Partners in Misery (X-Men First Class, Charles/Erik, colds)

[Dusty15]

Once upon a time, Dusty and Spoo had a rather large obsession with the film X-Men: First Class, and specifically with the leading men. So, they got together for a little RP writing and ended up with a 54-page document, which is posted below. It features all the sneezing, sniffling, coughing, fever suffering, shivery, plain-ol'-sick mutants you could ask for. So enjoy <3

EDIT- The forum keeps cutting this off, so I've posted the first half here and the second half can be found on the second page of comments!

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Partners in Misery

by Dusty15 and Spoo

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‘”I think that went well,” Charles said as he ducked under the shelter of a nearby tree while he fiddled to open an umbrella. “Bloody rain. You’d think I’d’ve left it behind in England, but oh no, here it is again.”

With a brush of his hand, he smoothed his soaked fringe off his brow and shook water from the rest of his hair.

He and Erik were in Maine, of all places, halfway through a trip to contact several new mutants they’d found via Cerebro. The young man they’d just visited had an extraordinary mutation that allowed him to sprout razor-sharp spikes all over his body, much like a porcupine. They’d immediately nicknamed him ‘Quill’, and the boy would travel to Westchester to train with other young mutants.

Quill’s home was, unfortunately, a bit out of the way. He lived in a remote fishing village, nestled on an island off the rocky coastline. It required a long car ride from Maine’s tiny airport up to a dock where a twice-a-day ferry took passengers from the mainland over to the island. And it wasn’t even a ferry really…just an old fishing boat with a few hastily made benches on the sides.

As for Erik, he didn't like the rain. He didn't mind getting wet, and it was the thunder and lightning that made him uncomfortable. Memories from his past brightened with each luminescence of the sky, reminding him of darker times. It wasn't very long before the color of the clouds matched his oppressive mood.

In spite of the poor weather, however, he was pleased with their progress. They secured another mutant, another one of their kind. Quill had potential and an amazing drive that complimented his mutation. He knew that the boy would make a valuable member of their team someday.

Charles wasn’t really looking forward to taking the boat in the midst of a storm. They’d arrived on the island in relatively fair weather and he’d felt seasick from the ride in what he was told were calm waters.

A check of his watch told him the first ferry was due to leave in fifteen minutes, so he led the way through the pelting rain down to the docks. Thundered rolled in the distance with echoing booms and lightening flickered overhead.

“D’you think they’ll be running the ferry, then?” he shouted back to Erik over another clap of thunder. A gust of wind threatened to break his umbrella, and frankly, he didn’t care. The thing wasn’t helping much- he was positively soaked.

Erik followed closely behind Charles, although not quite under his umbrella. He was already fairly drenched, so he didn't bother taking refuge beneath the flimsy covering. As they arrived at the docks, he looked out into the water and then back at the sky. Bullet-like raindrops struck him on the face and coaxed his gaze to shift downward.

He recalled the elderly ferryman who had originally brought them to the island earlier that afternoon. Judging by the way the man had looked cautiously at the sky, as if fearing what was to come, Erik highly doubted he would return until the storm passed. It was why he glanced at Charles and replied in a slightly elevated tone of voice.

"We're better off seeking shelter somewhere," he suggested, feeling the strong gusts ruffle the loose flaps of his jacket from behind.

A light flickered on in the ferryman’s nearby cottage and the old man leaned out of the front door holding a hurricane lamp and squinting in their direction.

“No ferry,” he roared over the sound of the wind and the waves. “Boat’s already damaged; slammed against the pier. Looks like it’ll be Friday before I’m back on the water. And the storm’s set to last until Tuesday morning, by the looks of it.”

It was Sunday.

Tuesday?

As if Erik hadn't already been in a foul mood to begin with. Knowing that they had to waste two days on a God-forsaken island (of all things) without any means of transport off of it had him silently fuming. If the boat were constructed out of metal instead of wood, he would have gotten them across the water himself.

“What are we supposed to do?” Charles shouted back.

“You can try to hire another boat when the storm lets up, but it’s not likely. The men will want to get back out to fishing straight away. Best find a room in town and wait it out.”

Charles exchanged a look with Erik. Waiting was neither of their strong suits.

“Thank you,” Charles shouted as the ferryman went back into the shelter of his cottage.

“There was a little pub with an inn back down the main road,” Charles said to Erik, beginning to walk. His umbrella snapped back in the wind and was ripped from Charles’ hand.

“Piece of shit,” he muttered, watching it fly out into the ocean and get swallowed up by a wave. Shivering, he pulled his jacket tighter and walked quickly back towards town with his friend.

The small inn was one of the few places in town still open in the awful weather, and its pub was full of fisherman waiting out the storm. Charles pushed through the crowd towards a kindly larger woman tending the bar.

As it stood now, they were stranded until further notice. Erik said nothing as he followed Charles into the pub, his expression firm and eyes cold. It was safe to say he wasn't much of a social butterfly, and given the degree of filthy, ignorant humans that suffocated the tiny space…?

He was not pleased.

“We’re looking for a room. Two beds,” Charles said

“I’ve only got singles and there’s one left,” she said. “I’ll send up a camp cot.”

“And spare blankets, and robes if you have some,” Charles said. He knew the clothes in his small rucksack were soaked, and it was likely Erik’s were too. They’d need to dry out their things before they could do anything else.

By that point, Erik didn't care where they stayed, so long as it was secluded from the rest of the world, and the rain. The moment they were given their key, he ventured away from the crowd and up into their assigned quarters.

Erik was so impatient to be within their room that he forewent using the key at all. Instead, he extended his fingers and coiled them, so that the door unlocked from the inside. No sooner had he entered the space that he shrugged out of his soaked jacket and stepped out of his shoes. His black turtleneck was absolutely drenched beyond repair, sticking to his lithe frame like tape.

A lone shiver ran down his spine as he turned to look at Charles. "This sets us back," he said, running a hand over his damp hair. The rain had caused the strands to lose their slicked style, so that they rested flatly upon Erik's forehead. "In case you weren't already aware."

“I’m afraid so,” Charles replied, hanging his jacket carefully over the radiator and draping his damp socks over the footboard of the bed. “I’ll see tomorrow morning if there’s a telegraph service in town and I’ll send message ahead to Boston that we’ll be delayed.”

Shivering, he shed his oxford button-up and trousers until he stood just in his shorts, which were only slightly damp. Taking the quilt from the bed, he wrapped it around himself for warmth and then went about hanging up his wet clothes to dry.

A knock sounded on the door and the innkeeper’s voice called out,

“Cot and robes in the hall for you, sirs.”

“Cheers, thanks,” Charles shouted, crossing to the door to retrieve the extra bed and dressing gowns.

“Yours,” he said, tossing one to Erik before putting on his own. It wasn’t as warm as the blanket, but easier to keep on.

