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sareyen · 4 years ago

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X-Pressions of the Heart: A Boyband AU (Part 1/3)

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Charles is a member of the popular boyband X-Boys. Erik is a harsh music journalist. This is exactly as cliche as it sounds.

Chapter 1

“Fuck no,” Erik said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down his boss, Emma Frost. Even though he was standing while she was sitting at her desk, the immaculately-dressed woman did not flinch as she regarded Erik with something bordering on apathy. Emma simply gestured her white-sleeved arm at the chair opposite her desk, Erik glaring at her before plonking himself down.

“You didn’t even hear what I wanted you to do,” Emma said, manicured nails clacking on her keyboard as she responded to emails from some of the other music journalists under her employment.

“I saw your face – you’re definitely going to try and make me do something I don’t want to do,” Erik grumbled, but Emma ignored him, eyes glued onto the computer screen in front of her.

Erik opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘why did you call me in here if you’re just going to answer emails’, but was cut off when Emma just raised a finger in a brisk ‘shut up’ motion. Erik swallowed his annoyance, sinking further into his chair and glaring at his boss.

Erik had been working for Emma and her music journalism company ‘Brotherhood of Music’ for years, and is her longest-serving and closest journalist under her payroll. Erik had been there since the beginning, and had almost been made a co-CEO, but Erik hadn’t wanted to be stuck inside the office answering emails all day. No, he had wanted to be amongst the music, in the heart of it.

Emma was unphased by Erik’s rudeness, too used to his abrasive personality after years of working with him. Erik was really the only employee who could blatantly disrespect Emma this way; none of the other employees had the balls to talk back to the woman they dubbed the ‘Ice Queen’ while controlling their pay checks. Erik, on the other hand, was known around the small office as ‘The Shark’, and terrified all of his co-workers.

Emma finally finished responding to the morning’s emails, turning to Erik with a smooth swivel of her plush white leather chair. Emma flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and linked her fingers together as she leaned on her desk, smiling at him with a little too much feigned sweetness etched into her features. Erik narrowed his eyes, alert.

“I have a job for you, sugar,” Emma said, Erik snorting.

“Not with that expression, you don’t,” Erik countered. “Spit it out, Emma.”

“I do have a job for you, don’t need to be such a sour puss about it,” Emma said languidly, glossy lips beginning to spread into a smile, one that Erik did not like at all. Whenever Emma had that smile, she was definitely roping him into a job he did not want to do. The last time he saw that smile, he had ended up being stuck on a week-long tour with a terrible, terrible punk band that had vocals that he likened to a cat being dismembered. Not only was the music bad, Erik had been forced to stay with the band in their shitty, cockroach-infested hotel and dragged to their Satanic ritual parties, in which Erik was sure cats were actually being dismembered ‘for the music’.

“Whatever it is, I’m not doing it Emma,” Erik said again, his boss just grinning. Another reason Erik hated that look on Emma’s face was because she knew that Erik would give in. Even after working with Emma for so long, Erik hadn’t been able to fend off Emma’s power of persuasion (or manipulation, and sometimes, blackmail) to get what she wants. That’s why she was called the Ice Queen – no one could say no to the Queen, not even the resident shark.

“I do find it adorable how you think you have a say in this, sugar. But yes, you will do this job,” Emma said, laughing. “Whether you like it or not, Erik, I’m assigning you to cover X-Boys. I’m sure even you know who they are?”

X-Boys.

Who didn’t know X-Boys? Even Erik, who abhorred modern pop music like it was the plague knew of X-Boys, the newest teenage-centric generic recycled boyband hitting the music scene. X-Boys, who had been formed on a shitty TV show after producers didn’t know what to do with five somewhat aesthetically pleasing tween-looking foetuses with less pleasing voices. X-Boys, who made the shittiest, cheesiest and most lyrically bland music in history?

“Fuck no,” Erik said quickly, getting up from his chair. “No, Emma. I’d take ‘Satan Katz’ and their satanic sacrificial blood magic and demon orgies over X-Boys any day. Hell, I’d take interviewing Jojo Siwa over X-Boys. Nope. No way. Nuh-uh. Not happening, Emma.”

“Erik, sit,” Emma ordered, but Erik just flipped her off as he made for the door. “If you do this job, I’ll delete The Photo from my hard drive.”

Erik, hand on the doorknob, paused. Emma was already smiling in smug victory before Erik even turned back around, hesitant scowl on his face.

“You’d delete it from all of your hard drives?” Erik asked, Emma smiling sweetly, gesturing back to the chair in front of her.

“Sit, Erik.”

Erik sat.

“Now, I know how you feel about pop music and boy bands, and trust me, I would have sent anyone else to do this if I could. Even if you don’t like them, X-Boys is big, and I can’t afford one of the new journalists to fuck it up,” Emma said, Erik snorting.

“What about Angel? She usually covers all of this pop shit, while I cover real music,” Erik said, Emma rolling her eyes at that.

It was no secret that Erik was a bit of a music snob, but should anyone be surprised? Erik was a music journalist, it was literally his job to be able to differentiate good music from utterly shitty music, and frankly, modern pop was a huge churning pit of recycled one-chord trash with lyrics that sounded like they were written by mid-pubescent horny teenagers who had discovered their right hands for the first time.

Erik did not waste his time interviewing wannabe artists like X-Boys. No, Erik interviewed real artists, like Big Black, Wire, Neil Young and The Clash. Erik wanted to interview real legends, like Elton John and Fleetwood Mac. Not X-Boys, with their clean-cut looks, floppy hair and fucking baby voices that needed two layers of autotune to even make their songs a fraction more tolerable.

A fraction.

“Angel is busy covering both Taylor Swift and Katy Perry right now, so she’s spread a little thin. Plus, Erik, you’re my best, and we need this article to do well, whether you praise them or-”

“I would never praise them,” Erik scoffed, Emma giving Erik a resigned look.

“Or break them to pieces with your prose, whatever. People always read your work even if it’s about an obscure band only you’ve heard playing in shitty bars, Erik, so covering a big group like X-Boys will be good for the company. You know that music journalism hasn’t been as… lucrative as in the past. We need this, for the company,” Emma sighed. That was true; the company hadn’t been doing particularly well lately, even after shifting to a more online publication medium. Erik also blamed modern pop on that; there was no real music to review any more, just pop artists churning out the same albums over and over.

Erik stared at his boss, noticing the slight crease in her brow. If Emma was letting herself develop wrinkles, then things were, maybe, quite dire.

“… And you said you’ll delete The Photo?” Erik said slowly, Emma’s mouth twitching.

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, Erik. I promise. I’ll delete it from my phone, my work computer, my laptop and my three hard drives. Capiche?”

“Fine,” Erik grumbled out, already developing a minor headache. “I’ll interview the prepubescent children who don’t have a lick of creativity in their tone-deaf bones.”

“There’s our shark. Sounds like you already have a title for your article,” Emma said, Erik grinning at that with a full show of his teeth.

***

“Hey, Charles, Hank and I are gonna head off first,” Alex called, blonde hair peeking out from around the door frame of the dance studio.

“Alright, have a good night,” Charles replied, smiling at his band mates, who had already showered and were dressed in casual clothes, bags slung over their shoulders. Hank frowned a little at Charles, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his sharp nose.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have dinner with us?” Hank asked, worried for his friend. Charles warmed at his concern, but waved it away, leaning over to continue stretching his limbs in front of the mirrors that spanned the entirety of the wall in front of him, only obscured by the ballet barre.

“I’m sure, Hank. I just want to practise the choreography a bit more, you know how the second verse of Love Me, Hate Me trips me up. Go and enjoy dinner,” Charles assured his friends, who glanced at each other before nodding, waving as they left. Charles heard their footsteps echo down the now-empty halls and the swing of the dance studio doors, before everything was plunged into silence once again.

It was just past 6:30 in the evening, and the band had been practicing the choreography for their concert tour scheduled to start in just under a month. It was their first world tour, and Charles was immensely excited, but also beyond nervous.

