xmen_firstkink

Can I just say I'm so excited to see that averzierlia is writing a plotty/angsty fill? I love plotty/angsty mpreg but went for crack this time. Am I allowed to make a joke about us double-teaming this prompt? Too late, I already did.

---

Charles did blame Erik. Just a bit. If they hadn't had so much sex, he was pretty sure this wouldn't have happened. Obviously protection had never come into the picture, but since Erik's general attitude to every issue in their relationship boiled down to "more sex please" (and sometimes "you don't let me kill enough Nazis"), Charles didn't feel guilty blaming him just a bit.

Even if neither of them had seen this coming, less sex would probably have helped.

Erik's jaw hung like the missiles frozen in the sky just in front of the two fleets. When it finally snapped shut, the missiles dropped like the world's worst hailstorm and exploded or disappeared into the ocean (no doubt to plague the Cuban fishing industry for decades to come). Azazel, Angel and Riptide took off very soon after that, leaving Charles and Erik shouting at each other across the sand.

"There is no way!" Erik bellowed. "This is ridiculous!"

"I assure you, my friend, I had Hank run a considerable number of tests!"

Erik and Raven rounded on Hank, who suddenly looked less beastly and more mousey. "You knew?" Raven cried.

Hank cowered from the tiny blue women. "Wait, why are you mad at me?"

“I’m family, it’s my job to be mad about illegitimate nieces and nephews!” Raven snapped at him.

"Look," Moira stepped forward with her hands raised. "I think we can all agree that everyone's going to be a bit mad, so let's get out of the war zone before we start arguing about it."

It was less than a mile to the nearest road, but through dense forest in full-body Kevlar made it extremely uncomfortable. Nobody talked much on the way, or during the hike to a busy little village. The locals who could speak English assumed they were from some kind of uniformed missionary group and asked polite questions about whether they needed help setting up a church, and whether Hank's disorder was at all contagious. Erik spoke just enough Spanish to assure them he wasn't and to procure them bus tickets to Cárdenas. Moira had brought the radio from the jet and somehow convinced a CIA contact in Florida to arrange papers to fly them home, very quietly, with the pretence that they really were particularly idiotic missionaries and not American spies, no, honestly.

“But how does it work?” Sean hissed at Hank. “I mean, is this something that can happen to all mutants?” he glanced down at his crotch with a gulp.

Unfortunately, Charles had overheard him. He said brightly, “I believe it may be the next step in evolution. Many species, after all, have a hermaphroditic reproductive system that allows for much more efficient population growth. If the new mutant race wants to overtake their thriving Homo sapiens cousins--”

Erik grunted. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how evolution works, Charles.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I was the one with a genetics degree, Erik.”

“Everyone, look at that!” Sean said in a strangled voice. “Look at the… uh… communist goats!”

Alex, Hank and Raven all raised their voices and clamoured to admire the startled animals while Erik and Charles fell into seething silence.

It was on the bus that the conversation finally got heated again. Erik and Charles were at the very back, both of them avoiding each other's eyes. Erik had Shaw's helmet under his arm.

"You're not going to keep it, though, Charles," Erik said. "I mean, it's dangerous. It's essentially a malignant tumour."

"Don't call my foetus a tumour, please, Erik," Charles said snippily. "And I'm going to wait until we know more about the situation before I do anything rash."

"But it could kill you!" Erik said frantically.

"If you don't want to be a father, Erik, just say so," Charles replied. "It's fine. It's not like I haven't got the resources to support this child."

"I'm not saying that!"

"So you do want to be a father?"

"No, of course not. Obviously it's out of the question--"

Charles’ head shot around. He was already sunburned from their walk, but his cheeks grew even pinker as blood rushed into them. "No, not ‘obviously’! How is it obvious?"

"I kill Nazis for a living, Charles, that's neither the environment nor the role model for a baby."

"You don't do it for a living, you do it for fun," Charles pointed out. "And now that you've killed Shaw I thought you'd give that up."

"I'm not going to give up my life's quest just because you decided to grow ovaries!"

"Really? If you think gonad acquisition is so easy maybe you should grow a pair of balls!"

They were both shouting now. An elderly Cuban couple glared at them from a few rows down and the driver glanced in his mirror. Raven and Alex turned around and knelt on the back of their seats, trying to interrupt the two men long enough to keep them quiet.

"Fine!” Erik let go of Shaw’s helmet long enough to fold his arms and narrow his eyes at Charles. “Risk your life if you want. But I am not going to hang around holding your head over the toilet when you get morning sickness. I cannot be a part of you killing yourself for your ideals. I won’t stay another night in the mansion.”

