Title: By the Clear Blue Waters
Fandom: X-men: First Class
Author: schmerica (Pearl-o)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1000 words
Content notes: Harem AU of the handwavey ahistorical fantasy type, including mention of Charles/other, captivity themes, vague dubcon
Author notes: Dedicated to the ladies from Saturday night XMFC/MST3K chat.
Summary: Even after all these months in the harem, there are still things Erik doesn't understand about the place, but Charles is always willing to explain.

*****

They're sitting at the fountain in one of the inner courtyards. Charles is stretched out on his belly on the stone. Erik sits on the ground beside him, knees against his chest. His head rests back against the edge of the fountain, tilted so he can watch Charles as he eats berries, one by one, picking each off the plate before him with the utmost care before raising it to his mouth.

It's a lovely day, sunny and bright with a pleasant breeze. The air smells sweet from the exotic flowers that bloom all around them. Erik still can't name any of them, though Charles has tried to teach him several times. It feels like to learn that knowledge would be to reject what came before. He will never again need to know the name of every plant within a mile of his parents' farm, which ones are good medicine, which ones will sting and burn you, which ones make for decent enough eating when the winters are bad. Still, he clings to those memories nonetheless.

"Raven is going to go to the Emperor tonight," Charles shares, in a confidential tone. Charles is a horrible gossip, but then, the same is true of most of the occupants of the harem. Perhaps it is a necessary consequence of how little of import they have to do. "She's very nervous, the silly goose."

"I don't blame her," Erik says. Unlike Raven and Erik, Charles was born into the harem. He doesn't understand what it's like be from the other side of these walls. For Charles, this is just how life is. It is normal, not some bizarre distortion of the way things should be.

"Then you are silly, too," Charles says mildly. He takes another berry. The juices have begun to stain his lips, Erik notices; they are even more brightly red than they are in nature. "She is lucky."

Erik frowns. "You have spent the night with the Emperor before, haven't you?"

"Yes, twice."

"What is he like, then?"

Charles sets down the fruit he has picked up, and pushes himself up on his elbows, giving Erik a thoughtful look. "He is - well, he is a lot like you would imagine a grandfather from a storybook to be. Old, and rather fat, with a great white beard. He's very formal, very high, you know, just as you'd expect but ... kind, I suppose. Polite."

Erik tries to imagine it, tries to fit that picture in with the stories he grew up on, the cruel warmonger who invaded his country, killed so many of his people, took Erik himself prisoner. He is not very successful at it.

"He didn't hurt you?" Erik says.

"Well, it hurt at first, of course," Charles says, dismissing the question like a fly around his face. "But he was patient, you know, stopping when I cried, waiting for me to be ready. And after that it was fine. Not lovely like it is with you, of course, but fine. And then of course, he's very generous. The next day when I went back to my quarters, there were new books and clothes and jewelry. It was all so lovely. That's where I got the ring I gave you."

Erik looks down consideringly at the blue stone on his finger. Charles gave it to him after their first night together, weeks after Erik was brought to the harem, once he had finally given in to the feelings Charles caused to well up inside him. Once he could kiss Charles and not feel like he was betraying the family he left behind.

Erik likes the ring, very much; the color is a perfect match for Charles's eyes.

Erik says, "And the second time?"

"The second time I didn't actually spend the night," Charles says. He lowers his voice, though there's no one around to overhear them - or at least, Erik corrects himself, there doesn't appear to be; God knows, the harem seems to have no secrets. "He couldn't, well, stay up, even though I sucked him for the longest time. I thought he might be angry at me, but he was very nice about it, just sent me away. He sent the gifts all the same."

Erik snorts, and Charles gives him a disapproving look. "Don't laugh, Erik, someone might hear you!" He shakes his head. "It was a great honor, anyway, and it's an honor for Raven now. Not just the gifts - the older concubines will have to show her more respect now. You know how much it bothers Raven when they're cruel to her."

It's true; Raven takes it personally, all of the stupid, cutting, petty politics of the place. It's why it's harder for her - Charles doesn't have to deal with it, for somehow everyone seems to like him, and Erik simply doesn't care.

Erik thinks that Raven should command respect for reasons other than the whim of some disgusting, ridiculous old man; but that's a thought he knows better than to share aloud, no matter how private they might ever appear to be.

Charles has said all he means to on the subject, it appears, and his attention is once again on the plate of fruit. He picks up another piece, but this time instead of raising it to his mouth, he offers it up to Erik instead.

Erik leans forward, taking the berry into his mouth; it bursts, the juices spreading sweet across his tongue. He swallows and then raises himself up and forward, until he can press his mouth against Charles's. Charles opens up for him with a sigh, easy and lovely.

Everything within these walls is designed to be luxurious, decadent, seductive; everything is built to be beautiful. Erik doesn't care about any of it. He would be just as happy with a stone cell, a plain cot, only bread and water. And yet here is Charles, the epitome of all those qualities, and Erik is fallen, weak before him. He will never understand it, not in a thousand years.

He ends the kiss, resting his forehead against Charles's. "Will you tell me a story?" Erik says quietly.

"Of course, my love," Charles says cheerfully. He sits up, then, slinging his legs over the edge of the fountain, and he gathers Erik in close to sit between them and rest his head against Charles's thigh.

Charles begins to speak, some fantastic tale of wonders and magic, utterly unlike the cold fables of Erik's youth. Erik doesn't care for the words, though; instead he closes his eyes and simply listens to the sound of Charles's voice as Charles absently strokes the hair from his face.