ionic: ((tcr) banana fish)
[personal profile] ionic
I hate everything. This resulted in my roommate encouraging me to badfic like crazy. THis also just kind of changed into like, drunk fic. Hiiiiiiiiiiiii. 100 Proof Espresso Vodka is some good stuff.

Charles Xavier wasn't the tallest of men, but make no mistake, he was pretty fucking tall. This was thanks to his secondary mutation, which provided a growth spurt on his twenty-fifth/thirty-first (depending on whether or not one believed he was 12 in 1944) birthday.

Erik was mightily impressed.

"Gut Geburtstag, Geburtstagkerl*," Erik said, because, as a Holocaust survivor, he had no issues slipping casual, Google-translated, German into his everyday conversations.


(*I didn't actually Google translate, I just tried to make it as appallingly bad as possible, and was told I succeeded.)

Erik was really depressed, because even though he was standing on a milk crate, he wasn't tall enough to change the curtains. FORTUNATELY, Charles found him right when Erik was about to cry a manly tear of manpain (because obviously, Erik cries over EVERYTHING), and because Charles was just so amazingly tall now, Charles took care of the curtain dilemma, no problem.

And then they banged.

NOT A SONG FIC I PROMISE, because only my roommate is allowed to write all the songfic. Most of the words for this one belong to Pitbull. For the first four sentences anyway.

It was one a.m. and Charles just got to the club.
Two a.m. he was drinking it up.
Three a.m. he was doing the robot, or some geeky shit.
Four a.m. he was ready to fuck (Erik).

Charles had arrived at the club about an hour ago. It was two a.m. and he had claimed a spot at the bar. Not that alcohol really did anything to cloud his mind, or his judgement, but it gave everything a warm, pleasant tinge and lowered already pretty low inhibitions. This wasn’t his usual venue, but he was glad that he had taken the chance on the change of scenery. He was rather charmed by the moody bartender - Erik, his mind supplied helpfully, though Charles hadn’t asked yet - who was thinking more about Kierkegaard than the Sex on the Beach he was mixing.

Erik had sharp angles, physically and mentally, which Charles found quite attractive.

Once Erik had given the drink and a glare to the giggling co-ed who hurried back to her group of friends, Charles caught Erik’s gaze to draw him over. “Another shot, please,” Charles said.

Erik eyed Charles, assessing his build versus his current rate of alcohol consumption. “That’s your third in the past twenty minutes,” Erik said.

“And I can have three more before you need to worry, darling,” Charles said. “Would you like me to give you a brief overview of mutagenesis as proof of my mental clarity?”

“That’s quite all right,” Erik said, pouring the drink for Charles and adding it to his tab.

“It’s a very important concept,” Charles said.

“With which I am already reasonably familiar,” Erik said.

Charles did some surface shuffling through Erik’s mind, enough to find out he was telling the truth. “You are! How wonderful,” Charles enthused.

Erik made a noncommittal sound. Charles was still rather focused on Erik and picked up the stray thought of flattering, were he not so easily impressed. “I’m really not. Easily impressed, that is,” Charles said. “I’m easy in other ways.”

Erik rolled his eyes and went back to providing alcohol to the masses, but Charles was patient, and like the honey badger, he always got what he wanted.

Charles gave his best rakish grin when he had Erik’s attention once more. “You have very nice genes. If I buy you a drink, can I get in them?”

Erik snorted. “I don’t drink while on the job.”

“That’s very professional of you,” Charles said.

“I get off at four,” Erik said.

Charles smiled wide. “I bet you will.”

The car broke down a few miles outside Flattown, Flat State, USA. Erik forgot how to do the magnets—and it's not like cars in the 60s were composed of much metal ANYWAY, being all, plastic and futuristic and shit, because in this world there are MOON CARS—so it was, alas, not an easy fix.

"What do we do now?" Charles asked.

"You could try to lure in a car," Erik said, "with your lady features. I may have seen it in a movie." He couldn't remember for sure, because I can't remember if that trope was in movies that pre-dated 1962, and since this is fic, I don't have to research it (killing my soul, one piece at a time). Erik totally watched many, many films whilst hunting Nazis.

"I don't have lady features," Charles protested.

"But you are very pretty," Erik said.

"Yes, that's true," Charles agreed, "but I'm not built—" he made a descriptive hand gesture to indicate boobs, "like that."

"Perhaps not, but you're the girl, since you're shorter, and obviously one of us has to be the girl, and it isn't me," Erik said flatly.

"Right, and not because of the times—it is the homosexually liberal era of 1962—but because our love is so special neither of us is gay, despite enjoying cock, we just love each other," Charles said, going into unnecessary exposition mode.

"Exactly. We had to get used to having all of that weird and awkward sex," Erik said.

"Penises are hilarious. I never understood how they worked, having never encountered one in the wild before yours. It's been quite the learning experience," Charles said.

"Do you want to just fuck in the backseat of this MOON CAR until someone drives by? That can't possibly end badly," Erik said.

"Erik! Don't you remember why we were in such a hurry to get to Flattown?" Charles exclaimed, scandalized.

"Yes, but since you're still being expository, I'll go with no," Erik said.

"We're out of condoms! You know how it is being mutants and the automatic risk of assbabies that comes along with that. I can't get pregnant! It will ruin me," Charles said.

"By ruin do you mean you'll become a bad charicature of yourself, offensive to both pregnant women and homosexual men everywhere?" Erik asked.

"You know that's exactly what I mean," Charles said, frowning at him. "I have the rights to exposition. Don't spoil this for me, too."

i went outside mutants and wrote Twitter fic for [ profile] withlightning ♥♥ who is wonderful and yes. ♥

"I want to become a badass father fucker," Matt declared.

"Lucky for you, I have a kid," John said, smirkily.

"Should I call you Daddy?" Matt asked, saucily.

"Maybe, baby," John said. And then they banged.

"Dean. Dean," Castiel said urgently.

"Huh? What is it?" Dean asked, bleary from sleep.

"I was watching this very important documentary on clown fish. I believe they found Nemo."

"What are you—you woke me up for that?" Dean asked, appalled.

"No, no. I gathered from this film that I should call you my squishy. And hug you," Castiel said earnestly.

"I will let you do one of those things," Dean said.

"Okay. My squishy?" Castiel said, frowning.

"Oh for the love of—"

And then they cuddled.

"Did you make up stories about yourself?" Sam asked, quickly clarified, "As Loki, I mean."

"Sammy, is this your way of asking if I gave birth to an eight-legged horse?" Gabriel asked, amused.

"What?! No, no—dude, that isn't where my mind first went. I meant all the other things," Sam said.

"So... if I gave birth to a wolf?" Gabriel teased.

"Just forget it," Sam said.

Then they banged. Maybe.
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