xmen_firstkink

[I hope this part isn't too woobly for anyone; writing this has kind of become my warm blanket against sports angst, at the moment.]

Erik finds the sound guy and delivers the CD Charles gave him earlier in the day when they met for lunch. “Hey, Cassidy. Here's another song for you to add in,” he says.

Cassidy blinks, then grins. “You finally picked. What song did you go with?”

“It's a surprise,” Erik says. This is technically true, since he didn't have time to listen and Charles hadn’t told him.

–

Erik’s team has lost two out of three games in this series. They're still near the top of their division, but of all the teams Erik doesn't want to see them swept by it’s Shaw’s, who’s starting that day. He has always been a powerful, but sometimes inconsistent, pitcher, and in Erik's opinion a complete asshole. His ire towards Shaw goes back to when they played against each other in Triple-A. Shaw spent one inning trying to hit him with errant throws and had followed that with a snide, dismissive comment when he had walked Erik. There had been a fight, which had gotten them both ejected from the game and Erik hadn't ever had reason to stop hating him.

Erik discovered later Shaw’s behavior was because Emma had dropped Shaw about a month before she had started to represent Erik. The events were in truth entirely unrelated, but Shaw had confounded them anyway. Neither of them is the forgiving sort in the first place, so the animosity between them has grown worse as more time passes.

In the bottom of the third, the others are on top, up by two. Quested, the team’s designated hitter, precedes Erik in the line-up and goes up to the tune of “Rock You Like a Hurricane”. Shaw purposefully walks Quested with the expectation to get Erik out, though now the bases are loaded. It always pisses Erik off whenever anyone does that and the reaction is amplified tenfold when Shaw does, which has been more often than not this season. This isn’t entirely without justification. Erik’s overall record against Shaw is almost embarrassingly bad, possibly because Erik lets his temper get the better of him. He ends up wanting to hit a line drive straight into Shaw’s face more than anything else, which would be immensely satisfying for himself, though wouldn’t necessarily do much to help.

“Catcher, number twenty-four, Erik Lehnsherr,” the announcer says, and Charles' music selection fills the stadium:

I know a guy who's tough, but sweet.
He's so fine, he can't be beat.
He's got everything I desire.
Sets the summer sun on fire.

Erik can't say what he expected to hear, but it hadn't been a one hit wonder of the Eighties. He really should have made the time to listen to what Charles had selected first, mostly to know what to expect. If he's honest with himself, he would have gone with whatever Charles had given him regardless of the fact it’s a song he would never even think to associate with himself. He's never given a shit about what the opposing players, or even his own teammates, think of him, and he's not going to start caring now. Without hesitation Erik walks up to the plate. He glares out at Shaw, who’s no doubt smirking his ass off. The familiar anger is, surprisingly, not as heightened as usual -- he thinks about Charles, the impossibly happy way he smiles when he sees Erik, and how misguidedly sincere he probably was in making an absurd music choice for Erik. He keeps his mind on that and the game as he settles into his stance.

And hits his first grand slam off of Shaw.

The game isn’t even halfway over, but there isn’t any stopping them the rest of the night.

–

“Interesting choice of music. Was there a reason behind the pick?” a reporter can't resist asking, ostensibly off the record, since Erik’s finished his post-game interview. He’s been grinning the entire time in a way he normally doesn’t in front of the camera.

“Someone special made the selection on my behalf,” Erik says.

“Does this special someone have a name?”

“Be weird if he didn't, don’t you think?” Erik returns, and leaves it at that.

–

There’s some celebrating with his teammates in the clubhouse that he hangs around for, one of those unity things he both does and doesn’t understand. He reaches a sufficient level of tipsy that he announces to the room at large that he’s going home to his boyfriend instead of just slipping out like he usually does. About two thirds of those who witness this already know about Charles and a handful have met him -- Erik wishes Charles were there now, and thinks, another time.