Erik caught the robe that was thrown at him with one hand. By that point, he was down to his skivvies and looking thoroughly annoyed with everything. Adorning the gown that felt more like a towel, he set his clothes to dry and looked over at Charles.

“Fancy a bit of chess, then, while things dry?” Charles asked. “Then we can go down and have some supper.”

He pulled the travel chess set from his bag, brushing off a few drops of water.

"I'll pass," Erik declined, knowing that in his current frame of mind he'd play rather poorly.

The metal-manipulator was aware that it wasn't Charles' fault they were practically stranded on an island, but he couldn't help but feel a tad bit snappish about the whole ordeal. Again, he discreetly blamed the rain and its ability to sour his mood.

"Ask me again later and we'll see," Erik amended, perching on the edge of the cot.

Although he wasn't terribly hungry, something to drink sounded nice. His throat felt dry and sore, even as he swallowed, convincing him that a glass of Scotch would be downed before the night was over.

“It won’t be long,” Charles said calmly, returning the chess set to his bag. “A few days rest, in fact. We’ve been doing a lot of traveling, Erik. Maybe it’s for the best.”

He was trying to remain cheerful, knowing full well that Erik was irritated about the whole debacle. It was hard not to know it; Charles could practically feel the emotions vibrating in the room.

“You can have the bed, if you’re tired,” he offered, settling into a chair in the corner of the room and propping up his feet on a rickety side table as he opened up a tourist magazine provided by the inn.

Contrary to what Charles believed, 'rest' was something Erik could not do. He didn't have time for relaxation or slowing down of any kind. Every day Shaw was getting stronger. They couldn't afford to stop what they were doing all because of an unforeseen delay.

"This is fine," he replied, indicating that he would be sleeping on the cot.

In the past he'd slept on much less. Besides, Erik already knew rest would not come to him that night. He was far too antsy, too distracted. The most he would get would be an hour, if that, of simply closing his eyes.

“Mhm, lobster fishing,” Charles remarked after a moment, holding up the magazine to show Erik a picture. “Seems a lot of work for such an ugly food.”

The smile on Charles’ face was slightly forced. It was uncomfortable, being wet and cold and tired in an unfamiliar place. For Erik’s sake, he didn’t want to complain, but frankly, he felt a headache coming on and he was thirsty and tired.

Fighting yet another unpleasant shiver, Erik glanced at the magazine. Lobster fishing was hardly entertaining, but for the people of Maine, he supposed it was a fundamental staple in their community.

"I never particularly cared for seafood," he admitted, clearing his throat.

“Dear Mum and Dad made me try all sorts of it as a lad,” Charles said. “Cavier was the worst, I think. I quite like fish, and oysters, but lobster just seems like too much work for some rather mediocre meat.”

'Too much work', indeed, Erik thought.

Perhaps Charles was better suited eating moldy bread crusts instead, as Erik had in the camps. He said nothing, though, simply watching his companion read.

Charles flipped through the magazine for a bit, skimming the articles. It was difficult to filter out Erik’s thoughts while he was both tired and trying to concentrate on reading. Finally, he set the magazine down and turned to his friend.

“I’m going to have a kip, then, if you’re not. Wake me for supper?” he said, tugging the quilts back on the bed and climbing in.

If he was going to focus and be of any use to Erik over the next few days, he needed an hour of shut eye when things would be truly quiet inside his head.

Settling into the pillows, he looked back up at Erik.

“If you want,” he offered. “I can sort of…um…‘smooth things over’ for you…you know, to help you relax a bit; maybe even rest? There’s nothing we can do for now, my friend, so it’s better to try to make the best of it. And before you accuse me of reading your thoughts, I can’t help it. You’re practically broadcasting them all over the room and I’m not really equipped to filter them out right now.”

"That won't be necessary," Erik replied, standing up. "I'll do my best to keep my thoughts to myself, unless it involves a meal."

“Suit yourself, then,” Charles replied. “Sorry I mentioned it. Sometimes when I’m a bit tired, it’s harder to block things.”

He curled up under the quilt, closing his eyes, resting.

Erik crossed the room and sat in the chair Charles had been previously occupying. The inn was far too primitive for a television of any kind, and since he wasn't too terribly interested in reading at the moment, Erik decided to simply sit and listen.

The faint sound of masculine laughter boomed from downstairs, but it was barely audible beneath the weather. The storm was picking up again; he could hear the wind howling through the thin walls while the rain beat heavily on the roof.

The thunder outside was loud enough to keep waking Charles from light dozing, so he only napped for a short while. After perhaps forty minutes or so, he sat up, checking on his socks he’d discarded over the footboard of the bed earlier. They were just a little damp, but not dreadfully so.

“I think we might be dry enough,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle Erik from what looked like a deep thought. “Dinner, perhaps?”

He stretched widely and then swung himself out of bed, assessing his jumper and trousers and deeming them wearable.

"Considering we've barely eaten today," Erik replied, gathering himself from the armchair. "That sounds like a good idea."

He hadn't moved since Charles decided to take a nap, mostly because his mind began to wander distractingly. By the time he was dressed again, he had managed to regain a shred of his previous focus.

"Let's hope the food exceeds the smell," he commented, casting an idle glance around the musky establishment once they were in the hallway.

The pub wasn't in the greatest condition; it was old, worn, and rusty. The floorboards groaned beneath their footsteps as both men made their way back downstairs. Erik immediately secured a table in the farthest corner imaginable, away from the guffawing fishermen.

Once there, he reached for a torn menu that was folded in the center of the table, pinched between a half-empty bottle of ketchup and a salt shaker. Almost everything on the menu involved seafood, as well as potatoes.

"Decisions, decisions," Erik droned, arching an eyebrow.

Charles doubted it would be the best meal they’d even had, but his stomach didn’t care. He perused his own copy of the much-abused menu and frowned.

“Yes, it appears as if we’ve got choices of fish, fish, fish, and chips,” he replied. “Clam chowder looks well enough to me.”

Setting the menu back into its nest between the salt and ketchup, he added,

“And do you think they brew a decent cup of tea or should I settle for a scotch? Maybe they’ll make me a toddy...there isn’t much of anything better than that after being soaked, if you ask me.”

He had alternate reasons for ordering the soup and toddy which he didn’t bother sharing with Erik. He’d felt an irritating, scratchy feeling growing in his throat over the past few days, and now with the added stress of the storm, he was feeling a bit…well, under the weather, no pun intended.

"I wouldn't trust the tea. I'm getting scotch," Erik stated, returning his menu as well. "Along with the only chicken option they serve."

It wasn't long before an older woman arrived at the table to take their orders. The scotch came first in a small glass, followed by a cup of tap water that Erik nudged aside.