Charles had always loved singing and music, but he had never expected to get to where he was today – in a world-famous boy band about to embark on a world tour. When Charles had entered the X Factor, he had just been a college graduate whose singing experience started and ended with belting out heartfelt ballads or emotional acoustic songs in the shower, performing for the bottles of shampoo and conditioner lining the shower caddy.

Charles had auditioned by singing an original song of his, one called Paralysed. He had written the first iteration of his life-changing song when he was only fourteen and feeling like he had hit rock bottom. Charles had fallen into a dark place, the heavy-handed torment supplied by Cain and the coldness at the hands of his mother dragging him somewhere no child should ever have to tread. He had felt trapped and paralysed in his palatial family home, and those feelings had inspired what, at the time, had just been a poem scribbled into the margin of his notebook and a background hum in his head.

He had finished writing the song, as well as many others, by the time he had graduated with a degree in genetics (something he was interested in apart from music), but he never thought that it would ever be more than a hobby.

But then, Raven had apparently submitted a video of him singing to the X Factor production team, and that was how he found himself on the show. He hadn’t gone through as a solo act like he had originally planned, since his talent apparently wasn’t enough to stand on its own, and had been pushed into a group with four strangers into a group called X-Boys alongside Alex Summers, Hank McCoy, Sean Cassidy and Armando Muñoz.

They had been strangers back then, four boys completely out of their depth on national television, but they had grown a lot since that first live show. The strangers became friends – family, even – and now they were one of, if not the, biggest boy bands in the world.

Charles still found himself wondering how this happened to him; inside, he was still the guy who sang Celine Dion in the shower and wrote an ode dedicated to cup noodles (a short song titled ‘MSG and Me’ that had been a party favourite at college). On the outside, though, he was Charles Xavier, oldest member of X-Boys and, probably, the most left-footed member of the group.

Charles, fundamentally, was a singer-songwriter. He hadn’t ever really thought that he would be a member of a boy band that not only had to sing, but dance at the same time. It wasn’t that Charles never danced – he had danced quite a lot in college, but mainly when he was drunk as a skunk, and even then it had veered more into ‘lap dance’ territory than actual choreographed dance moves.

Still, Charles could move. He just had a bit of trouble memorising such complex choreography, especially when compared to the other members of his group. Even the shy and dorky Hank picked up the choreography faster than Charles, the boy somehow quick-footed and with a strong, powerful body.

So, that was why Charles often stayed behind in the dance studio, even when the rest of his band mates had gone home. Tonight was no exception, and Charles sighed heavily as he stopped stretching and stood up. His dance clothes were already damp with sweat from the day’s rehearsals, the loose tank-top sticking to his back and the inner layer of his black sweatpants far too humid. Charles’s brown hair clung to his pale forehead, and his cheeks were flushed with colour from the exercise.

Charles took a drink from his water bottle, before flicking through his phone to replay Love Me, Hate Me for what felt like the millionth time that night. The heavy electronic beat began to pump through the speakers his phone was connected to, and Charles closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath, before launching into the choreography, determined to nail the routine this time.

‘This is important to all of us,’ Charles thought to himself as he spun, sweat droplets flying through the air. ‘I have to work harder so I don’t let them down.’

Charles danced late into the night, and by the time he went home, he had no more energy to expend and promptly passed out on his bed, hoping to get enough rest so he could rinse and repeat the day after.

***

“You’ll be allowed to follow them around while they prepare for the tour,” Emma told Erik, who was looking more and more sour as Emma gave him the details of his assignment. “Their record company, Hellfire Records, has allowed you and only you such intimate coverage, so use it wisely. You’ll interview them during their rehearsals and preparation, talk about their newly released album, and then review their concert at the end. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Erik huffed to himself, scratching his bare stomach as he waited for his coffee machine to spit out his strong, black coffee, which he would definitely need if he was going to get through his background research of X-Boys. Coffee, and maybe a couple pops of aspirin (or Valium), would hopefully get him through listening to their ear-grating album without wanting to throw himself off the roof of his apartment complex.

Erik was going to meet the band for the first time in just under a week for preliminary interviews, and even though he hated the assignment, he was still going to do his job. Unlike most of the other artists he usually covered for Brotherhood of Music, he knew nothing about X-Boys except that they’re a group of prissy boys who sing inane songs about love and breakups, with ‘Baby, you’re so beautiful, a work of art,” being the most lyrical line in any of their songs, which, to Erik, sounded like carbon copies of one another.

Erik was already growing irritated by the time his old coffee machine had finished dribbling out the last of his brew, and Erik padded back to his couch with his mug, settling into the centre dip. He kicked his legs up onto his coffee table, pulled his sticker-laden laptop onto his grey-sweatpant clothed thighs, and quickly searched up X-Boys on Google.

Erik immediately let out a disgusted noise from the back of his throat as a few fan sites popped up, all just sounding like screaming teenage girls who were the type to cover their walls in a collage of their favourite celebrity’s teen magazine posters while writing fan fiction about having babies with their perfect, family-friendly crushes.

Erik went to Wikipedia first, just to get a grasp of the members of the group, of which Erik found out there were five. Erik glanced at the names, only lingering long enough to memorise them for future reference when he would need to interview them.

As Erik read, his preconceived notions about the band were only confirmed; they really were another mass-produced company group, a ragtag bunch of boys who dreamed big but delivered little, famous because they were maybe a little pretty. Or, at least, that kind of short one with the really blue eyes that the camera could somehow pick up from far away was kind of pretty.

But, he was probably 16-years-old, maximum, and Erik grimaced. Looking up some more articles about them, most of them titled ‘New Boys on the Block!’ or ‘The Next 1D!’, Erik began to find out more about the individual members. From the texts Erik flicked through, it seemed like Hank McCoy was the designated ‘endearingly shy’ member, while Alex Summers was the token blonde white boy with a slight bad-boy streak. Sean Cassidy was the goofy one that could apparently sing ridiculously high, while Armando Muñoz (stage name Darwin, for some reason) was the politically correct addition so critics couldn’t say that there was no diversity (but putting one black member into a group was a piss-poor attempt at making things inclusive). All four of these guys were 20 or under, making Erik roll his eyes. Their mothers must be so proud that they were all millionaires while still sucking on their teats.

Lastly, there was Charles Xavier, the oldest member at 24 years old. 24 wasn’t particularly young, not when the majority of the band were still technically teens. Xavier was only 6 years younger than Erik, which in the long run, wasn’t that much of an age difference. What was ridiculous about him, though, was that he was the jailbait-looking guy with the floppy brown hair, bottomless blue eyes, and, now that Erik was looking at a high-definition group shot taking up the majority of his screen, bright red lips that looked more obscene than appropriate for a teenage wet dream. Gott.

Even though the group was adamant that they didn’t have a ‘leader’, Xavier seemed to be the spokesperson for the group. Erik was sure that was just on the basis of age and not talent, because like Hell any of these boys would actually have a shred of musicality with their ‘doof-doof baby come here’ tracks.

Xavier also looked like the paragon of ‘Boy Band Member’ – he was overly smiley, exceptionally kind and respectful, eloquent and handsome in a boyish, youthful way. Even the cynical, music snob Erik had to admit that the guy was attractive, even if he looked like his voice hadn’t broken yet. And to look like that at 24, that was just… not right. The guy could attract paedophiles legally.

Erik closed the tabs, Charles Xavier’s face disappearing from his screen, and the journalist moved on to listen to their new album – X-Pression. G'tt, the title name almost gave Erik a stroke. The album cover was a painful attempt at being artistic, with the five boys lying with their heads together submerged in water, wearing all white and looking pensive. Ugh. Erik’s cup of coffee was already drained, but he hadn’t needed to reach for the aspirin – yet. Reading about the group was one thing, but needing to listen to them was a whole other ball game.

