Title: Not In The Stars, But In Ourselves
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik
Rating: teen
Length: ~1800 words
Content notes: Bickering!
Author notes: For the "trapped" challenge on fan_flashworks, and "futurefic" on my trope_bingo card. :)
Summary: Charles and Erik find themselves locked in a cell together, with no metal and no other minds nearby. There's not much to do but talk... and possibly cuddle for warmth.



"This is not," Charles says archly, "how I wanted to spend the weekend."

"Would you please," Erik mutters, flexing his wrists, trying to squirm his way out of the rope. There isn't any metal in this cell, of course, and that bodes poorly for all sorts of things-- but for now, the key thing they need to do is get themselves untied.

"Would I please... yes, Erik, what exactly should I do? I'm afraid I can't exactly pick myself up and walk over to you, and even if I could, my hands are every bit as tied as yours." Charles stays where he is, leaning up against the wall of their cell, his legs awkwardly splayed in front of him. Erik's relieved that they don't seem to be bent in any ways that indicate a break, and there's no sign of any blood. Who knows how long they're meant to be in here, and if Charles were hurt...

"Just... calm your mind," Erik says. "There." He jerks one wrist free, and the ropes fall clear of the other. With that done, he can untie the ropes around his ankles, and then make a quick survey of his body.

No helmet, his uniform gone; he's wearing a thin cotton t-shirt and drawstring pants. Nothing on under those pants. Canvas shoes. Not a trace of metal in any of it. The room contains one pallet... possibly stuffed with cotton or straw, and in either case, sewn shut, no zipper. There's a bucket in the corner for the inevitable, but it's plastic. Even standing up, stretching his arms to his sides, pushing against the Earth's magnetic field and levitating, he can't grip enough metal to break them out of here.

They might be here for a while.

"Here, let me help you," he says, coming over to Charles, kneeling down at his side.

"Oh, if you're certain."

"Charles--"

"Because if you need to do any more cinematic posing, I can wait. No hurry."

Erik rolls his eyes, though he's carefully sweeping his hands down Charles's legs all the same, checking for injury as he straightens them. Charles's ankles were spared the rope, and that makes Erik all the more infuriated at their captors-- apparently they just let Charles's legs go wherever gravity put them, not seeing any need to worry about doing more or taking any care with him. "I'll need to turn you on your side to get to the rope. All right?"

"Yes, all right," Charles says. No sarcasm this time; apparently he wants to be out of those ropes as badly as Erik wants him out of them. Between the two of them, they get Charles laid out on his side, and Erik quickly unties him.

Charles sighs and pushes himself back up to sitting, then rubs his wrists. "Much better," and grudgingly, "thank you."

"Can you sense any minds?"

"Yes," Charles snaps, "two. One of them is quite irritated that his plans to visit Geneva were interrupted by all this, and the other is simultaneously searching for metal, wondering where we are, and noticing that my hair's thinned even more since you saw me last, thank you for that." Charles glares at him. "You're not precisely getting any younger yourself, you know."

"For pity's sake, Charles."

Charles crosses his arms over his chest and looks to the side, at the east side of the cell. At least there's that; Erik can feel magnetic north pulling at him, so he knows the cardinal directions. More than that, he knows they're still on Earth. Small favors.

"No one beyond us. You're sure?"

"I'm sure," Charles says. "And I couldn't read them when they took us, either. I don't have any idea what they want or who they are. But," and he glares at Erik again, "I'm fairly certain that it's all your fault."

"Charles!"

"You have far more enemies than I do, you know."

Erik grits his teeth. "And if my war were so unnecessary, why would my enemies have me locked up here with you? If they're so reasonable, why would they resort to kidnapping and taking hostages--"

"To fight terrorism with terrorism, I suppose. Maybe when they come back, I'll try telling them I don't know you. We might both be mutants, but I'm certainly not a part of your Brotherhood."

This time it's Erik who looks away. "No," he says quietly, "you're not."

---

When Erik tries to offer Charles the pallet, Charles's stubbornness rears up again.

"I'd like to think we aren't going to be here long enough to need a good night's sleep, but even if we are, it's not as though I'll manage it on that. I use quite a few pillows, and I need to turn over halfway through the night."

"I'll help."

"I don't expect you to let me sleep on you."

Erik hesitates, and Charles grimaces, putting both hands to his temples.

"Stop thinking so loudly."

"Make me," Erik snaps. When Charles looks up at him with vague astonishment in his eyes, Erik's chagrined expression is its perfect counterpoint. They both chuckle.

"I hear that sort of thing more often than you'd think," Charles says wistfully. "I love my students, but dear God, they do get younger all the time."