He was accustomed to downing most of his alcoholic selections in one swift swallow, but due to the irritated state of his throat, he decided to take it easy. One small sip had the fiery drink burning his esophagus, but it was a good burn - one that had him settling into a calmer mood.

As he waited for the food, he leaned back and folded his legs casually. Fatigue had settled in his bones, along with a deep-rooted exhaustion that had accumulated over their recent travels. He was starting to believe taking a day to gather his wits would actually be a good thing.

Charles went ahead and ordered the soup and risked a request for a toddy, figuring the fishermen would likely indulge in them during bad winters. The waitress brought a fine one, spicy and hot and generously spiked with brandy.

He sipped at it slowly, relishing the hot liquid soothing his throat. Erik’s thoughts were no longer projecting so loudly that they penetrated Charles’ defenses. Maybe dinner and a drink was all they’d really needed to settle the tensions of this little interruption to their travels.

The waitress returned shortly with their food and Charles dug in, commenting around spoonfuls that it was really quite delicious, this clam chowder stuff.

Belly full and toddy taking effect, Charles leaned back in his chair, head lolling easily as he surveyed the pub. Unconsciously, he rubbed his tongue back and forth over the back of his mouth, trying to settle the vague ache still in his throat.

A filling dinner, along with a fairly decent sleep, was usually the perfect combination for a new day. However, that wasn't the case when Erik awoke the following morning, feeling far more fatigued and unwell than he had the previous evening.

Yesterday it had been uncomfortable to swallow. Now it was flat-out painful. He reasoned that getting a drink would remedy this. So, with plans to fetch some water and then come back to bed, he moved off of the cot and stood up, only to feel his skull pulse the moment his bare feet touched the ground.

He tried to take a centering breath through his nose, but one nostril was completely blocked up, causing him to snort awkwardly and cough in the aftermath. He frowned.

Water. He needed water.

Erik was grateful that the inn had the decency to have a bathroom in each room, rather than a communal one at the end of the hallway like some other places offered. Trudging over to the tiny space, he turned on the tap and directed a cupped palm under it. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he drank in the small amount of water.

While his throat felt moister, it certainly didn't stop hurting. The sink turned itself off when Erik commanded the knobs to twist as he turned around, leaning back against the counter. He reached for some toilet paper and folded it once before trapping his nose in it. Blowing quietly, he tried to clear the congestion that had built up while he slept.

He didn't know what was worse: Waking up in poor health, or hearing the rain that had yet to stop pelting against the roof.

Charles woke to the muffled sounds of Erik moving about in the washroom. Rolling over, he squinted at the clock, eyes slowly regaining focus. He’d slept soundly all night, yet he still felt tired. His sinuses pounded dully behind his eyes and he didn’t need to try inhaling through his nose to know that he was congested.

He sat up slowly, his head swimming. He rubbed sleep from his face and ran his hand down to his neck, where swollen glands poked out on either side. With a small cough, he cleared his throat, deducing that he was indeed ill. Though unhappy with the thought, he was glad it hadn’t happened out on the road amidst their travels; he’d been on a plane once with a cold and it had been miserable.

It was just a cold, after all, and no reason to spend the day whining in bed, so Charles forced himself up and sat on the edge of his bed, awaiting his turn in the washroom.

Tucking the crumpled wad of toilet paper in his pocket, considering he'd slept in his pants, Erik opened the door and stepped back into the room. His eyes immediately fixated on Charles, who was now awake as well.

Forgoing words, he simply nodded an implied 'good morning'.

Charles returned the nod and slouched off to the washroom. He stood for a moment, considering the shower, and then deciding he’d forgo it only because he didn’t want the inevitable shock of going from warm water to just a towel. Instead, he washed his face and then wrapped a long loop of toilet tissue around a hand, pressing it to his nose and blowing.

He could barely get air out and his ears popped painfully as he strained to clear his sinuses. Now that he was more awake, he became keenly aware of the dull roar of thoughts and emotions streaming through his consciousness. As if having a cold wasn’t bad enough, for Charles it usually weakened his mental defenses and flooded his head with even the smallest thought of anyone nearby.

The strongest was Erik’s, clear and loud above the rest of the inn’s patrons. The metal manipulator was evidently feeling poorly as well.

In the bedroom, Erik searched through his bag for a shirt to put on. Because he knew that they weren't going anywhere any time soon (due to the less than favorable weather) he selected a long-sleeved, gray cotton shirt.

He slipped it over his head and shrugged into the soft material. Then, resuming his place on the cot, he sat on the edge and massaged his eye sockets with his hands.

A particularly deep inhalation managed to add a bit of a crackle to his breathing. Erik coughed once, softly, and the pocket of chest congestion broke. It had been at least two years since his last cold, so this, all of this, wasn't in his realm of familiarity at all.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, Charles tried again to clear his nose, honking loudly. Eventually, he gave up, resorting to just wiping away a little bit of congestion that leaked steadily down onto his upper lip.

After a piss and a quick tooth-brushing, he left the washroom and returned to the room, pulling on his jumper over his pajama top.

Erik was sitting on the edge of the cot, looking significantly worse for wear than the previous night.

“Did you sleep at all on that thing?” Charles asked, avoiding the elephant in the room. “You can have the bed tonight, I promise.”

"Define 'sleep'," Erik replied, his voice hoarse and raspy from the combination of not speaking and his illness. "It's fine, Charles. I've managed on far less."

He cleared his throat, or at least attempted to, before he stood up again and returned to the bathroom; he left the door open as he brushed his teeth and rinsed out his mouth. After running a washcloth over his face, he came back into the room and approached the streaked window.

"It hasn't stopped," he noted, referring to the rain.

Although, maybe that was a good thing. As wretched as he felt at the moment, he imagined that walking around in a storm wouldn't be the best idea. He was already cold as it was without being wet.

"Not that I…"

Erik paused for a beat, his expression unreadable.

It became increasingly clear what was going to happen, however, when he drew in a quick gasp, his features slackening, before he snapped to the side and misted the air with a violent sneeze.

"Eh'SHKKGhhhuih!"

The sound was nearly a bark, loud and strict, as if Erik were giving a command. In the aftermath, he sniffled thickly while feeling more drained than relieved after the outburst. He prodded at his left nostril with the crumpled toilet paper he withdrew from his pocket, trying to abate the buzzing tickle that still occupied it.

"Snf! Not that I thought it would," Erik continued, as if nothing had delayed him to begin with.

“Bless you,” Charles said quietly. So, Erik was sick too, then. “Yes, more rain, as expected. It’s a good day to stay in with a book, I think.”

What he really meant was it was a good day to stay bundled up on a sofa in front of a roaring fire, but he didn’t have the convenience of either here.

“I’m going to jot downstairs to get us some tea, okay?” he said, rising and stretching with a wince as he bones creaked. He headed out of the room and downstairs to the inn’s pub, stopping for a moment in the stairwell to clear his throat with a few thick coughs that left him feeling lightheaded.