Erik considered getting some headphones like he usually would if he were listening to another artist that he was covering, but he couldn’t do it. Erik’s ears weren’t insured, and he needed his ears for his job. There was no way he was risking the safety of his ear drums for a group like X-Boys.

So, Erik listened to the X-Pression album, and by the end, he really wished his eardrums had blown before having to listen to that horror.

It was terrible. Terrible couldn’t even cut it. Copy-and-pasted beats overlaid with the same three-chord progressions and electronic beeping every other artist used. The lyrics to their songs were all bland and emotionless, and Erik would have been more inspired by Kristen Stewart reading him the daily weather report. Erik shouldn’t have been surprised, though, not when the first three songs on the album were called ‘Sweet Love’, ‘Strawberry Crush’ and ‘Love Me, Hate Me’.

“Music is dead,” Erik groaned to himself, walking to his kitchen and popping an aspirin into his mouth and swallowing it down with some whisky, not caring if the mix made him shit blood later. Anything was better than the splitting headache that 14-song torture tracklist gave him.

Erik had to give himself a break, flushing out his system with some real music and another glass of scotch. If he was going to move on to their group’s music videos (G'tt help him) he wasn’t going to do it 100% sober.

Sooner than he would like, Erik searched up the group on YouTube, watching their latest music video for Sweet Love. It was everything Erik expected – a group of boys in outfits that screamed twink to Erik, but apparently sex-bomb to 14-year-olds worldwide, dancing to the excessively perky pop song like they loved nothing more than shimmying to ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl, yeah, your sweet love sustains me’.

‘But wow, Xavier’s ass…’ Erik thought idly to himself, ignoring all of the other members, his eyes immediately falling to the oldest member of the group. In Xavier’s white pants, he could see the plush curves of his ample ass, which swung left and right as he danced. Xavier was by no means the best dancer out of the five, but there was something mesmerising about the way he moved his hips, the motion strangely obscener than Erik expected the blue-eyed boy to be capable of.

‘I bet that ass would be great riding my cock,’ Erik thought to himself, before realising what he was staring at and thinking about, letting out a choked noise.

“What the fuck,” Erik growled to himself, tearing his eyes from Xavier’s ass, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. It was the whisky. It had to be the whisky.

And maybe the fact that Erik hadn’t gotten laid for a good minute.

Slamming the screen of his laptop down, Erik made himself focus on other things, and actively pushed all thoughts of Xavier’s blue eyes, red lips and perky ass out of his mind.

***

It was a Monday morning at 10:30am, and Charles had his leg kicked up on the ballet barre, leaning to stretch his joints before another practise session. Even though they had most of the choreography down pat now, they still had to keep up regular practises to make sure their bodies didn’t lose the ingrained movements or the fluidity and elasticity of their limbs.

Today, though, they would apparently have a guest observing them, and Charles was more excited about practise than usual. The owner of X-Boys’s record label, Sebastian Shaw, dictated the group’s actions with an iron fist, and everything X-Boys was involved in was either run by him first or designed by him. Charles wasn’t overly fond of the man, even if he had given Charles his big break – Shaw was, in the end, a business man, and Charles felt like he couldn’t care less about the music. Sometimes Charles felt a little bit like a marionette, but in the end, X-Boys’s music made their fans happy, and that’s what Charles wanted.

But, one of Shaw’s decisions that Charles did like, was that he had hired Erik Lehnsherr to cover X-Boys’s X-Pression World Tour. Charles was a fan of Lehnsherr’s work, and had been following his articles long before Raven had auditioned him for X Factor. Lehnsherr’s prose was blatantly honest, never lavishing praise on the artists he covered if he didn’t deem them fit for it, nor did he ever criticise just for the sake of it. He wrote about what was great and what was bad about artists and their music without bias, just appreciating the music for what it was – music.

Charles had discovered a lot of great music from reading Lehnsherr’s articles, and knew the man had great taste. It also didn’t help that Charles knew he was drop-dead gorgeous. Though Lehnsherr mainly produced written pieces, a number of years ago he had done a video interview with the lead singer of a popular metal band called ‘Devilish Teleporter’, whose stage name was Azazel. The video had gone viral because Lehnsherr had ripped into the man’s music so hard in person that the devil actually cried.

Erik Lehnsherr was, undeniably, hot. Charles’s exact type – ruggedly handsome, chiselled features, sharp jaw and mesmerising blue-grey eyes. 16-year-old Charles had definitely wanked to mental images of Lehnsherr ever since that video came out 8 years ago, and Charles never thought he would ever get to meet him in real life.

Charles knew that Lehnsherr never covered musicians like X-Boys, but the romantic in Charles couldn’t help but think that maybe this was just meant to be. Charles laughed at himself at the silly thought, amused and giddy, before returning his focus to loosening up his quads.

Sean and Darwin chatted lightly as they also stretched, while Hank was busy warming up his throat, always a bit nervous when he knew he was going to be interviewed. Alex, on the other hand, was doing push ups in front of the mirror – he was apparently trying to bulk up a bit before the world tour, making Charles chuckle in amusement.

“Hey, Charles,” a female voice said, drawing nearer to him. Charles turned from where he was leaning over his legs, smiling when he saw Moira MacTaggert walking over to him, hand raised in a wave. Charles returned it, dropping his leg and meeting her halfway across the room.

Moira was X-Boys’s manager and a good friend of Charles’s. Moira and Charles had become good friends, mainly because they were somewhat close in age, Moira only three years older than Charles. The rest of the group teasingly called them the group’s Mother and Father, though Sean did so a little grudgingly (he had a very obvious boner for Moira, even though she made it clear that she could not see an 18-year-old like that, legal or not).

“Hey, Moira. How has your morning been?” Charles asked chirpily, Moira smiling at him after they hugged.

“Same as usual, which means busy,” Moira said, huffing. “Shaw’s got me running around with the tour approaching, plus organising time for interviews with the guy from Brotherhood of Music.” Charles’s stomach fluttered at the mention of Lehnsherr, but Moira didn’t notice. “I read some of that guy’s work – he’s harsh.”

“Honest, Moira,” Charles said, laughing a little. “He’s just honest. It’s not a bad thing.”

“It will be if he starts ripping into you guys,” Moira sighed, giving Charles a knowing look. Another reason why Charles and Moira got along well was the fact that they knew X-Boys’s music was pretty… shallow. Charles liked it because it made their fans happy, and it was genuinely fun dancing and singing with his friends, but in terms of musical inspiration, Charles knew X-Boys was not it.

Charles himself wrote songs better than the work Shaw chose for them, but apparently his music didn’t have the right ‘vibe’ for the band. So, Charles kept his music to himself, sometimes performing it for Moira or his sister, Raven. Or the shampoo and conditioner in his shower.

Mainly for his shampoo and conditioner.

“I don’t get why Shaw asked Brotherhood to cover you guys,” Moira muttered under her breath, Charles shrugging.

“I think Shaw knows the CEO, Emma Frost? I overheard that Shaw had asked for one of their other journalists to cover us, a reporter named Angel Salvadore, since she usually writes flattering reviews about pop artists. But Frost assigned Lehnsherr instead.”

“Must have been a bad break up,” Moira sighed, Charles snorting.

“At least to Frost. Shaw is still trying to get back with her,” Charles said, the two friends chuckling, before Moira’s phone buzzed, giving Charles an exasperated look. “Go, it’s probably Shaw about the journalist. He should be coming sometime soon.”

Moira nodded, quickly walking out of the room with her fingers tapping furiously on her phone, and Charles returned to stretching his limbs.

It was when Charles was bending over into a comfortable downward dog that the door to the studio opened, first revealing Shaw and Moira, and followed by the one and only Erik Lehnsherr. Charles immediately blushed when the man’s eyes drifted across him after casting a cursory glance over the rest of the room. Charles was sure that he was imagining that Lehnsherr’s eyes lingered on him a little more than the other members.

‘Wishful thinking,’ Charles thought to himself, straightening back up as the group headed over to where Shaw was looking at them sternly.

