of is literally either human sacrifice or a fan selling their soul.
Otherwise I cannot see it happening.
Because the movie studios would be like ‘BUT THERE’S NO WOLVERINE. IT WON’T SELL’.
:(((( they could do backstory where it turns out Raven and Irene where Rogue’s moms THE WHOLE TIME. Maybe Logan used to babysit in the 80s and then forgot, hence why he feels protective of Rogue when he sees her again as a teenager.
There need to be more foster dad Cherik AUs. Like, both with bio-kids-as-foster-kids, and with kids they’re father figures to.
LIKE KITTY AS ERIK’S FOSTER DAUGHTER,
Hello I would like to kickstart this idea and subscribe to your newsletter.
At one point ikeracity and I had figured out this entire Foster-Dad-AU where CHARLES was Kitty’s foster father, and he wanted to keep her connected to her Jewish heritage, and so he took her to a Jewish community centre and was a bit out of his depth and trying so hard to do right by his kid….and that’s how he meets Erik, and how Erik becomes an integral part of Kitty and Charles’ life…
Ahhhhhh yes I remember this AU. It still needs to be written. Beeeeettyyyy?
Charles trying to raise his kids jewish *_____*