“Morning, sir,” the innkeeper greeted him as he shuffled up to the bar. “What’ll it be?”

“Um, two cups of tea with-- ”

Charles broke off, breath inhaling swiftly as his chest expanded, body preparing for the outburst.

Hehh’shhghhhtt!

He sneezed breathily into the crook of his arm, a small bit of spray escaping around the edges.

“Pardon,” he said with a thick sniffle as he dug in his pocket for a bit of toilet tissue and came up empty.

“Bless you,” the proprietress said. She reached under the bar and retrieved a box of tissues, extending it.

Charles took one gratefully and wiped at his irritated nose, avoiding blowing it in so public a place.

“Two teas with lemon, please,” he said, completing his earlier request. “And, if you don’t mind, is there a place in town I could buy some cold medicine?”

“There’s a small general store just down the road,” she said. “But the owner was on the mainland restocking when the storm hit, so they’re closed. I’ve got a few lozenges, if you’d like.”

She offered Charles a small package labeled ‘Fishermen’s Friend’. Charles smiled at the familiar soothers.

“Cheers, thanks,” he said, pocketing the bag and collecting the two cups of steaming tea, heading back upstairs.

He kicked at the door to the room, unable to get the door open while balancing two mugs.

“It’s Charles, Erik,” he shouted hoarsely. “Open up.”

His nose was now running down his lip and he was eager to finally blow it, having been snuffling congestedly since his earlier sneeze. He resorted to rubbing it on the shoulder of his jumper as he tried not to spill the mugs of tea.

Erik was more of a coffee person, but tea - or anything hot, really - sounded amazing at the moment. In Charles' absence he had locked the door and relocated to the cot again, where he sat down and pressed the worn toilet paper against his red, dripping nostrils.

For whatever reason, any illness he managed to contract always ended up targeting his ears. Even now he could feel the dull ache stretching into his ear canals, irritating them, making him want to wince in discomfort.

Just as Erik was about to lay down, he heard his companion rapping at the other side of the door. Extending his hand, he twisted his fingers and unlocked the door before swinging it open by the knob.

Charles had returned, looking a little sicker than he'd left. Wonderful. The plague had decided to target the both of them. As if having one mutant recruiter out of commission wasn't already bad enough.

“Thanks,” Charles said as he entered the room and kicked the door shut behind him. He handed over Erik’s mug and set down his own before searching desperately through his travel satchel, fingers finally finding what he needed most- a pile of soft cotton handkerchiefs.

They were lovely, so far as handkerchiefs were concerned, with detailed embroidery of the Xavier family crest and Charles’ monogram underneath. He shook one loose from the pile and folded it carefully over his nose, blowing repeatedly with a thick, productive honk. He quickly soaked one square and moved onto a clean one, blowing until he was hot and red-faced, exhausted from the effort. He balled up the soiled cloths and put them in an outside pocket of his bag for later laundering before collapsing onto the edge of his bed.

The nose blowing had cleared up his congestion a little, but in doing so, he felt more of it loosen and drip down his the back of his throat. He attempted to clear it with a low rumble, trying to quell the irritated itch, but had to resort to a volley of dry coughs that ended with a gasp for breath.

“I suppose,” he choked between coughs. “That we’re both ill.”

There was no use in not acknowledging it.

"So it would seem," Erik agreed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

It was pointless to try and argue otherwise when misery was more than evident in his expression. If that wasn't enough proof, then surely the thick tone of his voice and raspy quality to his breathing would do.

He could feel a sneeze trapped somewhere high in his sinuses, but the sensation refused to develop any further than a tingly disturbance. How annoying.

In an attempt to distract himself from their unfortunate situation, as well as coax his nose into submission, he reached for his tea and took the mug between his large hands. The steam rose in lazy tendrils and was inhaled through his nostrils slowly.

Erik wasn't sure what kind of tea it was, but the herbs were fairly strong - at least, strong enough to successfully extract the damn tickle (as he'd originally planned).

The results were instantaneous.

"Hihh…Ehh’SSHKghhktt!"

Miraculously enough, not a drop of the tea spilled, despite the fact that he'd snapped forward slightly, his face downturned towards the ground. Erik produced a gurgling sniffle and then looked up, sipping at his hot beverage.

"Such good timing, too."

“Glad you’re drinking from that mug and not me,” quipped Charles. “Bless you.”

He plucked another handkerchief off the top of his stack and tossed it towards Erik.

“Nicer than toilet tissue, at least,” he said. “And I asked the woman downstairs if she knew where I could buy some cold medicine, but it seems that we’re shite out of luck in all realms this week- the druggist is closed.”

The older man stared at the proffered handkerchief, as if debating whether or not to use it. In the end, he decided to accept the clean cloth only because his nose was a second shy of dripping. He didn't blow, but he did wipe the underside of his wet nostrils until they were dry.

"I refrain from taking any form of medication," he stated, making that point very clear. And then, rather darkly, he added, "I'd rather drop dead."

He'd taken his fair share of experimental drugs while imprisoned in the camps; he had no interest in putting anything else in his body, even if it would provide relief for nasty cold symptoms. Whatever devoured his immune system, be it influenza, strep throat, or even a life-threatening infection, Erik would fight tooth and nail to keep medicine away from him.

Charles shrugged and reached into his pocket for the packet of lozenges.

“She had some spare Fishermen’s Friend, though, so that’s a bit of comfort.”

He unwrapped one of the strong menthol soothers and popped it in his mouth, filling the room with the strong vapors. Instantly, it began to loosen more of the congestion in his sinuses and he pitched forward into his jumper sleeve.

Ehh’ghkht!

He barely managed to keep from choking on the soother in the midst of the sneeze.

“Ugh, pardon,” he said thickly, rubbing the wet spot out of his sleeve. “I think I’ll just read a bit, seeing as we won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”

He curled up in the corner armchair with his novel open on his lap. He didn’t really feel like reading, nor did he have much concentration for it, but it felt rude to just climb back into bed with another person in the room, even if that person was Erik.

Setting his tea aside, Erik laid back on the cot and draped an arm over his eyes. His left ear was hurting terribly, but he wasn't the type to outwardly complain about any kind of discomfort. Before he turned on his side, he tossed a comment in Charles' direction.

"There's no need to keep up appearances for the sake of being polite," he said, his back now facing the telepath. A few chesty coughs were muffled into the handkerchief he had yet to release. "Especially around me."

Erik wasn't prone to falling asleep very quickly, but in what seemed to be relatively no time at all, he had dozed off into an impressively deep slumber.

“What do you mean, appearances?” Charles asked, but Erik was already asleep, snoring quietly. Shutting his book, Charles sat back and rubbed at his eyes. Erik had the right idea, for sure.

