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fic: Fresh

Title: Fresh
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Wordcount: 452
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Summary: Unlike Erik, who views it as a necessary evil in order to get his funding, Charles loves teaching freshmen.
A/N: written for [personal profile] aesc's prompt for the opening lines meme on Tumblr.

Unlike Erik, who views it as a necessary evil in order to get his funding, Charles loves teaching freshmen. Erik regards this as perverse, since freshmen are constitutionally idle, occasionally impudent, and colossally ignorant. Charles admits that some of them are all these things, but claims that most of them aren't. He says he likes their curiosity, their newness, the way their ideas can spark and go off in unexpected directions, and even some of the frankly goofy or off-the-wall things they come out with because they haven't learned to filter their responses yet.

Erik thinks Charles is a sentimental idiot about this but he loves him anyway.

They're sitting in The Dancing Goat when a conversation starts up in the next booth that makes Charles freeze with his coffee-cup halfway to his lips.

“If you think Muñoz is tough, you've obviously never met Lehnsherr.” It's one of the boys from Erik's Tuesday afternoon class, the one who sits scowling at the back most of the time.

“Lehnsherr's the insanely hot one, right?” a female voice says.

“Oh yeah,” the boy says feelingly. “Can't stand that course, but the guy is sexy as hell.”

“Jesus, yes,” a third voice chimes in. “I so would.”

Charles puts the cup down rather hard. A lot of coffee goes over the table.

“Freshmen, Charles,” Erik says with a grin. “No filter. Isn't that one of the things you like about them?”

Charles gets up abruptly and glares over the partition. There's a startled yelp and the boy from Erik's class says “Oh shit.”

Before Charles can say That's my boyfriend you're talking about, or whatever else it was he was going to say, the freshmen beat a disorderly retreat, mumbling apologetically and still clutching their coffee as Charles glares after them.

“You'd think they'd have the sense to check first,” Erik says.

Obviously the old joke is true: How many Harvard undergraduates does it take to change a lightbulb? Just one – he holds the lightbulb and the world revolves around him.

Charles is still standing up, watching the freshmen disappear. He turns and looks at Erik, so intently that it makes him feel breathless and dizzy.

Erik's seen that look before, and he doesn't need to be a mind-reader to know what it means: he's not going to be spending this afternoon in the library working on his thesis after all, but in Charles's bed, being marked and claimed and very thoroughly fucked. If Erik had a thought to spare for freshmen, which at this point he mostly doesn't, since that look may actually have melted some vital part of his brain, he'd have to admit that perhaps they're not a total waste of space.


The Dancing Goat is an imaginary coffee-shop, the name of which I stole from a second-hand book shop and coffee-shop in Norfolk.

Also posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/106593.html with comment count unavailable comments.


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