Charles is waiting at Erik's apartment when he returns. He's wearing Erik's away jersey and a pair of boxers. The television is muted on ESPN and Charles’ books are strewn over the coffee table, save for the one he’s in the process of reading, armed with sticky notes. He looks up at Erik and smiles, getting up from the couch to walk over and kiss him in greeting. Erik wraps his arms around Charles to pull Charles flush against him and coaxes Charles’ lips apart. Charles’ fingers curl in Erik’s hair as he leans into him, the best welcome back Erik could ask for.

“Congratulations are in order, I think,” Charles says, left a little breathless when they part. “I had the game on in the background, and I’ve been led to believe that a grand slam is quite the impressive thing from the commentary and some Googling.”

Erik laughs. “I’m pretty pleased with myself,” he says.

“A good way to debut your bat music,” Charles says, grinning, amusement lighting up his features.

“About that,” Erik says, “of all the songs you could pick, ‘I Want Candy’ was the one you thought best?”

“Certainly a top contender,” Charles says, “since there isn’t a finer boy in town than you.”

Erik rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling nevertheless. “That’s probably a sentiment best expressed between just us, not a stadium of thousands.”

“I’ll make a mental note to serenade you privately next time,” Charles says lightly. “I had a few others in mind you could try out.”

“Maybe, eventually,” Erik says, since he isn’t sure anything else Charles would favor would be significantly better. “This one’s already unleashed upon the world.”

“It could be good luck, since you won,” Charles says.

“That’s more to do with you than the song,” Erik admits.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Erik says, but can’t quite articulate an explanation.

Charles doesn’t press him for one, and instead stands on his toes to kiss Erik again. Erik tries to convey into the kiss what he isn’t able to say; Charles makes a soft, pleased sound that makes Erik think he got his point across. He nearly picks Charles up and carries him into the bedroom, but for now they just make it to the couch.

-

[I can't say enough, thanks again to those who are following this. :) Also, I know I'm being vague with teams, mostly I'm bad at coming up with my own names (like, I think of Shaw, and the names I come up with are the atoms, the ascots, the yachts, etc.) and I keep vacillating on whether or not to use real ones (do I make Shaw a Yankee?). Sorry about that tangent, haha.]

Ahahaha, amazing song choice. This fic is the cutest! <3 <3 <3

Thank you! :D

This fic is so sweet! Is Charles going to have to do what all the other players' wives and girlfriends do with the socializing and benefits? I can see him loving that stuff while Erik kinda just puts up with it haha.

Thank you. :D :D And eventually! He would totally be so much better at that than Erik.

OP

You keep making me love you, anon! I love the first about the pitcher-hitter brawl (and I love when those happen - bench clearing fights are my favorite) and I REALLY AGREE WITH THIS: Shaw purposefully walks Quested with the expectation to get Erik out, though now the bases are loaded. It always pisses Erik off whenever anyone does that

I really do adore their banter and how fluffy this is. And just...everything about this is wonderful and happy and I don't ever want it to end. (And I think you've been doing a great job at not really mentioning teams. It works - though I'm endlessly amused at the idea of a team called the yachts.)

and omg baseball angst D: D:

:D :D I'm so happy you've been enjoying this (since sometimes I think I'm meandering a bit away from your initial prompt without meaning to)! AND YES. I always get so >:( at the purposeful walk strategy, because seriously.

Thank you! ♥

asjl;g; September has been so full of angst. :( :( AND I WON'T SAY ANYTHING ELSE OUT OF SUPERSTITION. /paranoia

This is one of my favorites! I have a weakness for fluff and this is everything I want and more. Seriously, do whatever you want with it because I'm sure I'll love it. ♥

Nonnie, nonnie, I know! I was at the game last Tuesday when Papelbon BLEW IT FOR US and ugh, my heart.

Eeep! No idea where my last comment went--please let me know if you find it! ;)
Anyway, just wanted to say that I love Erik's response to the reporter re: whether that "special someone" has a name. And, of course, all the Charles/Erik banter.
Love this entire series and thank you so much for writing it and updating frequently!

Sneaky comment! Wandering away like that.