He redressed into his pajama bottoms, leaving his wooly jumper on top, and climbed into bed, tucking the quilts up to his chin. He tried to sleep too, but his post-nasal drip kept him coughing. He was quickly overcome and sat up, gasping for air, his chest defined in sharp lines as it strained against the knit of his sweater.

Another lozenge placed under his tongue quieted the coughs for a brief period. He sucked on it mindlessly as he leaned back against the headboard. After a moment, his eyes drifted shut and he managed to drop off for a bit, slowly sliding down into the pillow.

When he woke later, he was shivering and his nose felt raw and wet from dripping. A damp spot had formed on his pillow. Pulling the quilt tighter around him, Charles sniffed mightily and tried to get comfortable again, but couldn’t.

In his current state of illness, Erik was vulnerable to the nightmares that feasted on his mind when he slept. The source was more than likely a high fever - one that had him tossing and turning audibly.

Beads of perspiration matted his bangs to his forehead while a rather panicked expression claimed his face. He was distressed.

As the bad dream progressed, he grew more uneasy. Objects of metallic content began to tremble in the room, some items levitating while others simply shook side to side. Incoherent phrases of German and English alike left his mouth as his fingers dug into the sheets.

Within the nightmare Erik saw his mother, alive, and he saw Shaw. He was helpless to save her as she died over and over again, in spite of his desperate attempts to prevent the catastrophe from happening.

In a congested daze, Charles realized that his wrought-iron bed frame was shaking. Confused, he sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Erik was still asleep on the cot, but obviously in the midst of a nightmare.

Charles moved quickly to his side, tugging back the sheets to cool his fever and putting a gentle hand on his friend’s brow, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate enough to re-direct Erik’s thoughts. It was difficult when he felt so bloody awful himself, and it didn’t seem to be working; Erik continued to mutter in German, thrashing about. The lamp in the corner of room flew off the end table and clattered to the floor.

“Erik,” Charles urged, abandoning the telepathy and resorting to shaking his friend awake. “Erik, shhh, it’s Charles. You’re having a bad dream. Wake up.”

Charles was the one who had touched him, but it was Shaw who Erik saw in his mind. The man was reaching out with a bloody hand, shaking him. It was more than he could stand.

With a struggling gasp, he shot up and lunged at Charles. He pinned the telepath down onto the bed, hard, and breathed deeply, savagely. His eyes were wide and feral, even in the dimness of the room, but all of that changed the second his brain registered what was happening.

Instantly, he released the other mutant, as well as the metal objects in the room; they fell to the ground in loud clatters and clangs. If that wasn't bad enough, Erik had nearly attacked the one individual he was slowly beginning to trust.

Too weak to react quickly, Charles cried in surprise at Erik’s quick grip, his body thrown onto the bed like a ragdoll. He regained his senses and tried frantically to smooth Erik’s thoughts as the metal-bender came-to and released his hold.

Erik backed away, horrified, while his infected lungs protested to his harsh breathing by coughing rather violently. When the spell passed, he was left winded and disorientated. His nose was running.

Like a mask, his long fingers covered his face. "I didn't…" he swallowed, his breathing erratic and crackly. "I'm sorry, Charles…"

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Charles said, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Erik was coughing uncontrollably and Charles reached out, putting a hand tentatively on the other man’s back and rubbing slow circles.

“It’s okay,” he said, leaning closer as Erik choked out apologies. “I shouldn’t have startled you. I just want..want…teh…”

He broke off mid-sentence, breath wavering.

Ehhht’sghhttt!

Unable to move fast enough, he sneezed right into the back of Erik’s shirt, his nose bumping lighting against the man’s shoulder blade.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, dazed, as he sniffled mightily. “Didn’t feel that coming... I was trying to say that I just wanted to try to smooth your thoughts over a bit. I’m not feeling well enough to do it effectively, apparently.”

Erik barely felt the breathy sneeze on his back; he was far too distracted at the moment to care, really. Charles' hand was soothing, coaxing him to gradually uncoil from his tense posture. He released a few more rattling coughs and then cleared his throat.

Charles resumed tracing slow circles on Erik’s back, massaging muscles lightly as he went.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

"It's over," Erik replied, as if that would explain everything.

He would blame it on illness (and possibly delirium as well) later, but the man couldn't deny the unexplainable urge he felt for more contact between he and Charles. For some reason, his companion had a way of calming him down from even the most intense experiences.

But, perhaps that was enough. Erik moved away from Charles' comforting hand and then turned around, so he could look at the weary brunet. It was obvious that he'd woken Charles up.

"It wasn't my intention to wake you," he said, sniffing wetly.

Forgoing any explanation or request for permission, Erik directed one of his hands towards Charles' forehead, where it scooped beneath his tousled bangs and laid across the hot skin.

"Especially when your fever is this high," he observed, frowning. "No wonder your abilities are ineffective."

It was one thing if Erik himself had a fever, but when it concerned Charles? That was a different story all together.

“It is?” Charles said, leaning into Erik’s hand a little too much before recovering his balance and sitting back. “I didn’t notice. No wonder I couldn’t sleep…you didn’t wake me, my friend, I was just tossing and turning over there. What a sorry pair we are, eh?”

He pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and dabbed at his sore nose.

“I’d kill for some decongestant,” he muttered, leaning his head wearily against the wall where the cot met the edge of the room. “And that cough, Erik…”

He touched his hand briefly to Erik’s broad chest, as if he could influence breathing as well as thoughts.

“It sounds awful,” he said. “You should try to sleep more. I’ll stay here, if you like, and try to make sure it’s peaceful.”

'A sorry pair', indeed. In fact, Erik would almost go so far as to say they were downright pathetic.

To think… Mutants of their extraordinary class and potential knocked off of their feet by a cold of all things. However, they were also, he supposed, wired internally like humans, which made even superior beings like them susceptible to illness.

When a hand suddenly made itself comfortable on his chest, he looked down, blinking, and then gazed back at Charles. Erik was not the type to openly admit if there was anything wrong with him, but somehow he felt that making light of the matter wouldn't work.

Not when Charles knew exactly how he was feeling.

"I'd rather not attempt sleep again," he said, but what he really meant was, 'I'd rather not almost hurt you again.'

The cough Erik could endure, as well as the dull pain in his ear. What he found to be irritating, though, was the consistent tickle in the back of his nose. It was there, itching him, making his nose run and his nostrils twitch. There were few times where it actually swelled into more than just an annoying sensation.

Such as right then.

Normally, Erik was fine sneezing off to the side or within his own barrier of personal space, but Charles was close - too close. His chest heaved beneath Charles' hand before he reached up and removed it. Their hands met and held for two seconds before the taller male buried his nose into his shoulder.

"Ehk'SCHHkkishhh!"

