twentysomething

Title: Sang the Streets a Serenade

Fandom: X-Men: First Class

Pairing: Erik/Charles, mentions of Raven/Hank

Summary: ""So," Erik says, not without a touch of amusement as they- well, Charles- attempts to extricate them from the other best pub and Sophia. And Marjorie. And Betsy.

Charles cannot imagine he was actually that indiscreet as to sleep with three barmaids from the same establishment."

Length: 1100 wordsish

Warnings: I GOT DRUNK ON DOROTHY SAYERS AND WROTE THIS THING ABOUT ERIK AND CHARLES TOOLING AROUND OXFORD

Notes: I really think the warning says it all, but I just found this in my drafts folder and decided to put it up because wow, I have not posted in a while. I'm writing. Just not a lot, or anything of substance. Or anything that's not a cracky threesome of that crack pairing I wrote.



Charles had- so naively- thought that it might be nice to take Erik around Oxford. To self-deprecatingly point out youthful follies and triumph and steer them into "companionably" cramped restaurants, commensurately delicious for all their lack of elbow room and generally ingratiate himself.

He had rather forgotten that the obtaining of all this knowledge- the chip shop best after drinking, the bookstore most full of first editions, the fountain once urinated in- came with more than a few... entanglements.

"So," Erik says, not without a touch of amusement as they- well, Charles- attempts to extricate them from the other best pub and Sophia. And Marjorie. And Betsy.

Charles cannot imagine he was actually that indiscreet as to sleep with three barmaids from the same establishment.

Left with the impression that, somewhere, through the ether, Raven is laughing at him, Charles steers them toward campus, which, by dint of impossibility, could not be more embarrassing.

At least, until they run into half the advanced biology lab he had been tutoring out of Somerville and there's many a doe eye cast and querulous feminine demands to know who Professor Xavier's handsome friend is and Professor Xavier quite finds that the time has quite gotten away from him and he must book it along or be dreadfully late for an appointment, so sorry to run.

"If it wasn't so all-encompassing, it would be infuriating. As it is, it's simply maddening, Charles," Erik seems to find no end of humor in the whole situation, but Charles is left feeling rather like a bear with a sore head. "Have you ever encountered a woman who was capable of maintaining her sense and panties around you?" Charles' entire stupid face runs scarlet, like a child.

"I can't bear to hear you say "panties", it's positively indecent," Charles says, feebly. Erik merely raises a brow and his lips quirk upward, seemingly incapable of suppressing a smirk.

"You do remember you solicited a lap dance with me in a common brothel," Erik points out, not really a question at all.

"That was business," Charles tries faintly. Erik merely snorts and keeps a hold of his perverse good humor until- of course- they run into Percy, who had been some two years Charles' junior, but a Balliol oarsman and possessed of the most astounding physique Charles had ever seen- and a lord, to boot.

"Charles," Percy says, slow and pleased. Percy is now probably married with a wife he could not shag with a fraction of the enthusiasm he'd fucked Charles with. "Do introduce us."

Charles stammers his way through "Erik Lehnsherr, Lord Percy Wallford. Percy, Erik." all the while dreadfully certain that he's been cursed or something in a fit of further bad luck, wholly characterizing this trip.

Percy is his usual condescending prick self and Erik- Erik is all continental charm, oozing speaking four languages and talking about Percy's recent trip to Seville with characteristic sangfroid, but uncharacteristic animosity radiating off of him. Well, uncharacteristically aimed at someone who hadn't been a member of the Axis powers.

Before he knows why, Erik is silkily extricating them from conversation, Charles having contributed nothing more to the exchange other than shamefully lacking introductions and a vague nod, once. Erik is still quietly seething beside him even as he steers them away from Percy- all without really knowing where they're going, ambling up St. Giles in a strop. It isn't until he realizes Erik is leading them back toward Charles' quiet accommodations- Raven and Hank being some time attempting, badly, to punt- that he endeavors to suss things out.

"Erik-" Charles is abruptly cut off by a flare of ill-temper and Erik growls, "Not one word until we're home," and there's something about his tone that makes Charles shiver a bit.

It's not an unwelcome feeling.

They're hardly inside the door when Erik slams him back up against the architectural feature in question, his mouth hot and demanding over Charles' and Charles find himself going shamefully weak in the knees in a way that- for all their definition- Percy Wallford's biceps had never induced.

"I'm not, Christ- not complaining," Charles pants as Erik's mouth moves onto tenderer pastures, including a spot just under his jaw he was previously unaware would make him want to curl up and beg, but apparently does. "But what exactly induced this?" Erik's reply is an ill-tempered snarl vibrating across thin skin that makes Charles shiver in a way that is definitely not unwelcome.

"That little shit had you, didn't he?" Erik demands, and without waiting for what would have been- undoubtedly- an ugly accession, continues. "Those silly, infatuated women were funny, but," Erik trails off indistinctly and Charles is suddenly hit with the realization that Erik is jealous.

Jealous of Percy Wallford.

Percy Wallford, whom Charles had gotten off with twice and been fucked by once, and Erik was in the greenest of rages.

It's the first funny thing all day and he can't help but laugh.

Erik practically drops him and makes off to brood in some other space, or would, but Charles grabs him, quickly, instinctively.

"No, I'm sorry, no, shh," Charles says, mindlessly and still ragingly ebullient, as some part of his ill-served romantic heart leapt in ecstasies. "I'm not laughing at you, I just cannot believe that of all the hideous things revealed about my... checkered past, Percy is the proverbial straw to break this camel's back." Erik gives him a wary look and Charles gives him the sweetest, filthiest kiss in his arsenal.

"Let me do my level best to convince you that, should all the coxswain of Oxford come banging round my door tonight, I should turn them all out," Charles says, as persuasive as he knows how to be without adding coercion.

"Such a short leash I will have to put you on," Erik finally says, with his same intensity but with a spark of that playfulness finally returned, "Since you seem so naturally inclined to stray."

"Use me but as your spaniel— spurn me, strike me, neglect me, lose me. Only give me leave, unworthy as I am, to follow you." Charles quotes glibly, twisting the Bard to his own tawdry purposes.

Erik groans, but there's a hint of a laugh to it, even as it's swallowed between their mouths.

Nothing more substantial is said, but in the time honored practice of Oxford men abusing Shakepeare to get into a pair of unsuspecting knickers, the evening is a rousing success.