Thank you for reading/commenting! :D

Okay, so I totally live under a rock so I had no idea baseball players had walk up songs in the first place. Lol @ Erik being associated with I Want Candy. Your bf is precious, Erik. He's a keeper, that one.

I never knew about it until I went to my first game, and then it became my favorite thing, haha. And yes. :D Charles likes to think he is.

*bathes in the adorableness* I do not understand baseball in the slightest and I don't even begin to care, I would read a million pages of this. The world needs more warmth and fluffiness.

Thank you! I'm always glad people are enjoying it even if the sport isn't their thing. :D

If you make Shaw a Yankee, I will love you more, if only because I have more of a justified reason to hate them than any fictional team.

Oh, I knew that song choice would turn out to be horrific, but "I Want Candy" is totally worse than I could have imagined. But, it's so Charles, which I can't argue with at all.

One quick question now that I think about it--is Erik out in this fic? I know he said that the someone special was a guy off the record, but I'm thinking that's going to bite him in the ass later.

He pretty much is one in my head, since the Yankees are the only ones I would really inflict with Shaw, if I'm going with irl teams.

Erik is mentally headdesking forever at having this song, but Charles picked it, so it's what's sticking.

Yes, Erik's already out (everyone on the team/his family/people he doesn't hate generally know, and he doesn't care about whoever else is or isn't aware), but Charles is the first person he's really been in a relationship with in a long time, so it hasn't been something to come up much heretofore. If that makes sense.

Let's just admit it here. You're making a horrible, heart-breaking Red Sox season feel better by sticking Erik Lensherr on the team and making Shaw a Yankee.

It's working. I'm less sad about the atrocity that is Boston right now.

Yay <3

I am glad this is helping! Thanks for reading. :D I'm mostly trying to channel/alleviate baseball/sports angst for everyone who needs it, though I do admit I'm personally a sad panda because of the Sox this month, haha.

Baseball isn't played in my country, I know nothing about it and I LOVE this story. Hurrah!

:D :D Thank you!

[This part is kind of silly. I needed silly today, so um. Enjoy. :D]

–

There's an insistent buzzing as Erik's phone rings and he's half-tempted to throw it across the room. However, it's joined by a knock at his front door; he looks at his phone, which displays a missed call from Emma. He drags himself out of bed and puts on a pair of track pants. Charles opens one eye to look at him, but other than that doesn't move. “What's going on?” he mumbles.

“Not sure. I'll just be a second.”

Erik builds up to an adequate scowl; it's about seven-forty, so it’s not even early, but on general principle he dislikes being woken unexpectedly. He opens the door and glowers at Emma, who appears unfazed.

Before he can say anything, Emma speaks first, “You made the cover.”

“Huh?” Erik asks, his mind not yet sharp.

“This.”

Holding out a copy of some tabloid, Emma presents Erik with a picture of himself and Charles outside his apartment building. He stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment, trying to place when the photograph must have been taken, ignoring the text entirely.

“This picture's from almost a week ago,” Erik says at last, letting Emma inside and closing the door behind her. She follows as he heads into the kitchen to begin making coffee, though he really wants to go back to bed. Charles has probably already fallen back asleep.

“You seem surprisingly nonchalant,” Emma says.

Erik won’t ever be happy about invasions upon his privacy, but this isn’t the first and he knows it won’t be the last. It isn’t as though his relationship with Charles is some dark secret; he’s been out since college, and anyone who matters already knows. Erik had brought up the possibility that something like this might happen with Charles, who had reacted with amused disbelief -- there’s always the possibility he’ll be ruffled, but Erik tells himself that probably won’t be the case. “Were you expecting otherwise?” he asks.

Emma studies him a moment. “With you, there’s always that possibility,” she says, which is true, “so I wanted to be the first to inform you. I suppose I won’t have to have words with whomever is responsible.”

Something as innocuous as have words shouldn’t sound threatening, but there’s a sharp, icy inflection Emma has mastered that leaves no doubt there will be consequences, and not pleasant ones. It’s enough to draw a wry smile from Erik. He offers Emma a cup of coffee. “Don’t let my indifference stop you from murdering someone on my behalf.”