“Boys, this is Erik Lehnsherr from Brotherhood of Music. He’ll be covering your tour in their publication,” Shaw said a little stiffly, eyeing Lehnsherr’s imposing form discreetly. He then turned his gaze onto the young boys, giving them all hard looks. ‘So behave,’ his eyes warned silently, and Charles could feel Hank gulp beside him. Shaw nodded to Erik, patting his shoulder, before heading out.

Alex, Sean, Darwin and Hank were all aware of Lehnsherr’s reputation, and warily looked at each other. It was just Charles who stepped forward, extending a hand towards the man, warm smile on his face.

“Hi, Mr Lehnsherr, it’s great to meet you. I’m a huge fan of your work. Oh, and I guess I should introduce myself – I’m Charles Xavier, but please call me Charles,” Charles said smoothly, and Erik’s brow creased for a moment, before smoothing out and taking Charles’s hand, shaking it with a firm grasp. Erik’s hand was warm and slightly rough, and Charles shivered at the touch.

Charles hadn’t realised that Erik was so much taller than him, and had to tilt his head upwards to meet his eyes. And God, Erik was much more attractive in person than in the video. That video was made 8 years ago, and Erik had only grown into his looks now that he was thirty. He had been clean-shaven back then, but now sported a sultry dusting of ginger scruff across his stoic jaw, and Charles was a goner.

It wasn’t conducive to PG-13 thoughts when Erik Lehnsherr was wearing dark jeans which showed off long and lean legs (plus what Charles could make out as a sizeable cock), white V-neck top exposing sensual collar bones and a well-worn leather jacket. A walking wet dream, if Charles had ever seen one.

“Nice to meet you too, Charles,” Erik said, voice smooth yet gruff. “And just call me Erik.”

“Erik, then,” Charles repeated, smiling as his tongue wrapped around the name. Moira narrowed her eyes, picking up on the slight change in Charles’s tone and eyes.

Charles was older than the other members, who had joined X-Boys as teens, and thus not having had a college experience. Charles, though, had joined after he got his degree, and lived through three solid years of college and partaking in everything that it had to offer.

Charles had been pretty liberal with his body at college, something that Moira and the rest of the company’s management had kept pretty hush-hush. It was easy to persuade the public that Charles Xavier was a complete angel, a picture of innocence, with his shorter stature, baby face and angel-blue eyes. But, his high school and college friends knew better than to be fooled – yes, Charles was kind and sweet, but he was also wild in the sack and, in college, was not shy in making that known.

Before he became famous, Charles was not unfamiliar with picking up men and women from bars, and he was very successful at that too. Charles felt a surge of excitement bubble up inside him – it had been a long time since he had been able to flirt with a dirty edge, usually only being playfully flirty and charming for cameras and fans.

The look he gave Erik now, though, was not playfully flirty.

It was downright filthy, and if he had used it in a bar, he would probably be in the bathroom sucking the man off.

Erik’s eyes narrowed a little, thin lips pressing together tightly. Charles and Erik just stared at each other for a moment, before there was a cough from behind Erik, Charles remembering that they weren’t alone in the room. Moira had coughed, giving Charles a raised brow which he ignored, turning to his band mates.

“These are the other members of X-Boys,” Charles said, pretending that he hadn’t just been sexing Erik up with his eyes. Sean, Hank, Darwin and Alex introduced themselves one by one, Erik just giving them curt nods, before turning back to Charles with a direct gaze. His grey eyes were contemplative, like he was trying to figure Charles out. Or, like he was trying to imagine what he looked like out of his slightly revealing dance outfit.

“Um…” Charles started, licking his lips. “We were about to start dance rehearsals. I suppose you’ll be wanting to see that, so you can mention it in your piece on us? Moira said that she gave us time for some prelim interviews after, is that right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Erik said brusquely, nodding and stepping back to lean on a purposefully exposed concrete wall, arms crossed. Charles could hazard a guess that Erik could care less about them and their dancing, and probably cared about their music less, which made him a little glum. He had expected that to be the case after following Erik’s work, but it still hurt when people dismissed their work so quickly. Sure, it wasn’t ground-breaking, but Charles had spent a lot of late nights perfecting the choreography and stabilising his vocals. Even though X-Boys didn’t produce the music Charles made himself, he appreciated the work that went into it.

He wanted to show Erik that, yes, they made music targeted at teenagers attracted to pretty boys, but they were still valid. And that, maybe, Charles was more than a pretty boy and someone Erik could find attractive in a non-PG way.

At the mention of rehearsal, the younger members of X-Boys quickly dispersed to their positions, Hank fiddling with the music system. Charles found his own mark on the floor, glancing back at Erik as he crossed his hands behind his back in Sweet Love’s starting pose, breath catching in his throat when he noticed that Erik was staring back at him.

‘Good God, you better not mess up the choreo, Xavier,’ Charles said to himself sternly, turning away from the hot German man who was definitely thinking about writing a scathing review of their work.

And who, Charles noticed, was kind of checking out his ass.

***

Charles’s ass was even better in person. That was the first thing Erik had thought when he entered the rehearsal room. He had honestly expected Charles’s looks to have been the product of stage make-up, carefully selected camera angles and maybe some sneaky CGI, but no. Charles had been bent into downward dog like it was as easy as breathing, and his plump ass had stretched out his ridiculously tight black compression pants.

Whoever dictated this man’s wardrobe today needed to be fired. Or get a raise. Erik hadn’t decided yet.

What he had decided, was that Charles Xavier’s ass looked illegal in those pants, the stretchy fabric clinging to the curves like they could barely hold it together. That ass was illegal and should be locked up, but also freed because shit. It was a criminally nice ass.

Though Charles had a deceivingly young and innocent face, his thighs and calves were strong and well-muscled, and the loose white tank-top Charles wore showed off his defined biceps and the slight rise of the veins on his forearms.

Erik’s cock may or may not have twitched a little in interest at the sight of Charles bending over, something Erik also decided that he would deny until he died.

‘It’s fine,’ Erik thought to himself as Xavier sauntered over to him, a sway in his step that made Erik’s eyes not quite know where to look. ‘Once he opens his mouth, he’ll have a scratchy voice like a pre-pubescent teen, and probably spew absolute nonsense, and any attraction you have will die.’ Erik continued to assure himself this, but the moment Xavier opened his mouth, all thoughts just died.

But his attraction did not.

Erik had not expected Xavier to have a fucking English accent. Erik had done some more research after watching that one music video, but had avoided interviews because, somewhere deep down, Erik was afraid of this.

This being finding out Xavier had a fucking posh English accent that was more hot than repulsive. No, Xavier’s voice was not repulsive in the slightest. It was smooth like rich butter, but with a slight edge that betrayed his age as being more than an immature 16-year-old who thought that every artistic choice he should ever make should be based on some wannabe ‘bad boy’ on TikTok.

No, Charles Xavier’s voice was comforting and sounded like it held the curve of a mischievous smile, like he knew that whenever someone met him, their minds turned to scrambled eggs that just kept repeating ‘crap, Charles Xavier is hot, his voice is hot, his ass is a work of art and maybe, maybe, I would subject myself to listening to horrible boy-band pop just to watch his face and his ass move across the screen in an artsy music video.

And Erik knew the look Charles had given him. He’d seen it plenty of times before, but usually from men in gay bars and not in a dance studio surrounded by barely-legal boys. It was a look Erik was accustomed to seeing on the faces of men gyrating against him in clubs to heavy bass tracks which weren’t too bad since you listened to them already half-sloshed in a club. It wasn’t a look Erik was supposed to find in a dance studio where Xavier, the undecided leader of a boy band, was swinging his hips to ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl, yeah, your sweet love sustains me’.

Erik had expected that once he met Charles Xavier in person, he would realise that the boy – man – was like all of the other cookie-cutter pop acts out there these days. He hadn’t expected to be trying to hide his hard-on in front of the boy-band and their manager because one appraising look from Xavier had made Erik imagine bending him across a ballet barre and fucking his plush ass as he made Xavier watch every one of Erik’s thrust in the dance mirror.

