A/N: I'm obsessed with this couple. While there was a fine, defined relationship between the characters as played by Sir Ian McKellen and Sir Patrick Stewart, all of the interaction between James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender truly made me realize this great bromance. Had to write it. Had to.
Disclaimer: I do not own or take credit for the creation of Marvel's X-Men/First Class. This is meant for entertainment use only.
Warnings: Alternative Universe. Language. Man on Man relationship.
XXX
Unintentional Meetings of Men
Part I
XXX
Erik saw the blue eyed man wherever he went. The man always wore a sharp suit (sometimes in navy or black) accentuating his long legs and pale fingers. His brown hair fell across his brilliant blue eyes. His lips were deep pink, as if he bit them continually. It was frustrating whenever the meetings happened.
The first time was in a bar.
Becoming drenched as he ran through the pouring rain, Erik stumbled into the first dry place he could think of: the prep college bar on the corner. He had to squeeze into the door, and it banged shut, nearly hitting a buzzed co-ed on the way out. The bar was smoky and musty, and the orange light didn't make it into the corners.
Usually, he wouldn't deem to brush elbows with these idiots. The students who inhabited this bar were mainly undergrads studying languages or literature or business or something that didn't require hours and hours late at night working on a graduate thesis. Erik, on the other hand, worked with chemicals and metals at the plant for his job for Klaus; he was barely passing school by the skin of his teeth.
He certainly had no spare time. And if he did, this would not have been the place he would have spent it.
The man turned to go, then heard the pounding of the rain. He remembered the way it seemed to slice through his overcoat like ice dumped straight to his neck. Grumpily, he stared at the freezing weather outside.
"Fuck." He turned back to the bar.
One drink couldn't hurt. Besides, he needed something to take the sharpness off his mental edges. Daring to go deeper into the smoky interior, he slipped past a few drunken males with sloppy grins on their faces, schooling his features into a quiet expression. There was a loud ruckus coming from the main open room, so Erik elbowed and fought to the last section of the bar, managing to throw up an elbow to signal the portly bartender.
He called for a good German beer. He fisted over a rumple couple of dollar bills.
"You got it!" the bar tender growled, meaty hands sweaty against the polished bar. He was back in less than a minute, leaving behind a wonderful beer. Erik nodded in approval. His hand closed around the cool glass.
"Hey!" The voice came right beside his ear. A warm body was pressed next to his.
Erik whipped around, and caught sight of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed vixen. Her face was young and slightly rounded, but the rosy hint on her cheeks brought out the sparkle in her eyes. Before he could respond, she began speaking.
"You're in my writing class with Professor McCoy, right?" Her hand fell onto his shoulder.
Erik honestly didn't know what to say. He'd never even heard of the class, let alone the professor.
The girl suddenly paled. "I am so sorry! I thought you a different friend," she stammered, in embarrassment, "Sorry about that; I always get carried away with talking to people in my classes!"
"No worries," Erik stated, forcing a smile.
Her smile widened into a beam of light. "My name is Raven," she said, "And if I run into you again, please forgive me! I'm here with my brother. What's your name?"
"Erik."
"You're adorable, Erik. See you later!"
With that, the college girl was gone, disappeared back into the masses. There wasn't even the scent of her perfume left. The man simply watched the spot she had vanished, amused at how it was if she had never existed. He wondered if maybe he could do that. Disappear.
The golden lights played on the clear glass, making the beer appear brighter than it really was. He ran a calloused hand through his still damp hair. The factory was going under. Klaus' business was going into the red after months of paying off government officials and threatening other local businessmen. Soon, Erik would be free. He wasn't sure how to deal with it.
Maybe this bar had been the reason. It was a sign he needed to cut ties. Klaus forced him to work long hours on hard, dangerous jobs, held back his paychecks weeks at sometimes, and continued to remind Erik that his mother was dead due to his inability. A fresh start was what he needed.
But how? Of all things, work was the most needed. It gave him money, and satisfaction. He loved working with the metals, especially the steel and iron. He hadn't told anyone about how he control the metal with his bare hands, not the tools Klaus provided. The metals gave in his hands like putty, and he could shape it in any way possible, from thin rods to nails to massive constructive beams.
He could focus on school, instead of skimming by. If he had more knowledge, he could start his own business. He could gain his own followers and workers. He could rent a machine shop. He could sell fine quality products for more than Klaus's shit scrap metal.
But he really needed a partner.
For a split second, he noticed the spot that Raven had disappeared from had opened clear across the room. Of all things, it was like a sign, he thought in amusement. He glanced that way, on a whim.
There was a man on a table.
His brown hair was wavy back over his pale face, and his mouth was opened into a triumphant laugh. Left hand in a fist thrown into the air, he seemed to be instructing a massive group of co-eds in front of him.