“I was going to pen it in during my lunch hour. It’s more convenient now that it isn’t necessary. Try not to be too disappointed,” Emma says, accepting the mug.

“Erik, are you coming back to –? Oh, hello,” Charles says, drawing up short when he wanders into the kitchen and sees Emma. Half his hair is plastered to his head and the other half sticks out at odd angles. That's probably Erik's fault.

“You must be Charles,” Emma says, sizing him up.

Charles smiles unselfconsciously under Emma's gaze; he's put on one of Erik's T-shirts and pajama bottoms, which he rolled up to keep from pooling around his feet. “And I'm guessing that makes you Emma,” he says. “It's good to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Emma says.

Kissing Erik on the cheek, Charles steals the cup of coffee Erik had just poured for himself. “So, what’s going on?”

“You’re getting your inaugural story in the Enquirer,” Emma says.

“Delightful,” Charles says. “Explain?”

–

It doesn’t take long to bring him up to speed, and Emma shares the tabloid with Charles, who actually starts to read the thing. Erik starts to make breakfast for all of them while Emma makes a few phone calls. Charles is entertained by the cover, which, in addition to the mediocre picture, touts the line: Baseball’s latest hit! Erik Lehnsherr may be heating things up off the field as well as on... more inside!

“I’m your ‘unnamed mystery man’. They even drew a yellow circle around my face and put a question mark next to it on this other picture,” Charles says as he reads whatever passes for an article. “Also, according to this advertisement on the next page, I can own a piece of the Wild West for four easy payments of nineteen dollars ninety.”

“I’m pretty sure I can feel your IQ dropping from here the longer you read that,” Erik says.

“It’s all right, I can spare a few points,” Charles says, looking over at Erik and grinning, “since I’ve never read one of these before and don’t plan to ever again.”

“Good, otherwise I might have to question everything I know about you,” Erik retorts.

“This is so poorly written that it’s rather humorous,” Charles says.

“I’m thrilled you think so,” Erik says blandly.

“You really weren’t joking when you brought it up before,” Charles says.

“I really wasn’t. Is it going to be a problem?” Erik asks cautiously, looking away from Charles and back to the scrambled eggs he’s almost burnt.

“Not for me. I don’t think most of the people I know look at these things, and it doesn’t matter to me.”

Erik exhales a breath he hadn’t intentionally held. He’s naturally paranoid enough that the sliver of doubt still gave him pause in regards to Charles’ reaction, since he doesn’t ever want something as idiotic as the Enquirer to cause a problem. “I’m a little surprised nothing has come out sooner than this.”

“There’s been some speculation, mostly as sidebars in general gossip sections, or on inconsequential websites,” Emma says, rejoining them in the kitchen and the conversation. “Not that anyone with half a brain considers this a reputable source, but it’s likely the start of more attention to come.”

“Great,” Erik grumbles.

“Luckily there isn’t anything scandalous about this, aside from the general display of Erik enjoying human contact.”

“He’s never seemed unapproachable to me,” Charles says.

“Which is mostly indicative of how much he likes you,” Emma says, smirking.

“I can hear you both, you know,” Erik says, not as irritable as he thinks he should be.

Both Emma and Charles simultaneously give him an amused look, which is almost unnerving, except Charles’ is far more warm and affectionate. There’s a moment of slightly awkward silence until Charles says, “Well, one thing will come of this – now my students may find out that my crush on Erik Lehnsherr isn’t as hopeless as they’ve likely assumed.”

Erik snorts, then a thought occurs to him. “Do you think this will do anything at all to deter the bizarre fan mail?”

“I think it’ll just take it in a different, equally bizarre, direction,” Emma muses.

“You get fan mail?” Charles asks, and Erik realizes his mistake.

“Don’t show him any of it,” Erik says. “I don’t read the bulk of it for a reason.”

Emma just takes a noncommittal sip of coffee, but the look she exchanges with Charles convinces Erik she isn’t siding with him on this one.

–