He sniffed thickly and tried not to wince when his ear, throat, and head all pulsed simultaneously in pain. Lowering his hand, and looking a great deal wearier, he decided not to risk his poor balance by sitting down as well.

"I'm surprised the piping hasn't ripped out of the walls yet…"

“You can control it better than that,” Charles said reassuringly, absently rubbing his palm where it’d touched Erik’s. “But not if you don’t get some real rest.”

A volley of coughs interrupted his words and he bent forward, chest shuddering. He stayed bent over for a few moments, nose dripping freely onto the floor. Taking a long, liquidy sniffle, he sat back up, pawing at his nose and gulping air.

“I was going to say that we both need rest. Pull the cot up next to my bed. Or, share the bed; it’s just wide enough. Maybe if I’m sleeping closer, it’ll make it easier for you. Pushing through a cold like this is just going to make you sicker, and we don’t need that, what with the plans we’ve got for the rest of the month.”

Ugh, his blasted nose. It itched vaguely, somewhere high in his sinuses, and despite being severely congested it still managed to drip steadily. Charles sniffled again, long and gurgley.

“Pardon, I need a fresh handkerchief,” he said, standing and retrieving one from the pile on his nightstand. He folded the clean cloth over his nose and blew, straining to clear it. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought to get the congestion out, his face turning red. Finally, he tugged the hankie off the end of his scarlet nose and swayed on the spot, winded and dizzy from the exertion. He stumbled, the room swimming in front of his eyes…this fever…

He managed to catch the foot of the bed and pulled himself towards it, flopping onto the mattress.

Ehh’tghht! Heh’tscghhttt!

Two sharp, wet sneezes burst out unexpectedly across the bed sheets, leaving little damp spots from the spray. Charles rolled over, shaking his head.

“Clearly I should not be moving about,” he said, positioning himself back against the pillows with a deep sigh.

Erik had been prepared to catch Charles if he fell, considering his reflexes, in spite of him being ill, were still quite sharp. As the other mutant toppled onto the mattress, sneezing, sniffling, and sighing, he considered the offer.

Being near Charles did have a rather therapeutic effect on his mood; he was calmer and far more levelheaded. And really, it wasn't like he was being asked to bed.

With a small air of reluctance - only because getting close to someone was difficult for him - Erik peeled back the covers of the bed and slipped beside Charles. A few inches of space stood between their bodies, so that they weren't touching.

He turned his head and coughed in the opposite direction, his chest burning with each wet lung spasm. When he was able, he moved on his side, his back facing Charles, and laid on the ear that wasn't killing him.

"You need rest as well," he stated, sniffing back the drippings that threatened to slide down his nostrils. "Sick or not, we're leaving the first chance we're given."

That was, whenever the boat situation resolved itself.

“Mhmm,” Charles agreed sleepily. Despite running a fever, he felt chilled and weak, his body see-sawing between freezing and brief flashes of heat. He rolled over, trying to get comfortable alongside Erik. The pulse of Erik’s coughing shook the bed lightly and Charles intuitively curled up against Erik’s back, his chin dangerously close to resting on Erik’s shoulder. He could feel the other man’s congested breaths as Erik’s back expanded with each inhale, lightly touching his own chest.

“May I?” he asked, his worlds slurred with fatigue. He extended a hand around Erik’s neck and towards his temple, hovering there, waiting permission to help his friend sleep. He didn’t know if it would do any good in his current state, but it was worth a try.

He knew Erik found this whole waiting business infuriating and didn’t particularly enjoy getting too close to anyone, but Charles felt if he could gain Erik’s full trust, they’d come a long way to healing a lifetime of hurt for the man.

May you what?' Erik wanted to ask, but that was before he slightly turned his head and bumped into the warm fingers that were floating near his temple. Oh, he thought, resting his cheek back against the pillow. That.

He wasn't a fan of accepting help from others, but Charles was different. So far he had proven his worth in Erik's eyes, aside from their occasional disagreements. Charles was softhearted and kind, and he was firm and harsh. They were mutants, though. That was enough.

He could sense the smaller body behind him, residing quite close. The shared warmth was pleasant and it tempted Erik to abandon his untrusting hesitance and lean back. Of course, at this point he just wanted to sleep.

Without saying anything, he pushed his head up and directed his temple into the fingers like a cat, giving Charles permission to touch him. And if he did move back on the mattress, so that their bodies were actually touching…

Well, that was just a fluke, wasn't it?

Charles threaded his fingers though Erik’s thick hair so that his palm rested firmly against Erik’s temple. He closed his eyes, willing his mind to fight through the haze of illness and focus on Erik’s brain waves. As he carefully began smoothing over Erik’s thoughts, filling his head with calm, carefree feelings, he felt his own energy slip away.

Unable to sustain the mind control any longer, Charles went limp against Erik’s back, his fingers drifting lazily up into Erik’s hair more. He coughed a few times, turning his head into his pillow to muffle them before surfacing with a raspy, shuddering breath. And before he could register another thought, his eyes were rolling back and he was passed out, snoring congestedly, his nose pressed against Erik’s shoulder.

Erik didn't register that he'd fallen into a peaceful, dreamless sleep until he was waking up some time later. He couldn't be sure what time it was, but he had a suspicion that he'd slept through a good portion of the afternoon. His forehead twitched before he willed his eyes to open.

What he saw was not the far side of the wall, which was what he'd been staring at when he originally fell asleep. No, what he looked at now was Charles. Somewhere in slumber he had turned around and faced the telepath.

If that wasn't awkward enough, his arm had somehow wound around Charles' waist, as if the man were a teddy bear or something.

Erik would have pulled away, but he found that moving at all was a struggle in itself. He was burning up, but at the same time he was freezing. Both sides of his nose were stopped up beyond comprehension, forcing him to breathe out of his mouth.

Christ, he didn't feel well at all.

He did manage to roll over onto his back, where he promptly began coughing; his chest burned with each crippling spasm. When the terrible fit subsided, leaving him lightheaded and weak, he closed his eyes again not in sleep, but in an attempt to make the world stop spinning around him.

The noise and movement of Erik’s coughs woke Charles from a deep sleep. It took him nearly a minute to become conscious enough to remember where he was and what the hell was wrong with his head. His eyelids felt swollen and too heavy to open, so he tried to speak aloud instead but found his throat equally disabled. Reaching up to his neck, he felt his throat and swallowed painfully. Two large glands protruded on either side of his Adam’s apple, as if to proudly say ‘Yes! You’re sick as a dog!’

He finally managed to pry open one eye and looked blearily over at Erik, who was lying next to him, breathing shallowly.

The dim afternoon light awoke the tingle in Charles’ nose and he pitched forward, sneezing freely in the air, too weak to raise his arm in time.

Ehht’sghtttt! Hehh’ghstttt!

