Title: Ceramic
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: G
Length: ~610 words
Content notes: for the "breakfast" challenge. Set in Replay 'verse, and based off a Tumblr prompt from PragmaticHominid that I've had sitting forever: "Prompt for Replay/Numbersverse. Erik comes over to the mansion to kidnap Charles or w/e, and at some point he notices that the knives in the kitchen are ceramic blades. Erik takes this as a personal insult - first, because he thinks it's a sign that Charles doesn't trust him, but then because Charles argues that ceramic knives are better than metal ones."
Badge notes: Counts toward the early bird badge (misc), and either the AU badge or the lightning streak badge since it was written in ~50 minutes (skills training).
Summary: Charles waves a hand at him and takes a sip of his coffee. "Of course you'd say that. But I don't equip my kitchen with your convenience in mind, I hope you know."




October 1984 (1)

Erik is later than he intends to be, and when he gets there, Charles isn't in his room. Erik casts around with his mind until he feels the familiar shape of Charles' chair in the kitchen.

Erik hasn't been in Charles' kitchen for the better part of a decade, and gets turned around twice in the halls on his way there.

"You're up early," he remarks - knowing that Charles must have sensed him coming, so that to stand in the doorway watching him without being noticed isn't an option, much as Erik enjoys that particular activity.

Charles glances up from his newspaper and says, "I couldn't sleep, so it's more like late, really. You know, I'd rather given up on you for today."

Erik is distracted just then, due to glancing at Charles' counter and realizing he cannot feel any of the knives in the knife block. He walks over and pulls one of the knives out, looks it over carefully.

"...Ceramic, Charles?" he says then, trying not to sound mournful.

"Erik, really," Charles says. "If I were worried about you killing me with my own knives, what earthly reason would I have for using a wheelchair made out of metal?"

That's a point, which Erik acknowledges by grimacing at the knife and sliding it back into the block with its fellows.

"No," Charles continues, "I only bought the ceramic ones because they're better than the metal ones."

Erik stares at Charles for a moment, not hurt anymore, but now - Charles is not only insulting him, but insulting metal, and he cannot allow that to stand. "There's nothing better than stainless steel."

Charles waves a hand at him and takes a sip of his coffee. "Of course you'd say that. But I don't equip my kitchen with your convenience in mind, I hope you know."

Erik does know - it is the entire problem with Charles - and when he hides his hurt this time, he is marginally more successful than the last time, in that Charles misreads the cause.

"At any rate," Charles says, "even if you did decide to muck around with my chair, I could drop you dead in a second." He pauses for a second, then adds, "With my mind," as though Erik would have missed the implication without Charles hand-feeding it to him.

"Should I have brought the helmet?" Erik asks, dryly.

"Good god, no. My eyes," Charles says, which is exactly what Erik expected him to say. He closes his newspaper, folds it once, then unfolds it again and says, "Would you care for some breakfast before we head out? French toast, perhaps?"

Erik considers; the idea of Charles cooking him breakfast is appealing. "What about your students?"

Charles laughs. "No need to worry, Erik; it's Saturday."

Erik doesn't know what this has to do with anything. "Screaming gives me a headache," he says.

"Erik. It is Saturday. They are teenagers. Not one of them will be up and about for at least five hours, if not halfway through the afternoon."

"...French toast would be acceptable," Erik says.

"Wonderful! The whisk is in that drawer there -" Charles points "- and the mixing bowls are in that cupboard -" more pointing "- along with the skillets."

Erik considers more, and decides that the idea of cooking Charles breakfast is in fact more appealing than the reverse - even if doing so involves more stooping than Erik is accustomed to.

"I'm not entirely certain about this, so don't hold me to it, but I believe we may have some turkey sausage left in the fridge, if you'd like," Charles says.

Erik grins, and starts rummaging through the cabinets.