Erik only realised that the routine was over when Xavier’s ass stopped moving, and that he was approaching him once again, but now a little slick with sweat and panting slightly. Charles lifted a water bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, exposing the column of his pale neck. A little water dribbled out and slid down the man’s chin, sliding down his neck and skirting around his pronounced Adam’s apple, finally disappearing beneath his loose tank top down the cleft of his strong pecs.

Then, as if Xavier knew what he was doing to Erik, the man lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing a stomach that wasn’t cut deeply with muscle, but was toned yet a little soft-looking.

Erik wanted to lick the faint indentations of Charles Xavier’s abs. Among other things.

Erik’s mind was littered with a series of expletives in both English and German, Charles Xavier walking over to him with an easy, charming smile and a sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” Xavier asked in that disarming English accent, and Erik’s head was forced to nod up and down stiffly, trying to will away the erection building in his jeans.

“Okay! Great! How about you guys run through the choreo for Love Me, Hate Me, and then go and freshen up for your prelim interviews,” Moira said, clapping her hands. The boys agreed, Charles just giving Moira a look, which she returned with a roll of her eyes, Erik looking at the two and the silent conversation they seemed to be having with narrowed eyes.

Erik felt annoyed for some reason, and it was definitely not because Charles Xavier gave Moira an odd smile that seemed strangely intimate.

No, definitely not.

***

“Oh, please, Charles. I saw you,” Moira said, gesturing to the bright red closed door across the large foyer of Hellfire Records. Behind it, Erik was conducting interviews with Sean and Darwin, while Alex and Hank had gone to grab some lunch. It had been organised so that the interviews were staggered after holding one whole group interview, which had gone smoothly enough.

It mainly consisted of the boys answering basic questions like ‘what is the style of the new album’ and ‘what is the meaning of the title track’. The questions had been pretty generic, but that was standard for a preliminary introductory interview.

Charles, and the rest of the boys too, had picked up the general vibe coming from Lehnsherr through it all, though. The man couldn’t make it any more obvious that he was not a fan of them nor their music. Hank had kept his eyes trained at his feet the entire interview, while Darwin had adapted, remaining his usual calm and unflappable self. Sean had kept raising his eye brows every time Erik would roll his eyes at one of their basic answers, before giving Moira looks as if saying ‘this guy is a dick’. Alex, on the other hand, looked pissed and glared at Lehnsherr, who just blinked back at him, unaffected and unamused.

Charles, though, had answered the man’s questions eloquently, never dropping the slight curve to his mouth, even when Erik would say something about ‘how the album sounds a lot like the last one’ and that ‘the writer of Sweet Love also wrote songs for One Direction, what do you have to say about that?’. In fact, Charles’s grin would widen a little every time Erik’s eyes turned to him with a challenging look, Charles just responding with measured and, admittedly, well-formed answers.

Somehow, Charles had made a song with lyrics like ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl’ sound like a love poem by John Donne, and Erik, for a split, split second, may have been persuaded that the meaning of Sweet Love was deeper than a guy being horny for a girl ‘sweeter than melted chocolate and lemon drop candy’.

After the group interview, Hank and Sean had been interviewed separately, and that had gone as well as everyone imagined (i.e. Alex ended up cussing at Lehnsherr and storming out, while Hank was busy apologising and bowing as he trailed off after the hot-headed band member). There was currently no screaming happening with Darwin and Sean’s interview, though, which Moira was thankful for.

Even though Alex had dropped the F-bomb in a recorded interview, Moira was more concerned about Charles. Not that he’d have a meltdown and engage in a screaming match with Lehnsherr like Alex had, but that he would push the journalist up against a wall and climb him like a tree.

“Saw what, Moira?” Charles asked, though he couldn’t help the twitch in his red lips, Moira rolling her eyes.

“I saw the way you were literally asking Lehnsherr to push you against a wall and bang you with your eyes,” Moira said flatly, Charles snorting.

“Please, Moira. Can you blame me? He’s hot. Exponentially hot,” Charles said, Moira groaning.

“Yes, you made that clear when you were mentally undressing him in the studio. Charles, I’ve heard enough college stories from you to know that you’ve got a track record miles long, and I wouldn’t have a problem with that if you weren’t an incredibly famous, recognisable public figure whose fan demographic has an average age of 15.”

“15-year-olds have sex, Moira. It’s not a foreign concept to them,” Charles said, Moira internally groaning in frustration.

“Yes, but Charles, you have a reputation and an image to uphold,” Moira said.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Charles said, scrunching up his nose. “Virginal and upbeat, basically overtly gay but ‘oh-so-straight’. A twink that can flirt with girls and be happily invited to your grandmother’s Tupperware party.”

Moira shot Charles a look, the 24-year-old levelling one back at her with equal force.

“Moira, I get that you’re just doing your job and looking out for me. Or, at least, looking out for the image Shaw has curated for me, but I’m a fucking 24-year-old paid to appeal to underage girls. That’s way more fucked up than me being interested in a man that’s actually legal. And insanely hot.”

“You… You have a point,” Moira said, Charles grinning. “But! Charles, your image right now is clean and scandal-free. Imagine what the paps and the public would do if they catch you with your tongue stuffed down the throat of someone like Lehnsherr. They’d never leave you alone, and in the end, we both know that you’re a regular guy. You’re not the caricature of a person Shaw paints you to be. You said it yourself once, remember?”

“I’m just a guy who likes writing songs about ramen and singing into my loofah,” Charles said, Moira smiling a little now, nodding warmly.

“Yeah. You’re that, and a regular 24-year-old guy. But, at least partially, you’re also a public figure. So just… be careful, okay? I’m not telling you not to go for it – as in Lehnsherr, because yeah, I’m not blind – but… be careful about it. I care about you, and I don’t want you to turn into one of those stars with major issues,” Moira said, Charles nodding, smiling at his friend.

“I know. Thanks for caring about more than just my image, Moira,” Charles said, kissing the woman’s cheek as the interviewing door opened, revealing Erik. Strangely, Darwin and Sean were still in the room, and when Charles craned his head to peek in, they were staring at each other like they had just seen their lives flash before their eyes.

Erik must have grilled them until they turned to stiff charcoal.

Erik’s eyes narrowed when he saw Charles standing by Moira, who just gave Charles one last look before heading into the interview room to check on the catatonic Sean and Darwin. She nodded at Erik when she passed him, but the man ignored her and made his way straight to Charles like a man on a mission.

And on a mission he was.

***

The other four band members that weren’t Charles Xavier weren’t terrible. They each had some semblance of a personality, even if it had taken Erik basically verbally abusing them to get them to break the boy-band façade.

In the end, though, Erik thought of them all as appetisers, just obstacles to get over before reaching the main course.

Charles Xavier.

In one look, Erik knew that there was more to him than the plastered pop smile and carefully styled hair. It wasn’t only that he was, to Erik, the most attractive one out of all of them (or, maybe the most attractive man Erik had ever seen, period), but he was… intriguing.

Erik didn’t put up any pretences. He had been rude during the group interview, and he knew Charles had picked up on his less-than-subtle jibes. Charles’s reactions could have gone one of two ways, Erik had imagined. On one hand, he could have crumbled to pieces with the slightest piece of criticism, one of those thin-skinned celebrities that cowered before the public. Opposingly, he could have been the type of celebrity whose head was too far up his ass to think that he was anything less than godly, the celebrity of all celebrities, and that any criticism Erik had was just because he was jealous of his fame and fortune.

But Charles Xavier had been neither of those. He had been something else entirely.

Charles had listened to Erik’s questions carefully, humming and nodding as he asked them. His devilishly red mouth even smiling at them, insults and all, like he enjoyed it. Erik had made a mental note that an eye-catching but not clickbaity title would be ‘Charles Xavier is a masochist who like being insulted (and not only in bed)’.