The sneezes were incredibly harsh and guttural, burning his irritated throat. An involuntary whimper followed, which he thought sounded rather silly, but it had hurt quite a lot.

“Erik?” he croaked, his hand trailing down the other man’s arm. “How’re you?”

His fingers met Erik’s and he gave his friend’s hand a light squeeze. He was feeling absolutely wretched, but misery loves company and he was glad for the company in this case.

Erik sensed that Charles had woken up as well, and the painful sneezes that followed only confirmed this fact. Too dazed and fevered to put up any type of front, he allowed his hand to be squeezed without pulling it away. Hell, he may have even squeezed back.

He almost didn't hear what Charles had said, due to the fact that his ear was clogged and pulsing rather unpleasantly.

"Exceptional," he eventually replied, in between awkward breaths. His voice was low, thick, and hoarse, but at least it was coherent. Somewhat. "You sound amazing yourself…"

Although the thought of putting anything in his stomach made him nauseous, Erik felt that he and Charles should have attempted to eat something. At the very least, they could have called up for some soup and crackers.

“I need some tea,” Charles managed to croak. He reached over to the nightstand for a lozenge and popped it in his mouth, swallowing the mentholated syrup as it dissolved. It did little to soothe his throat, but at least it didn’t feel so dry when he breathed through his mouth.

“Maybe I’ll go downstairs again and see if I can get some tea and maybe there’s somewhere else in town I can go to get some medicine.”

The room swam before his eyes for a moment as he sat up fully, the congestion in his nose shifting so rapidly that he practically swooned. Regaining his senses, he leaned back against the headboard and reached for a handkerchief, blowing his nose several times, viscous congestion filling the cloth over and over.

Erik was ill, but he was not so much so that he'd let Charles do all the work. As the other mutant sat up and began blowing his nose, he coaxed his body into a sit as well and took a moment to adjust; his head pulsed angrily in response to his shift in position, which urged him to wince.

"I'll go," he offered, swinging his legs off of the bed and standing up. "It's my turn, after all."

Forgoing shoes, he left the room and padded down the hallway. The indoor temperature couldn't have been more than seventy-four degrees, but it felt much cooler to a person with a fever. Erik fought off a shiver as he approached and descended the staircase, stopping at the bottom to lean against the railing.

Whether it was the spiced scent of the pub or the simple fact that his nose had decided it was time to misbehave again, he found his breath hitching and eyelids fluttering shut. After two steady intakes of air, he snapped forward and sneezed towards the stairs.

"Eh’SSHChhhiuh!…hihh! Eh’KSSHKggkshh!”

The force of the explosions had Erik seeing tiny white spots before his watery gaze cleared. Sluggishly, he trudged onward with hopes to secure more tea (in addition to some soup if possible).

Charles wanted to protest, but Erik was up and gone before he could argue. Instead, he went to the bathroom and took a small sip of water, still unable to swallow without wincing. He splashed a bit on his face and soaked a washtowel, wringing it out until it was just damp and then curling it around the back of his fevered neck.

Ehh’tsghttttshikk!

He pinched his nose and partially stifled a sneeze that made a rather amusing little squeak and gurgle when he released his grip. Sniffling, he retreated back to bed, curling up in the warm bit where Erik had been. The pillow smelled reassuringly like him (at least the tiny bit Charles could smell with his nose almost entirely clogged), and Charles buried his cheek in it, curling his legs up to his chest as he lay on his side, cozy if not entirely comfortable.

He shifted the washrag over his eyes with a sigh of contentment. It was the little things at a time like this.

When Erik returned about ten minutes later, he arrived carrying a metal tray. Well, he wasn't so much 'carrying' it as he was letting it hover a few inches in front of him. The innkeeper had offered to bring it up herself, but he reassured her that that wasn't necessary.

With a dismissive motion of his hand, the tray settled on the table.

"This soup was made from last night's leftover chicken. I'm not sure how keen you are in having some, but it's here if you want it," he said, plucking up a mug of tea for Charles and setting it on the nightstand.

Erik sipped at his own tea, slowly, and then sniffled when his nose began to run. He reached for the handkerchief he'd been loaned earlier and pressed it underneath his damp, chapped nostrils.

"Is this the part where I lay on your side of the bed?" he inquired, speaking through the white cloth.

He was teasing, really, but he hadn't expected to find Charles lying so comfortably in his spot.

“Was keeping it warm for you,” Charles mumbled, sitting up and removing the washcloth from his eyes, slinging it over the headboard for later use. He drank his tea gratefully, finding it easier to swallow with each warm sip.

Draining the mug, he set it back on the nightstand and curled back up in bed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I want soup; wouldn’t be able to taste it anyhow.”

Blearily, he extended a hand from under the quilts to reach for a fresh handkerchief. He put it to his nose and tried to blow again, but it just made him end up coughing again and he shrank into a ball, body shaking with the spasms. Too tired to censor it, he whimpered softly as the coughs finally ended and he settled for just holding the hankie gently against his swollen, red nose. He felt himself shiver and he nestled down further under the quilt.

“S’there a dial for the heater in here?” he asked Erik, his voice slightly muffled by the pillows. “I’m chilly.”

"The heat is already on, Charles," Erik replied, throwing an idle glance at the thermostat on the wall.

Although, come to think about it, he barely felt the warmth as well. Originating from Germany, as he had, he was used to cool temperatures and had accustomed himself to dealing with unbearable levels of coldness. However, being sick was an entirely different story.

Looking at Charles and witnessing how utterly pathetic he looked, Erik decided to retake his previous place on the bed; he sat on the edge, snuffling. He was grateful he still had the handkerchief within his possession when a rather congested sneeze caught him off guard.

"Eh'DSCHHhhuih!"

The outburst earned him a good blow as well, considering it had expelled a great deal of loose congestion. Severing a clear string of mucus that connected his nostrils to the handkerchief, Erik sniffed and laid beside Charles on his back.

“It is?” Charles said, barely audible over Erik’s sneeze. He felt his limbs shaking and his teeth vibrating slightly in his mouth as he shivered, tucking his legs up and curling into a ball to try to get warm. Perspiration dripped down his forehead, sticking his fringe to his brow. He reached for the wash-towel and wiped it across his face, teeth now audibly chattering.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a spell like this; not since he was a little boy, for sure.

“Erik?” he said softly, his voice trembling as the shaking became more violent. “I’m sorry…I…can you get this washcloth wet again? Not cold…just damp? I’m sorry, I’d go…I…”

Unsure of how to explain the shivers, he stopped speaking, raising his head a little to look at his friend before it felt too heavy and dropped back into the pillow. He sniffled wetly, the fever flushing his face the same reddened hue as his nose.

While Erik himself was fevered and uncomfortable, he supposed that Charles might have been a little worse off. To each their own, he thought, glancing at the washcloth. He took it within his hand without saying anything and ventured to the bathroom.