"I sort of figured that might reach you," Erik admits. A moment later, he's shaking his head. "No, that isn't it, really. You always want to pretend as though I don't--"

"Erik--"

"--don't feel what I did, when we first met." Erik reaches out a hand and settles it on Charles's shoulder. "Is that something you do to punish me? Or yourself?"

"I don't do it to punish anyone," Charles whispers. He doesn't shake Erik's hand off, though. "I just know that we can't go back."

"You'd always be welcome with me."

"I believe I've made you that offer more than once myself." Charles glances around the room. "No blankets on the pallet, are there? It's getting colder in here."

"I hadn't noticed."

"I had. And it's not good for me to get cold. It can affect my circulation." Charles puts both hands on his thighs and shakes his head. "They'd better not be planning on keeping us here too long."

"At least let me get between you and the wall," Erik offers. "You don't need to lose any more of your body heat to the concrete."

Charles sighs. "All right. Drag the pallet over, and we'll get situated on that."

A few minutes later, they've got Erik sitting up against the wall, Charles tucked in against him. Charles's back is against Erik's chest, his body between Erik's legs, and when Erik wraps his arms around Charles's waist, Charles sags back against him, his own arms coming up to cover Erik's.

"Better?"

"Yes," Charles admits. "You haven't put on much weight."

"No."

"I do have sensation below the waist. Some," Charles says, turning slightly to look over his shoulder. "So if this becomes awkward for you, pretending it isn't happening won't actually hide it."

"Awkward," Erik repeats.

"Yes."

"For me."

"I'm afraid I don't experience that sort of awkwardness these days. Not often."

Erik's arms tighten involuntarily around Charles, and Charles shakes his head.

"There's no one to be jealous of, Erik. I meant-- involuntarily. As a reflex."

"I didn't say anything about jealousy."

"No, of course you didn't, but I don't have to be a telepath for everything, you know."

"I suppose not." Things aren't 'awkward' for Erik yet, not even with Charles pressed tightly against him. "I am," he says quietly. "Whenever I hear there's someone new."

"It doesn't do either of us much good," Charles murmurs; most of the heat's gone out of his voice. "But it's the same for me."

The temporary truce seems fragile enough Erik doesn't want to disturb it by saying the wrong thing; he ends up saying nothing, just holding Charles, letting his eyes slip shut. He can't pretend they're together by choice, but he can have the moment.

"When this is over," Charles says, "nothing's going to be different."

Erik's heart thumps hard in his chest. Once. Twice. He nods.

"So-- if nothing's going to be different--" Charles turns slightly, just enough that they can face one another. Erik forces himself to open his eyes.

Ten years on, and Charles's mouth is still beautiful. Erik remembers noticing that for the first time, recognizing how much he wanted to kiss Charles while trying to walk away from him. It's a trend he's sick of; he's tired of walking away, and he's tired of going on with his life as though Charles's absence is something he can live with.

"If nothing's going to be different, then what?" Erik asks.

"Then there's no reason not to-- oh, to hell with it." Charles angles back a little further and kisses him.

Erik moans, the sound blunted by Charles's lips. He kisses back hungrily, not caring how desperate he must feel to Charles, how his mind is screaming for this to be a first time, not a last. Charles grabs Erik by the shirt, the fabric crumpled in his hand, and Erik would do anything, anything Charles wanted, anything at all--

They feel it at the same time. Charles stops at the same moment Erik does, and when Charles draws back, the puzzled look on his face slants into a frown. Erik can sense them, too-- two of them, the metal frame of a wheelchair, the buttons and zippers and lining in a uniform...

The door opens, and first through the door is... is Charles, older and yes, bald, and still beautiful to Erik's eyes.

Second up is Erik-- older, too, grey-haired, no helmet in sight.

"It's about time the two of you sorted all that out," the other Erik says.

The other Charles adds, "I wouldn't say they've sorted it--"

"Close enough to, then."

"Enough to be going on with." Charles nods. He looks from Erik-- the younger Erik-- to the younger Charles, and lifts an eyebrow. "Well. Are you prepared to work together to save the world, or not?"

Erik looks down at Charles-- at his Charles.

«Your Charles,» Charles thinks at him. Erik can feel the irritation in those words-- but he feels more than that. Agreement. Acceptance. «This had better not have been some sort of elaborate seduction strategy.»

«It wasn't,» Erik assures him... not that he can be certain, of course, but if it was, he didn't have a hand in it. Well. The other him might have, but...

"They're ready," the other Erik says. "We've just got to let them bicker at each other a while longer, mind-to-mind. But I think they can do that while we get everything prepared." He lifts his wrist, speaking to a speaker set into a metal wristband. "Everything's ready," he says. "Transport for four, please."

"Transport?" asks the younger Charles.

"You'll see," his older self answers, with an enigmatic smile that seems to irk the younger Charles a bit. "Don't worry," he adds. "It gets easier from here."

--end--