Charles had answered all of Erik’s questions thoughtfully, like he actually thought about the answer for himself and didn’t just read off a pre-planned ‘Pop Q&A Guide’ like the other members had. Charles defended his work, highlighting the nuances in the differences between genres featured in this album and their last, talking about how their choreography was difficult this time around because of how it drew upon European ballroom dancing styles mixed with hip-hop – which Charles had endearingly and self-deprecatingly said he was rubbish at – before going on to talk about how one of the last tracks was inspired heavily by Bossa Nova. He even drifted into an in-depth music analysis on the topic, one that Erik had unwittingly been drawn into, almost in a daze.

Erik did notice that Charles never explicitly said that their music was good. He just commented that some of the stylistic choices had been ‘interesting’ or ‘different’, but he hadn’t been like other artists who just said that their music was the best thing to ever happen to the industry since the dawn of time.

Erik even thought that, in the slightly amused quirk of Charles’s mouth, that he agreed with some of Erik’s thoughts on their music. Charles, maybe, also thought that Sweet Love was a slew of recycled notes strung together, but he balanced out that thought by saying that the choreography was challenging and a wonderful mixture of styles. Charles hadn’t quite sold out to the industry, but he was definitely a little complacent.

Erik was glad that Charles hadn’t been roped into one of the other duos he interviewed, somehow being scheduled to talk to Erik alone.

“Erik! How have the interviews been going?” Charles asked, a little bounce in his step. Erik noticed that he had changed clothes since the group interview (in which everyone had still worn their dance clothes), and was now wearing a pair of neat light-wash denim jeans, a white T-shirt and… a frumpy, baby-blue cardigan that, though horribly out-of-fashion, matched his eyes and made Erik’s arms itch to crumple the shorter man into his arms.

Erik ignored that thought.

“They’ve been alright,” Erik said, shrugging. Charles just raised a brow, silently calling Erik out on his lie, the man smirking. “Well, they’ve been pretty boring. But I’ve sat through worse.”

“Ah, are you talking about your piece on Warren Worthington?” Charles asked, chuckling a little. Erik blinked, surprised.

“You read that?” Erik asked, Charles nodding, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was a fan of your work, Erik,” Charles said, touching Erik’s arm, the touch seemingly friendly on first glance, but lingering a little too long, heat a little too warm. Erik melted into it. “Did he really say that he was the new Elton John? Because if he did, you calling him a ‘self-obsessed and delusional twat’ was much deserved.”

Erik choked on a laugh at Charles’s cheeky expression, not expecting something like that to come out of his mouth.

“I can confirm that he really did say that. I was going to add a few more choice words in there, but my boss, Emma, didn’t want him to sue the Brotherhood for defamation,” Erik said, Charles letting out a loud, genuine laugh that made his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“Would it still be defamation if it’s all true, though?” Charles replied, Erik chuckling now.

“Emma didn’t want to risk it, and contrary to popular belief, I actually do like my job,” Erik said, Charles’s eyes softening then.

“It is obvious that you like your work, though. You wouldn’t be able to write articles with that much passion if you didn’t love music,” Charles said, Erik speechless for a moment. He regarded Charles carefully, and it was like he was seeing him for the first time.

‘Is this the Xavier charm all of those teenagers and menopausal women keep going on about?’ Erik asked himself, a little pained. Erik was not going to be one of those people, even if he thought that Charles was very, very attractive even in that atrocious cardigan, and that his mind was more interesting than the last 100 musicians Erik has interviewed combined.

“Yeah,” was all Erik said to that, but Charles didn’t seem to mind. “Anyway, your interview?”

“Oh! Of course,” Charles said, Erik beginning to turn back to the interview room, but was stopped when Charles reached out to grab his wrist. G'tt, his grip is actually pretty strong for such a tiny person. I’m sure he’d grip my cock firmly if he-

Verdammt.

“It’s already 1:15, and I haven’t eaten since 6am. I’m absolutely famished,” Charles said, eyes impossibly wide, almost pleading. ‘Stay strong, Erik. G'tt.’ “How about you conduct your interview over lunch? It’ll be on me. I know a great café just down the road from here, it’s usually less busy by half past 1.” Erik opened his mouth to protest, but Charles barrelled on, like he knew what he had to say to change Erik’s mind. “They have really good coffee, beans from Jamaica, apparently.”

Coffee. Charles just had to play the good coffee card.

“I’m Jewish,” Erik suddenly said, Charles blinking. “The café has kosher options, right?”

“Oh! I’m actually not sure,” Charles said, brow creasing, looking genuinely concerned. Erik’s heart may have squeezed, just a little.

“No, I… I’m not strict about keeping kosher, but I do try to adhere to it as much as I can,” Erik said quickly, suddenly wanting to smooth out the crinkles between Charles’s brows. “As long as there are non-pork options, it should be fine.”

“I can definitely say yes to that, my friend,” Charles said, and Erik really should have been more put off at Charles’s casual term – because what 24-year-old actually calls someone ‘my friend’ – but he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. “They have an amazing steak sandwich. The vegetable pancake with salsa is also great, and it’s meat-free so that should definitely be fine.”

“Let’s go then,” Erik said, Charles beaming at him. Charles stopped by what looked like his locker before they left, pulling out a cap and some sunglasses. On the door of the locker, Erik noticed that Charles had stuck some pictures of him from what looked like college – Oxford, even. Erik did a minute double-take. No, that was definitely an Oxford shirt Charles was wearing as he… chugged the biggest vessel of beer Erik had seen in his life, and he was German.

Another picture was of Charles cross-dressing at what looked like another college party alongside a pretty blonde girl, and another picture was of him and the same girl, but when they looked quite a bit younger (and Charles already looked young to begin with).

These were versions of Charles that had never appeared in TMZ articles or fan pages.

And Erik decided that he liked them. He liked them quite a bit.

Next chapter (2/3) →

#cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #boy band au #x-men #xmen #xmen fic #james mcavoy #michael fassbender #ao3 fanfic #ao3

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hookedonapirate · 7 years ago

Note

For tangled up in blue, I would like a deleted scene for sexy times with killian and Emma, like now that Emma lives with killian maybe unexpected situation hahaha just saying

Tangled Up In Blue ‘Deleted Scenes’

Interrupted Sexy Time

Summary: This is where I will be posting a collection of missing scenes that are based on prompts or deemed unnecessary for my actual story Tangled Up In Blue.

A/N: I have so many ideas for this universe but I often get carried away when I write them out, so I decided to keep them separate. And as I mentioned on Tumblr awhile ago, I will be taking suggestions or prompts, so please feel free to leave a comment or pm me to request anything you would like to be added. It can be smutty or angsty or just plain cute, I will be more than happy to include it. I’ve rated this Mature due to the content of first scene, but ratings and tags may vary with each chapter. Also, note that these scenes will be added in no particular order so if there’s something you wanted to see that would’ve taken place towards the beginning of the story please ask away! Thanks so much for following along with my story!

I’m not sure if this is exactly what the Anon wanted, but I had originally planned on writing this for the actual story, and alas, I got carried away with the sexy times and it would have taken up more than half of chapter 20. So I decided to post this as a deleted scene while I write the next chapter. I have more time this coming week so I will be able to update soon.

For this chapter I decided to incorporate some of the dialogue from the pancake scene, so this is my contribution to that scene, even though it’s an alternate universe. I apologize ahead of time, I just could not resist doing so (not actually sorry) ; )

Rated: M

Also Available on: AO3 FF.N

Deleted Scenes: 1 2

Read from the beginning: Tangled Up in Blue

Emma was having really bad hunger pangs when she woke up. Which really was a shame seeing as she was snuggled comfortably in her lover’s arms and didn’t ever want to leave. He was still sleeping, an adorably content look settled in his handsome features as she peered up at him.

