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Charles is overwhelmed, panting, and gasping. Sweat stands out across his skin, gathers and runs in rivulets down his chest, over the channel of his ribs, and gathers in the crease that bisects his ribs from his lower abdomen.
Charles hears the helicopter and thinks nothing of it: more than seventy floors up in a residential high-rise in the heart of Bashan helicopters are only less numerous than birds and clouds. He switches on the radio, already set to his preferred news station, and goes about his waking ritual of preparing a mug of tea.
He listens with half an ear to the progress reports and political strivings of other major city-states such as Pyongtaek, Uppsala, and Delphi. He’s waiting on word of Alexandria and the Library to come up. The water is coming into a roiling boil when he hears the lead in to the story, right on the heels of Betsy Braddock’s interpretation of her Power’s control of weather patterns. Before he imprinted with Erik, Ms. Braddock had always amused Charles with her seventy percent accuracy rate, but now it is a source of fascination.
Charles renders two scoops of breakfast tea unto his teapot and turns the element off. As he pours the kettle’s water into the pot, he follows the crisp report on the crisis at Alexandria’s famous library. He hopes to hear word of Emma, but he doesn’t hold his breath figuratively or mentally.
Primarily for mah waifu, in exchange for a scene where Charles attempts to teach Erik how to tie a cherry stem with his tongue. (meow!)
I don’t know how many people have been interested in the whole ‘sex on a motorcycle’ discussion I had with Pala months ago, but I
sort of drew on it, the Charles-washes-Erik’s-bike kink Synecdoche and I had going, and I think some prompt I think she wanted filled, but didn’t happen? IDK.
Anyway, it won’t appear in Strict, but this is basically canon.
Charles was hiding in the living area’s shade again. The blinds were drawn over the windows and the curtains swept shut until the living area’s shade reminded him of a bright light over closed eyelids. The interior was shaded, the central air bathing him with cool, but even without the blistering Arizona sun and heat, he felt oppressed. Alex had suggested he see a doctor for Valley sickness, but Erik had said Charles had never experienced a climate anything like the desert and would need time to acclimate.
Charles didn’t want to acclimate. He wanted to stay in the dark and cool and study the dichotomy of Erik’s furnace-like body on his AC-chilled flesh. They were in the honeymoon stage of their relationship: still learning about the other’s body and having both light-hearted and furious sex. Since pulling the façade from Erik, Charles had gained the most intense lover he’d ever known. His focus was like coal compressed into diamond clarity.
One of the more arousing games he’d discovered was enticing Erik’s interest. Seduction came in many forms and if Charles had lost ground, in all the best ways, in bedroom games of dominance, he’d taken it back and more through the sheer power of desire.
Laying in the dark, doing none of the work he ought, Charles listened to the high-pitched screech of the die-grinder as Erik hand-cut intake and exhaust ports in a cylinder head. He knew what Erik looked like, there in his shop. He would have the windows shut up, the exhaust fan at full blast, and he’d be pressing the grinder into the head, sending sparks and metal shavings everywhere.
These are posted in the order in which they were written, rather than as the events occur.
The first in the series.
Temporal Power Erik
When and how Charles imprints with Erik.
Emma’s Power’s mistakes are arias of the firmament. Precursor to Butterflies.
The Abyss Looks Back
The aftermath of Butterflies.
Congress of Salamanders
Charles explores Ronove’s spiritual landscape. Laying On of Hands continuity, I think.
Blood & Ashes
The aftermath of Alexandria.
Charles takes Erik to be fitted for a suit. Precursor to Icarus.
Laying On of Hands
Erik battles Emma’s Power. Again. Charles, Kitty, and Anne Marie look for an opening.
Follows Psychometry. Alexandria’s Biannual Ball.
Butterfly, Flutter-bye, a Lie, and Good-bye
Emma gives Charles an important gift. Semi-simultaneously with Alexandria.
No Birds, But Bees
A little biology and a lot of emotional trauma.
Have You Any Wool?
In the background, Charles’ tea is growing cold and bitter. Comes right after The Abyss Looks Back.
Heat Lightning and Distortion
Charles avoids thinking about things he should. Takes place three days after Have You Any Wool?
"Namest Thou Thy Fucking Terms"
Charles’ makes a deal with the Alexandrian. Takes place undetermined amount of time after Laying on of Hands.
In a Day’s Work, part i
Take your Charles to work day. Takes place about six weeks after Temporal Power Erik.
Scratching the Record
Erik seems to be looping and skipping. Takes place the evening of the same day as Have You Any Wool?
super-short domestic fluff As it says on the tin.
texts to the nearly departed Texts in the aftermath of imprinting/binding with Erik.
Post Card Fic & Other Idiocy:
Erik skips a step in making tea This is a postcard fic, featuring a slightly discordant Erik.
Erik promises not to break fingers This is another postcard fic, with reference to In a Day’s Work.
Candy This is total crack written for Synekdokee, based on the video for Candy, by Robbie Williams.
Even my fills have cut scenes. I wrote this as part of the last part of the current monster-fill, but realized I got confused. This can’t happen in the current fill, because this is from the last time Max and Charles went drinking together. Current fill is from before Charles runs away from home. So, this happens not long before the night ‘Max dies’, while the two are roaming the area.
(this wasn’t prompted, but for ease of organisation, it will be tagged as such.)
“Mad Max!” The mixed group of teens and early twenty-somethings laugh. They drink. Charles tips the cup at his lips and swallows through two gulps before the flavor hits him. He gags and chokes through the third.
Standing next to him, Max makes a sound of disgust and swears in German.
It is little wonder, Charles grimaces, holding his cups at arm’s length. The concoction does not, in fact, leap the cup’s white perimeter and maul him, but the lingering taste on his mouth suggests that it could.
“That’s the vilest thing I have ever tasted,” Charles informs the crowded kitchen.
“There better not be much rubbing alcohol in that,” Max snorts and hands his cup to Charles while pulling his Lucky Strikes from his up-turned sleeve. He’s planning on the taste of toasted tobacco drowning out the alcohol’s flavor. “Like drinking paint thinner.”
For storybinding and others. (I don’t remember who else prompted this at the moment.) Continuation of liquid trinity. Three parts, rather than two, because I can’t do anything short with this thing. Limited internet access from here on: heading to Lemnos tomorrow morning.
Max grit his teeth. The Ninja was fast, but it couldn’t make him arrive on time for an appointment he was already thirty minutes late for. To complicate matters, he could hear and feel the telltale vibration of the bike’s plastics rattling from his shoddy job of throwing them back on. At least he hadn’t picked up the flashing red and blue lights until after his delivery. Shaw was equally irritable and fascinated by his addiction to velocity but damned him for the potential attention it brought their way.
Max didn’t care: Charles had paged him an hour ago. Fuck Shaw and fuck the police.
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