His smile was wide, perfect, and charismatic.
His face was memorable.
Erik blinked.
Erik didn't know what was going on at first. There were too many people screaming and chanting, and more were flocking to the area, like they were drawn to the man. Then he heard the drunken boys yelling, "Professor! Professor! Professor!"
A professor? At this bar?
Erik's eyebrows rose without a second thought. The man barely looked over 25, let alone the years required for a doctorate degree. What was he thinking, being here? Wasn't he supposed to be responsible?
The gap suddenly closed when four fraternity boys busted through the space, joining in the chant. The smell of sweat and alcohol returned in full force, clogging the air. Erik straightened his back, trying not to see over them. He turned back to his drink, feeling slightly strange.
He didn't want to think about it.
Erik withdrew from the bar, holding his woolen coat up to his neck and throat. He ducked his head, moving away from the large crowd. Try as he might, he couldn't stop a darting glance in the direction of the "professor".
Now the man was spreading his arms wide, nodding and mocking the tone most professors used in classes. His teeth were bared, his eyes —shocking blue—were open, twisting around the room, taking in the admiration. Erik stopped.
Then, those blue eyes locked on Erik's.
It felt as if lightning had struck. His mouth went dry.
Out of all the people, the man was looking at him. Erik felt defensive. What was he looking at? In disgust, heart pounding, he turned away to the entryway, shoving past a couple nearly sucking each other's face off.
He couldn't get the vision of those blue eyes out of his head, even when the rain drenched him to his bones.
The second time was at the dry cleaners.
Erik took time to make himself presentable. The feel of soft, silky, rough suits made him feel less complicated deep down, and ultimately, like a normal man of 28. When money was tight, his personal health took a dip, so his suits could be clean.
Erik's usual laundry day was on Tuesday, after his classes. He would walk home in determination, gather his carefully clothes and take them down to Fassbender's. It was the one shop in town that handled his suits, shirts, and slacks with extreme care. It was cheap and completely deserted at two o'clock in the afternoon.
Klaus called on Monday and threatened Erik to come into work; the younger man didn't refuse. Laundry was the last thing on his mind. He pulled a double, and arrived home in the early hours when nobody should be awake. The man unlocked his door, kicked off his shoes, and fell onto the couch, dead asleep.
The next morning, he had no respectable clothes for class. There were only t-shirts and sweats, his fitness clothes. Even the cardigans and button downs were in a rumpled heap in the closet. The bag of his three suits was hanging like a dead body from the clothing rail.
Blearily looking through sleep-ridden eyes, Erik cursed as loud as he possibly could in German. That done, he plucked the apartment keys from the nightstand.
It was only a five-minute walk. He didn't mind the cool morning air, despite the way frost sketched itself into twists and curls on shop windows. The gray bricks kept him contained, safe. The murals reminded him of when he was a child, his mother's art hanging above his head like a chandelier.
Fassbender's rose from the street like a squat cabbage in a garden; the walls were an odd shade of red, closer to orange, and the door was a bright green. The manager, Michael, was of Irish descent, and kept his heritage on display through wide portraits of his ancestors, landscapes of Dublin, and an unmistakable accent. Erik enjoyed the conversations he had with the insane, strict man. Eagerly, the man entered the store with his suits.
Instead of the store being deserted, a younger man was standing in front of the register, back towards Erik. The shaggy haired, elderly proprietor lifted his head from the counter, papery hands writing out thin numbers and letters. His brown eyes were welcoming.
"-Sign and date here."
The younger man said something under his breath that made Michael cackle, and say rather loudly, "Oh you'll find someone to give that to eventually."
What the?
Sensing something, Erik immediately sized up the clothes on the man. Well-fitted, herring-bone gray sweater, black trousers...thin hands...
Then the man said, "Thank you, good sir. I'll be back at four then." The man turned around, brown wavy hair falling into his blue eyes.
Good God.
There was the man from the bar. The Professor. Instead of all teeth, feral and charismatic, he was subdued. His eyes were kind. There was no tie or suit restraining his spirit.
Erik barely had time to step to the side of the store to avoid a collision. He managed a quick "pardon me" before the customer nodded at him in thanks. The blue eyes were stressed, slightly panicked. He blew out of the store like a wild wind.
"Who's the new suit?" Erik asked, noticing himself watching the figure retreating across the street at a brisk clip.
He tore his eyes back to Michael. The elderly man was rubbing his gnarled hands together, gently picking up the papers. He shrugged noncommittally, reading off the paper, "'Charles Xavier'. He's from up atta college. Burrely found this place."