In the end, her intense craving for something sweet overruled her other desires. She very slowly and carefully removed Killian’s arm from around her belly and placed it beside his face. The next challenge was his legs that were entangled with hers. She gently pushed his body from hers and somehow managed to slip her legs free and force herself to sit up, dangling her feet over the bed. As she craned her neck and glanced over at her peacefully sleeping boyfriend, Emma immediately regretted her decision, but if she didn’t satisfy her craving, she wasn’t going to be able to relax.

She stood up and walked over to the closet, grabbing her robe. As she slipped it on, tying the belt above her belly, she felt like she was on a cloud, her body still buzzing and feeling alight from the lovemaking she and Killian had engaged in the night before. She couldn’t contain the smile that spread across her lips as she went downstairs and headed to the kitchen. She couldn’t believe how happy and content she was after all the years she felt imprisoned when she was with Neal. Even knowing that he was still a threat to Emma and her baby, she was still optimistic. She felt safe and secure with Killian, and no abusive husband of hers was going to change that.

Emma opened the refrigerator, finding the leftover apple pie she had made. She licked her lips thinking about having a slice of it. She grabbed the pie container it was in and shut the door behind her before making her way to the counter. She took out a slice and transferred it to a plate, putting it in the microwave.

When the pie was warmed up to her liking, she took out a carton of vanilla ice cream, scooping some up and plopping it on top of the slice before replacing the container in the freezer. She decided that she would feel selfish eating apple pie by herself without sharing some with Killian so she grabbed two forks from the silverware drawer.

Just as she was about to pick up the plate, she felt a pair of strong hands curl around her hips and a warm pair of lips brushing across her ear. Her heart fluttered as he swiped her disheveled hair to one side of her shoulder, murmuring against her skin.

“Mmm, something smells delicious.”

Emma immediately smiled and turned her head slightly, enjoying the feel of his lips on her skin as he kissed her lobe and gently bit down, his hands moving towards her belly, gently caressing her through the robe. She shuddered as the hot breath in her ear sent a tingle of pleasure directly to her core. “It’s just microwaved leftovers from the fridge,” she managed breathlessly, even though he had barely even touched her.

She felt him grin against her skin as he nosed her earlobe. “I’m not talking about the pie.” Emma blushed, smiling even wider and biting her bottom lip. She knew that she still reeked of sex and even now, he could probably smell the scent of her arousal building between her thighs. “You smell just as sexy as you look in this little robe of yours. I think you came down here to get a slice of my favorite pie to intentionally torture me,” he groaned in her ear. He was wearing only his boxers and she could feel his arousal hard against her butt as he rocked his hips, giving her little thrusts as his hands protected her belly from hitting the edge of the counter.

Her mind could barely concentrate on her task as she tried to speak. “I can’t help it if I have a sweet tooth. I thought you of all people would understand, considering you eat apple pie for breakfast on a daily basis,” she reminded him with a strangled laugh. She desperately tried to ignore the things he was doing to her as she lifted one of the forks and scooped up some apple pie. “In fact I was going to share some before you came down here.” Emma brought the bite of pie and ice cream to her mouth, tasting the warm verses cold sweetness on her tongue as she licked her lips. She let a moan slip as he continued to slowly rock his erection against her ass. “Have you learned by now not to mess with a pregnant woman when she’s trying to eat?” she teased him after swallowing.

“And what pray tell are you going to do about it, love?” he asked playfully, leaving soft kisses along her neck. Emma shivered, feeling his wonderful lips on her skin, his attempt of making her squirm, relentless, and she almost dropped the fork.

She had to compose herself before scooping up another bite, this time picking up the plate and turning in his arms so she could feed it to him. “I’m going to give you a taste to show you what you’re missing.” She brought the fork to his mouth and he opened without hesitation, letting her slip the bite of pie and ice cream between his lips. He licked his mouth swallowing it down his throat as she took another bite herself.

“Mmmm, it’s good but I’d still rather have you,” he spoke in a husky voice as he took the plate and fork from her, setting them on the counter. “Besides, that’s a lot of sugar for you darling.”

Emma arched a brow, eyeing him in confusion. “I thought you weren’t going to tell me how to eat?”

“Aye love, apologies. I just don’t want your blood sugar to spike, making you sick.”

A devious smile spread across her lips as she leaned in to kiss him, slipping her hand in between them and inside his boxers, her fingers wrapping around his thick length, her thumb swiping the precum from his slit. “I guess I’ll just need some protein to offset the carbs,” she said in a seductive voice, licking the taste of him from her lips.

He opened his mouth to protest before catching onto what she was actually trying to tell him, his cheeks filling with blush as he flashed her a grin. “Hmmm…” He thrusted into her hand as she stroked his cock. “I’ll gladly fill your mouth some protein… bloody siren.”

She moaned, his words galvanizing her and she smashed her lips into his. He groaned in her mouth as she immediately flicked her tongue over his, tasting the ice cream and apple on his cold tongue and they wrapped their arms around one another, pulling each other closer. Even if her belly wasn’t in the way he just couldn’t be close enough. Emma held his jaw in her grasp, caressing his stubble underneath her fingertips as she made out with her boyfriend, massaging his tongue with hers.

Emma’s skin was set ablaze as his hands roamed her body, finding her ass and cupping her cheeks in his palms, giving them a firm squeeze. She whimpered, moving her own hands to his chest and roughly biting his bottom lip between her teeth. “To hell with the apple pie.” She pushed him backwards until his back hit the island counter, eliciting a low growl as their mouths devoured one another, their tongues fighting for dominance. The pie and ice cream soon fell to the back of Emma’s mind; her body craved him more than anything, even after their hot night of passion.

She released his lips, leaving them both breathless as she started pressing wet kisses down his chest, flicking her tongue over his nipple before making her way down his amazing body. She knelt on the floor as she reached his boxers and eagerly pulled out his throbbing cock, feeling the thick weight in her hand and moaning.

“Love, you really don’t have to-” his words were cut off when she took him in her mouth and slowly devoured his length, bobbing her head up and down. Guttural groans tore from his throat as his hands went to her hair, entangling his fingers in her locks. Emma twirled her tongue around the head, licking and tasting him as she cupped his balls in her hand, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Oh fuck…” he groaned, fucking her mouth as he cupped the back of her head in his hands. “Bloody fucking hell…”

They both lost themselves, getting caught up in their haze of passion, she almost didn’t hear the kitchen door being opened.

“Oh good you’re up.”

Emma’s eyes blew wide and she immediately released Killian’s cock from her mouth as he offered a hand to help her stand up. He quickly tucked himself in his boxers as Emma wiped her mouth, both of them turning their attention to the door being closed. A head of soft brown curls turned around, barely missing the display as he walked over to the island counter.

“Your brother has a key… good to know,” she breathed, clutching onto Killian’s shoulders for balance. Her knees were weak from her activity.

“Oh good, you’re awake too, Emma. Just the person I need to talk to-”Liam stopped as his eyes darted between the two of them, studying their faces and flashing them an inquiring look. “Am I interrupting something?”

Simultaneous responses fell from both mouths. “No,” Emma shook her head as Killian replied an irritated “yes,” and he turned around, leaning his hands on the counter, keeping his lower half covered behind it.

“We were just having apple pie à la Mode. Want some?” She asked as she turned to fetch the slice of pie with melted ice cream on top, picking it up and offering it to Liam.

He eyed it suspiciously. “That’s okay, I already ate. And I don’t eat sweets for breakfast. I’m trying to watch my figure,” he said placing his hands on his stomach. “I want to be fit for when the baby comes and I have to chase the little lad or lassie around.”

“So, what’s so urgent that you couldn’t call ahead of time before casually stopping by?” Killian asked, still a bit irritated. Emma playfully whacked his shoulder. “What was that for?” he asked her, confused as he rubbed his shoulder.

“Is that any way to talk to your brother?” Emma asked Killian as she started making her way around the counter.

“Thank you, Emma. Killian needed someone to put him in his place.” Liam chuckled as she approached him and gave him a hug.

