Fic: chess is not a metaphor
Jul. 26th, 2011 01:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blathering_kat Based on this, because it's like a kink meme prompt come to life and @clear_liqueur is evil.
Erik has no idea how he’d missed it. It’s not like Charles’ suit has pockets (only dozens of inexplicable zippers with no access to anything important and/or entertaining and really, what the hell, Hank?) but when the large black chess piece smacks against his helmet with a resounding clang, he’s completely taken by surprise. He catches it instinctively, dropping at least a dozen missiles into the ocean in the process (slightly more rage than serenity at the moment) and turns to look at Charles. He’s standing less than ten feet away from Erik with his hands on his hips, glaring at him with an expression that basically says that he should be really fucking thankful he can’t read Charles’ mind at the moment and makes him unconsciously pull the helmet further down on his head. The chess piece drops into his hand (and really Charles, the queen? not subtle) and he gives Charles what he thinks is a questioning look but probably comes across as violently interrogative.
“If you do this, not only will you be massacring thousands of people, I will never play chess with you again. No more pieces. Pieces will no longer be an option,” Charles’ voice is oddly scratchy, like he’s been screaming even though he should be completely recovered from their game the night before. And with that thought, that memory, he realizes that tossing missiles at a collection of incompetent and inferior humans is no reason to give up nightly chess with Charles. If bombing the little battleships and turning them into useful scrap metal means that Charles will choose another chess partner, well. That’s just unacceptable.
Suddenly, Erik is hit by flashes of his Charles gazing heatedly at Hank over the board, doing that delightful little squirming motion that always wreaks havoc on Erik’s strategy - and Havoc! What if Charles takes to playing with Alex? They’d spent a suspicious amount of time together down in that bomb shelter...No. He has no choice. Charles can’t be allowed to introduce any of those children to their special chess set.
Erik yanks the helmet off (because there’s no way anything Charles can project into his head could be worse than that) and tosses it onto Shaw’s corpse. Behind him, the missiles drop harmlessly into the ocean, killing dozens of innocent non-mutant fish and several sharks but leaving Charles’ precious humans intact.
“Well played, Charles.”
Between Erik’s steely gaze and Charles’ bouncy optimism, they convince Azazel to take them all back to the mansion. Moira runs off to the CIA, presumably to ask about the part where they wanted to blow her into little pieces. Charles and Erik send the kids off to bed, assign Azazel and Janos ‘guard duty’, and sequester themselves in the study where Charles drops to his knees and blows Erik into only vaguely homicidal little pieces.
In return, Erik flips the switch on the bottom of the black queen (now happily reunited with the rest of her vibrating family and also Charles’ ass) and watches Charles fall apart. The squirming is definitely his favorite part. Although the sight of those red, red lips wrapped around his fallen king will stay with him forever. Or at least until the next time they have a philosophical disagreement involving mass murder and/or large scale explosive destruction. When that happens, there’s always the knight.
Later, once they’ve managed to stagger up the stairs and into Charles’ bed (sadly abandoning chess pieces now slightly worse for wear - Erik may have gotten a little carried away with the pawns), he finally asks the question that’s been running through his head since Cuba.
“Where did you hide the queen on the plane, Charles? There are no pockets in Hank’s suits.”
“It was fairly simple, actually. I just left it where you put it last night.”
Really. How the hell had he missed that. He’s just going to blame Shaw.
“If you do this, not only will you be massacring thousands of people, I will never play chess with you again. No more pieces. Pieces will no longer be an option,” Charles’ voice is oddly scratchy, like he’s been screaming even though he should be completely recovered from their game the night before. And with that thought, that memory, he realizes that tossing missiles at a collection of incompetent and inferior humans is no reason to give up nightly chess with Charles. If bombing the little battleships and turning them into useful scrap metal means that Charles will choose another chess partner, well. That’s just unacceptable.
Suddenly, Erik is hit by flashes of his Charles gazing heatedly at Hank over the board, doing that delightful little squirming motion that always wreaks havoc on Erik’s strategy - and Havoc! What if Charles takes to playing with Alex? They’d spent a suspicious amount of time together down in that bomb shelter...No. He has no choice. Charles can’t be allowed to introduce any of those children to their special chess set.
Erik yanks the helmet off (because there’s no way anything Charles can project into his head could be worse than that) and tosses it onto Shaw’s corpse. Behind him, the missiles drop harmlessly into the ocean, killing dozens of innocent non-mutant fish and several sharks but leaving Charles’ precious humans intact.
“Well played, Charles.”
Between Erik’s steely gaze and Charles’ bouncy optimism, they convince Azazel to take them all back to the mansion. Moira runs off to the CIA, presumably to ask about the part where they wanted to blow her into little pieces. Charles and Erik send the kids off to bed, assign Azazel and Janos ‘guard duty’, and sequester themselves in the study where Charles drops to his knees and blows Erik into only vaguely homicidal little pieces.
In return, Erik flips the switch on the bottom of the black queen (now happily reunited with the rest of her vibrating family and also Charles’ ass) and watches Charles fall apart. The squirming is definitely his favorite part. Although the sight of those red, red lips wrapped around his fallen king will stay with him forever. Or at least until the next time they have a philosophical disagreement involving mass murder and/or large scale explosive destruction. When that happens, there’s always the knight.
Later, once they’ve managed to stagger up the stairs and into Charles’ bed (sadly abandoning chess pieces now slightly worse for wear - Erik may have gotten a little carried away with the pawns), he finally asks the question that’s been running through his head since Cuba.
“Where did you hide the queen on the plane, Charles? There are no pockets in Hank’s suits.”
“It was fairly simple, actually. I just left it where you put it last night.”
Really. How the hell had he missed that. He’s just going to blame Shaw.
no subject
Date: 2011-07-26 06:16 am (UTC)