Daring to glance once more at the street, Erik nodded, placing his own clothes on the counter. "You own a quality establishment. I'm glad your reputation has been growing." He quickly pulled out his slightly wrinkled bills, setting them on the counter as Michael rummaged around in the back, cataloguing the papers. Erik came in enough with the same suits that he knew exactly the amount. It made for a very clean transaction.
"Oh yes," said the older man, "I keep hopin' that...more business comes in. Been slow."
Erik frowned. This was slightly disturbing. "How slow?"
There was another shrug. "A few people a day. I can always count on you, but more 'n more people forget. Or find someone new." Michael efficiently counted the money in his hands, bit the inside of his mouth, then settled it into the register.
"How are you doing?" said Michael, "You didn't come in on your usual day." His left eye pulled into a wink. "You got a girl yet?"
A flash of blue eyes and bright red lips in his memory nearly made Erik blush.
And then he realized he had imagined Charles Xavier, a man he had seen twice in his life, by his side.
"No. No women. It was another shift at work."
Usually, his harsh dismissive tone would have put off any investigation into his private life. It was one trait Erik admired about himself. It didn't stop Michael from hemming and hahhing, rolling his eyes while saying, "If you don't find yourself a woman, find yourself someone. Don't getta be like me without any friends...or family, eh?"
"I'm fine on my own," Erik stated quietly. His eyes burned.
Michael pulled the rumpled suits over the worn wooden counter. "Just wait 'til you find the one. Then you'll know." He disappeared into the shadowy back, clearly finished talking.
Erik stood in the room. Alone. Blinking, and slightly shaking his head, he backed away.
But he couldn't the vision of Charles Xavier out of his head.
The third time was at the university.
Erik was settled on a bench outside the Engineering Building, a singular paper on a clipboard in front of him. A series of hypothetical formulas and chemical reactions within certain metals was written across the paper in sharp lines. The man blinked, jaw tightening slowly as he contemplated a different arrangement of the molecules.
Quickly, he drew a diagram of the metals' properties, black ink neatly drawing bonds and markers. This mid-term was going to kill him.
Erik's muscles cramped. Quickly, he straightened his neck, feeling the soft pops in the bones of his spine. His mid-back ached. Since his attention had been drawn to his sore body, he stood, gently setting the materials down on the hard bench. He moved his shoulders around in an arc. All the bones popped.
The bell rang with a shrill alarm. Erik moved his papers and pens to his briefcase as the door swung open, allowing hundreds of students to burst into the hallway.
There were so many dull tweeds and plaids that Erik felt sick. Self-consciously pulling his tailored jacket close around his middle, he took a breath, allowing all of the co-eds and underclassmen to stream by. It was usually quicker to simply let the sheep pass than trying to push through them. A few minutes rolled by of this as Erik kept a firm scowl in place to any who looked his way.
Eventually, the direction of traffic changed. The tall man waited outside the classroom longer than he would have, wondering how all these people could pass him and not care about the repetition of their lives. It was too structured, too slow. Erik needed a way out.
He'd been feeling this way recently, especially after meeting with his boss Klaus. After all he'd done for his job, Erik felt undervalued. He was kept down. There had to be another way to get what he rightfully deserved.
Erik took one step into the hall. He gazed casually up.
Recognition shot through him like lightning. There, at the end of the hallway talking to a young girl with fiery red hair, was the man. The Professor. Charles Xavier.
I should have realized he'd be here at the school, the logical part of his brain reasoned.
Third time in a week, cried his irrational side. How can you stare and still not get caught?
While he was inclined to agree more with the trap that was his mind, he found himself slowly gathering his things. He wasn't afraid of conversation with the man, but now, if he introduced himself, it would be quite...abrupt. And he couldn't interrupt a private conversation.
What would he even say? He couldn't think of anything.
His class was beginning. It was down the hallway on the left, directly across from the Professor. Erik stood a little straighter, squaring his shoulders. It might not be today that he finally met this mysterious man, but he could at least be civil.
The length of the hallway seemed to shorten drastically the closer Erik got to Xavier. He found his eyes being drawn to the frumpy looking professor's hands, calmly held at his temple. Those lips were moving, probably speaking about the finer details of whatever course he taught here.
Blue eyes swung up and met Erik's.
This is where I should say something, Erik thought suddenly. He nodded, and smirked, Good morning, Mr. Xavier.
Was there a slight nod, or had he imagined it? If anything, he was certain the man was saying, Good day, Erik. When will we actually speak?
Erik felt his shoulder shrug in any case, whether the conversation was in his mind or not. Someday.
Wondering why he was speaking to himself, the tall engineer opened the door to the classroom, striding in. It wasn't until he was sitting in his usual seat that he realized that the conversation, although short, seemed appropriate. He would speak to that man someday, and when that day came, he had a feeling his life would change.
0
0