A Gift For: cayal
Characters/Pairings: Erik; implied Erik/Charles
Rating: teen and up
Summary: Erik ruminates on Charles – and what the other mutant can actually do for him.
Author’s notes: My prompt: Erik really grasping the massive implications of Charles' power on a global scale, which then deteriorates into fantasies of how to best use it on a more... personal level.
The Weaver stance was coined in 1959, according to the ‘net, so hopefully I’m okay there. This is set in the mansion, around the time of the satellite scene. Beta’d by xlikethenightx and many thanks for her time! Feedback is love.
Erik holds the gun in the correct stance, one hand wrapped around the handle, the other at the butt, fingers supporting fingers. Charles had named it (The Weaver Stance; Erik laughs that it has a name) but he doesn’t care about that; he only cares that it works and the recoil doesn’t bother him.
The night is thick and heavy and full of stars and a fat moon that lights his path, and each bullet that hangs in the air glitters like a supernova, half exploded, cosmic dust sparkling and coating the trees with shiny detritus.
He fires again, and stops another bullet in mid air, not moving his hand in his controlling the metal, only using his mind. He can feel the sweat beading up between his shoulders, drops slipping under his shirt and into the waistband of his chinos, the belt there stopping the progression of the wetness.
Charles’ face hangs in the air with the bullets; that smile, the bright blue eyes, such inherent innocence and naiveté and yet Erik’s sensed some other things beneath that goodness, some things that Charles might not even be aware of himself. A crack of a smile; he sights down the barrel of the gun and squints an eye. What would Charles think if he knew Erik had him pegged?
He wonders if Charles could force him to turn the bullets and fire them in other directions. He wonders if the other man could convince him he’s not doing what he wants, and could tell Erik’s mind to turn the gun toward his forehead and shoot – he wonders if Charles would.
He wonders why he’s thinking this way.
It’s good, isn’t it?
Watching Charles use his mind for tricks has been something Erik’s ignored for the most part; if that’s the way the other man chooses to show what he can do, so be it. If he wants to play parlor tricks and dress Erik in women’s clothing in order to recruit a teenager impressed by that sort of thing, so be it. If he wants to trick Moira into letting her into his rooms without her say-so, so be it.
He fires again, onetwothreefourfiveclickclickclick
The bullets freeze, one of them flattening with the power behind the gesture.
He lowers his hands, his fingers icy from the tight grip, and he lets the empty gun fall to the ground. Stepping forward, he enters the hanging star field of bullets, touching one, his forehead slightly creased, holding them stationary in the air, the sound of his nail against the metal a soft tink that echoes sharply in his brain.
The satellite dish is a hulk in the background; Erik barely glances at it. Right now the bullets occupy his mind and then Charles does.
What could the other man do should he really wish it? What couldn’t he do should he choose not to hold back, doing what he’s really capable of? Why are they wasting time fighting Shaw, making silly strategies, plans with the children involved, when all Charles would have to do is touch his temple, close his eyes, and wish it done?
Erik blinks, cocking his head as the unasked for (and shocking) thought chases through his brain, and then he blinks again.
He has no compunction, no second thoughts. If it were that easy for him, he would have done it a long time ago. He wouldn’t have spent half his adult life looking for Herr Doktor if he had the kind of ability Charles has.
Another tink and the bullet he’s touched spins lazily, the metal catches the light from the giant moon, winking at him as it spins. His turtleneck and pants are black, allowing him to blend perfectly with the night and he turns this way and that, spending time inside his self-created asteroid field as he thinks, examining whys and wherefores and he stops, his body freezing, aping the bullets that float near his head –
He could ask Charles to do this thing for him.
Charles has an affinity for Erik; Erik’s not sure what it is truly, be it attraction or mere interest or (love) lust or something else entirely. But if he asks, Charles might do it. He might even consider it a gift, or something he needs to do in order to make Erik’s loyalties truly airtight. Charles is not weak; far from it. Erik thinks he might be the strongest person he’s ever met, but Charles…the other man doesn’t or won’t or can’t see it. If Erik asked, he might be able to make Charles see it.
He could make Charles see in himself the powerful, amazing, terrifying mutant all mankind should know and trust and in the end, follow, for what is Charles but the thing no one can say no to? Ever. Ever in his or her life, no matter what the other person wanted, never ever could they say no to Charles. Not world leaders, not presidents, not the children, not strangers in a strip club, not Raven, not Shaw.
Not even Erik, if he truly thinks about it. Not even if Charles won’t acknowledge it.
there’s so much more to you than pain and anger.
you’re not alone. Erik, you’re not alone.
Erik unfreezes and the hanging bullets drop to the ground, tiny tinkling sounds echoing through his mind, ricocheting through the thoughts of Charles as Erik can see him, can see the potential, can see what Charles might become if Erik pushes him in just the right direction, if Erik asks him to do this thing for him.
I want you to take care of Shaw for me.
Kindness personified, twisted (by someone, by the children, by Erik) until he becomes nothing but rage and revenge.
The moon sparkles on Erik’s hair, turning the reddish strands to gold and he walks away from the dropped gun and the bullets and heads toward the mansion, something akin to worry eating at his gut, maybe a thing he’s not felt in an age, that thing that rises when thoughts of Charles come to mind. He feels an affinity for the other man; attraction, interest, lust. Maybe something else entirely – but no. How could he possibly even contemplate asking Charles to do this thing? How could he even think of forcing an answer the other man would no doubt give because the question came from Erik?
How could Erik ever forget his own destiny?
He arrives at the mansion and shakes his head, dislodging a maple leaf that’s stuck in his hair, watching it spin lazily to the ground, reminiscent of his bullets. He flexes his fingers, stiff and cold, and feels the pinch of power there still. The black clothing drapes over him like a shadow, a perfect place to hide. He steps inside, shoes silent, the house squeaking back at him, his mind shutting down the moment he closes the door. He can feel Charles nudging at him; can feel the slight relief that Erik’s safely inside. He can feel the warmth of the small smile that no doubt decorates Charles’ youthful face, red lips stretched prettily, intentions real and emotions unbound.
Regret washes over Erik at the thought of what Charles could be, if he could only understand it. If he could harness the power he holds and use it for the good of mutantkind, for the good of their tiny world that is persecuted and destroyed – or will be, once they know, Erik is absolutely dead certain – by humans that seek to wipe out anything different to their norm.
You and I, we’re going to have a lot of fun.
Erik walks up the stairs and enters the study, meeting Charles’ smile dead on, and closes the door behind him.