“I never got a chance to congratulate you and Cordelia on the baby. I’m happy for both of you.”

“Ah, thank you, lass,” Liam murmured, reciprocating the hug, snugly wrapping his arms around her. It was much like hugging a big teddy bear. When they pulled away, Liam had a guilty look on his face as he scratched behind his ear. “Emma, I’m not sure what Killian’s told you but I want to apologize for my inappropriate remarks against you. I really didn’t mean them, I was only looking out for my brother and his career… he’s worked very hard to get where’s at… plus I’m just not used to him being so taken by someone like he is with you… since he lost Milah.”

“It’s okay. He didn’t tell me specifically but I don’t need to know,” she assured him as she came back to Killian and rubbed his back. “I don’t want him to get in trouble either and I’m glad he has a brother like you who looks out for him.” Killian gave her a small smile as he took her hand in his and brought it his lips, pressing a soft kiss there.

“I have no regrets, Emma. I love you,” Killian assured her adamantly.

Emma’s pulse sped up and she couldn’t help the smile that threatened her lips. “I love you too.”

Killian turned toward her and wrapped her up in his arms, kissing her on the lips. She couldn’t see Liam but she could sense that he felt awkwardly uncomfortable witnessing their displays of affection.

He cleared his threat, causing Emma and Killian to revert their attention back to him. She turned around in his arms and he rested her hands on her belly as she leaned back into his front, covering his hands with hers.

“Well, I’m not staying long I just came by because Cordelia wasn’t sure what to get you for the baby shower. She loves to knit but she was afraid of being cheap. Besides, you’ll probably be getting a lot of baby clothes so you probably want something different, right?”

“That’s really sweet of her, and actually I’m fine with her knitting something rather than spending a lot of money. I’m sure my baby couldn’t have enough blankets or clothes.”

“Okay, lass, I’ll let her know. And if I were you, I wouldn’t let him buy you anything,” Liam teased as he pointed at Killian.

“Why do you say that?” she asked curiously as Killian shot him a look of confusion..

“Because he’ll probably get you a breast pump or something like that,” Liam chuckled.

“Oi! I’ll have you know, I got Emma a perfectly nice gift.”

Emma turned her head to Killian. “You didn’t have to get me anything. You already bought me a car and a baby seat.”

“You bought that for Emma?” Liam asked, surprised.

“Aye. I wanted her to have a decent car to drive the little lad around in.”

“Emma, what’s your secret? I’m in need of a new car too for me and Cord. What do I have to do to get Killy here to buy me one?” he asked playfully.

“Sorry Liam, but I’m afraid you don’t fit the criteria. One, you called me Killy and you know how much I hate that. And two, you’re not as pretty as Emma and you’re not my girlfriend.”

“Yeah I’m only your older and more wiser brother. I guess that doesn’t count for anything these days,” Liam shot back as he started for the door, lifting his hand to the knob.

Killian rolled his eyes. “You’re just jealous that I spend more time with a gorgeous blonde than you.”

Liam laughed and shook his head as he opened the door. “Emma you can have him.”

Emma smiled at their playful banter. “I’ll gladly take him off your hands.”

“Alright, I’ll see you both at the shower.”

“Okay, bye Liam.”

Liam barely shut the door behind him when Killian took Emma’s hips in his hands, making her gasp as he pressed himself against her butt.

“Now where were we?” he asked in a deep, mischievous voice. Emma smirked as she instantly surrendered to him, rubbing her ass against his crotch, feeling how hard he was.

“Still have your appetite?” she asked him, surprised.

“For you? Always,” he responded in a low growl as he lifted his left hand and slipped it under the opening of her robe, his thumb brushing over her nipple, instantly making it hard.

Feeling his full erection pressed against her body and his hand massaging her breast, heat spread through her entire body and she moaned incoherent responses, needing him badly. Killian turned her around, lifted her and brought her to the table, settling between her legs.

He pulled at the ends of her belt, loosening it and letting each side of her robe open, her swollen breasts spilling out. Killian’s eyes darkened, drinking them in as he growled. He moved his hands to her gems, teasing the nipples and she tilted her head back, closing her eyes as her fingers scrubbed through his hair. “Bloody gorgeous,” he groaned, his voice completely shattered as he let her breasts fill his palms, his fingers massaging them gently. Her folds were completely soaked, she didn’t know how much longer she could take of not being touched where she needed him most.

“Killian…”

Eager to fulfill her request, his right hand slipped to her aching sex, his fingers disappearing into her folds. “Fuck you’re wet,” he uttered a broken whisper as he leaned in, his mouth drawing in the skin just above her left breast. “So fucking wet for me…”

Moans tumbled from her lips as he pushed two fingers in and out of her aching heat, his thumb feathering her clit. His left hand went to the small of her back to hold her up as he continued sucking on her chest. She felt herself slowly fall to pieces when he captured his nipples and breasts in his mouth, teasing and nipping as he fondled her nub. She cursed out obscenities as he added another finger, plunging into her depths more rapidly.

“Ohhhh… God…” she cried out her pleasure as he gave her nipple one last suck before releasing her breast and crashing his hot mouth on hers, kissing her deeply.

She wasn’t used to all of the attention he gave her. All of her life, she had dealt with men who took their pleasure from her, mistreated it, mistreated her and misused her. Neal was always out for himself, even in the beginning of their relationship. Emma was starting to wonder if the bastard had ever loved her at all.

Even with Emma being pregnant, Killian didn’t hold back and he loved pleasuring her. He loved going down on her and he loved driving her mad with pleasure. And still, he didn’t handle her like glass. He was so perfect for her in every way, it was a bit scary.

Emma yelped out as Killian drew out her climax, three fingers still pounding into her core. With every thrust, he teased her tongue with his, letting the tip of it brush over hers as he hit that spot inside of her with his fingers, swallowing her moans. Her nectar spilled freely over his digits, her body vibrating as she came in his hand. He tenderly kissed her lips as she came down from her high, panting harshly, droplets of sweat forming at her forehead.

Once she caught her breath, she ran her fingers along his jaw, kissing him eagerly. She still needed him inside of her. She needed him with every fiber of her being.

“Killian… I need you… please.”

“You’re not too tired?”

She shook her head. “No. Not until I have you.” She pulled off the robe from her shoulders letting it pool over the table.

Killian didn’t need to be asked twice as he urged her back until she was laying across the table, her legs spread apart invitingly.

“Fuck me, Killian,” she begged, her voice completely wrecked. He growled at her request as he yanked off his boxers and stepped out of them before settling between her thighs. He grabbed her hips and lined himself up with her entrance, slowly thrusting into her. She moaned, letting her body relax as she felt him rocking against her, his cock stretching her walls and filling her so deliciously.

He placed his hands on either side of her belly, his sparkling blue eyes locked with hers in a heated gaze as shattered groans fell from his mouth. “Gods, your feel so incredible…”

Killian’s hands slid underneath her thighs and he lifted her legs up, allowing him to fuck her deeper, the table rocking back and forth, hitting the wall with every thrust. Bracing her hands on the edge of the table, she let him take her to his heart’s content, enjoying every smack of skin as he pounded into her.

The rhythm and speed soon became too much for her and she arched her back, feeling her arousal take over her body. Her walls collapsed, squeezing his pulsing cock, causing his hips to stutter. They both climaxed in unison, groans tossed in the air as his seed spurted deep within her center. They tried to catch their breaths as he slowly slipped out of her.

“As much as I love having sex while you’re pregnant, I have to admit, I can’t wait until you have your little lad, love,” he breathed as he offered his hand, helping her sit up. She was still dizzy with pleasure as she rested her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around his hips for balance. “You’re much too far away.”

“Agreed,” she said breathlessly, smirking against him as she conjured all the ways and all the surfaces they could have each other on when she was no longer sporting a baby in her belly.

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs #cs fanfics #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #prompts #deleted scenes #pregnancy smut #tangled up in blue

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