After wetting the washcloth and wringing the excess water out of it, he returned to the bed and sat down. He would have handed it back over, but Charles looked bad enough simply lying there.

Sniffling, Erik extended his fingers and directed the damp cloth over the other man's cheeks before he moved up and beneath Charles' bangs, grazing his hot forehead. This was an individual who had killed others in cold blood in order to obtain information on Shaw, and here he was being thoughtful, wiping his friend's flushed face with a washcloth.

"Perhaps you should rest again," he suggested quietly. "At least until your temperature goes down."

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably, taking the washcloth from Erik’s hands and folding it in thirds so he could curl it around the back of his neck. “That was thoughtless of me. You should rest too. Here...”

He spread out the quilt, tucking part over Erik’s legs.

“I-”

Hhhr’shghkkkt!

He sneezed congestedly into a fist raised at the last possible second, his blocked nose making a strange squelching sound.

Hehh’tsghttt! Hhh’ghkttt!

Twice, the sneezes overwhelmed him as his face contorted, looking foolishly dazed as the explosions burst out.

“Bless me,” he croaked, voice thick and muddled with liquid. Too congested to bother blowing, he swiped his handkerchief under his nose and then dabbed it there a few times, clearing away the residue. Between the fever and the sinus pressure, his head was pounding continuously, the thoughts and emotions of the other residents in the inn slowly becoming overwhelming.

PART TWO[/u

Edited July 6, 2012 by Dusty15

[Spoo]

I will never, EVER get tired of reading this. A lot of love, dedication, and fangirlness went into this story. Dusty is definitely the best writing partner you could ask for, folks! And don't let her tell you otherwise. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

Spoo~

[tma]

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :wub:

I just.... and ..... they.... and discriptions.... and in-characterness.... and.... fkahbfkhakfhkvhlscohk!!!

I'll be re-reading this soon!!

[queenie]

Wow, you guys. I've just been held captive for like a half hour? From the two papers that are due tomorrow? So yeah. That... happened.

[Dusty15]

Basically Spoo and I are internet spouses now. It's a big ol' love affair, cause her Erik never fails to make my Charles go

Thanks TMA and Queenie! I'm glad you liked it as much as we liked writing it!

[Jorm]

I have no words... *wibbles*

[telltale]

I don't even know this fandom, and I ate this up with a SPOON. It had all my fetish loves (including fevers, awww) but it was also so tender and intimate and just really lovely all around.

Awesome stuff, guys! I'll be re-reading this one for sure.

Edited November 15, 2011 by telltale

[Jorm]

Now that I'm a little more composed let me expand upon how much I love, love, love this fic. (Did I mention I love this fic?) Not only does it push pretty much every one of my fetish buttons, but the characterization and interaction between the two of them is fantastic. I love the subtle shift in how Erik in particular relates to Charles throughout the story, from being almost downright standoffish at the beginning to really enjoying and even initiating some of the intimacy as the story progresses. And as much as I love smut, I quite like the fact that you made the intimacy more subtle than that in this, it fits the story and the point that they're at in their relationship canon-wise for it to be more of a sense of them feeling each other out and just enjoying the physical closeness of having someone they can relax around.

I also love that you had the story take place in New England because as a NE'r myself some of the local stuff totally had me loling

[Spoo]

Aaaand this is the part where Spoo melts into appreciative goo. Thank you ALL for your wonderful comments! It's such a good feeling knowing that a casual roleplay between Dusty and I can be enjoyed by several others. You guys rock!

[Purple]

THE TWO OF YOU.... will be the death of me!

Apparently there will be an XMFC sequel... who knows what could happen in that!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to search for my jaw, which seems to have disappeared from my face in awe...

[shygreeneyes]

Nicely done, really nicely done.

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Just coming to this now (as I only saw X-M:FC last night), and...well, it's completely perfect, except for one giant thing: it seems to cut off mid-word! I'm assuming this is related to the whole "the Forum blew up and rearranged itself" thing, but is there anyplace I can see the completed fic? I was really enjoying it, and it stopped in such a great part.

[Dusty15]

That's so bizarre! This was posted after the forum switch and it used to have the whole fic!

Anyway, I edited the post so the whole thing is showing up for me now. Let me know if it doesn't for you and I'll try PMing you the file.

Thanks for the love, everyone else

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Thanks for the edit, Dusty! Unsurprisingly, the rest of the fic was just as wonderful as the first part I got to read. I love how their relationship deepens and changes as the usual walls break down.

[Garnet]

FLAILING AND SCREECHING. I haven't even seen XM:FC but I'm a big old nerd for the entire series in all its incarnations, especially these interactions between these two, so it was still totally relatable. I can't brain enough for a more coherent response, but the cuteness of this slays me in all kinds of ways, and you're both really excellent writers!

I just-- come here, let me hold you. By which I mean draw the crap out of this.

[Spoo]

Holy flattery beyond comprehension, Batman! Coming from a superb writer (yes, that means YOU, Garnet!) this really means a lot. I'm so glad you could enjoy Dusty and I's story (and Charles and Erik's misery)! I really recommend seeing XM:FC whenever you get the chance, but thanks for giving this a shot anyway!

Andwhat'sthisaboutGarnet!art? ajldsfjas;kdfSJLF:SDF! Lord have mercy...

Also, a big whopping THANK YOU to everyone else who has read this story. You guys are really sweet.

[Dusty15]

Seriously, Garnet, you'll make us blush! xoxoxo

[SterlingSilver]

DUSTY AND SPOO! Great job, girls! There was so much feeling in this one--the tenderness, the slow development--it was all so real! And such a substantial story, too! Amazing job ;D.. You both should be really proud

[DogLover]

I have read this fic so many times...like when I was supposed to be writing my English Lit. paper...or studying for my math test...

If I fail, I'm blaming you!

[Spoo]

If I fail, I'm blaming you!

Oh my! Now we're compromising the education of others, Dusty. Shame on us!

I'm not all that sorry, though...

[DogLover]

If I fail, I'm blaming you!

Oh my! Now we're compromising the education of others, Dusty. Shame on us!

I'm not all that sorry, though...

Neither am I... besides, I got an A... So no harm done!

Now, if only my teachers would stop setting exams and papers I would have time to write my First Class fic

[snowshie]

I haven't even seen the movie, but that in no way stopped my enjoying the hell out of this. This totally made my day.

[meff]

awesome story!!!

but unfortunately i'm having trouble with seeing the whole thing. it end's suddenly in the middle of sentence.

please please please could you help me?

[Spoo]

You know what? It's done that before. I think the original story was too long to fit in one post, so it automatically cuts it off. I'll get in touch with Dusty to post up the rest once she gets back from her vacation.

Thanks for liking the story, though! We appreciate it.

[meff]

thanks, i can't wait to read the rest of this perfection