“Good,” Charles said, his voice a little too high-pitched and loud. “Frankly, I can’t imagine a worse parent than a man with your temper. You wouldn’t be safe around children.”

Erik’s mouth closed sharply and his eyes went very wide. He stood up, grabbed Shaw’s helmet off the peeling leather seat, put it on his head and strode down the aisle to the front row of the bus. Charles’ nostrils flared and he glared uselessly at the back of Erik’s head as if he thought his powers could bore a hole in the back of the helmet. They couldn’t.

“Was that really necessary?” Raven whispered angrily. “He was tortured as a kid, you numbskull.”

Charles’ face twitched and most of the pink drained from his cheeks. He did not, however get up and apologise to Erik. Perhaps he thought that Erik would forgive him as soon as they got back to the United States. If so, he had clearly forgotten that Erik’s foremost superpower after bending metal was holding a grudge.


TBC

HAHAHA, I love my crack undiluted. This is excellent.

LMFAO. I love it.

"I kill Nazis for a living, Charles, that's neither the environment nor the role model for a baby."

I love you, I love you, I love you. And I'm so looking forward to averzierlia's fill if she ever does, but cracky mpreg is like...well, crack, to me I guess.

And you have so many ridiculous lines in this story, and I feel like I'd be quoting the whole story if I tried to get them all, so anyway. Thanks for being awesome and I hope you continue this story (:

YOU GET ALL MY INTERNETS! 8D
Do I sense some drama coming up with the crack? Because dramatic!crack holds a special place in my heart.
Haha, but even if Erik holds a grudge I can't imagine him NOT helping when Charles is all tired and pukey. <3

I didn't know how to end this, so you all get a fight scene. Everyone loves a good fight scene!

---

The dream of a safe haven for lost young mutants was becoming a reality. Hank was building a new Cerebro in one of the spare basements, Charles had snaffled CIA records of potential mutants from Moira before regretfully wiping her mind, and there were already half a dozen new teenagers running around the halls and grounds of his childhood home. He was looking for older mutants to take on teaching responsibilities, though Hank and Raven were so far doing an admirable job (Alex, though enthusiastic, had not taught the children much that wasn’t borderline illegal).

Equipping and running the new school was satisfying, but exhausting. Especially when you were carrying a lot more weight around. Charles pulled up his shirt, stood sideways and stared at himself in the mirror. He sighed heavily. So far, he had managed to pass off his condition as an admirable drinking belly (“Rigorous consumption of alcohol is fully required of all Oxford professors, no exceptions,” he told Raven one night when she mistakenly offered him a glass of wine. Hank had lunged across the dining table and grabbed it out of Charles’ reach as if was a ticking bomb). But he didn’t know how much longer baggy sweater-vests were going to keep the children from asking questions.

He also didn’t know when this impossible gestation was going to end. It wasn’t like he and Erik had been timing their liaisons for peaks in Charles’ fertility. Conception could have happened on just about any night (and quite a few Sunday mornings) in a two-month period before Cuba.

Charles rolled down his shirt with another gloomy sigh. Erik would have been a lot of help with the new school. Erik would have been a lot of help with many things, including but not limited to a bed warmer. But they had heard nothing from Erik in the six months since he’d walked out the doors of the mansion without a backward glance. Cerebro Two wouldn’t be ready for quite a while, and Charles was hesitant about using it to find his friend. It felt like an invasion of privacy… but he just wanted to know that Erik was safe, at least. Just a touch to gain that much.

He heard Raven’s thoughts gliding down the hall and tucked his shirt in just as she opened the door.

“Oh no, don’t put it away!” she beamed. “I want to say goodnight to my wee niece-nephew!”

“I’m not a show pony,” Charles grumbled, but obligingly pulled up his shirt. Raven knelt and made cooing noises at his belly button.

“You’re absurd,” Charles said.

“It’s what you’re supposed to do to pregnant people,” Raven replied, as business-like as if she was explaining how to change a tyre. “If you don’t, the baby might end up like Erik.”

“Raven!”

“Sorry,” she looked up at him with wide, golden eyes. After six months he still wasn’t completely used to her blue form, though he had stopped asking her to change her shape around the children. “But he hasn’t even called to check you’re okay. That’s a bit rakish. No, it’s a lot rakish. He’s a scoundrel. He should at least have left a letter for the baby, for when it’s older.”

Charles grimaced and looked back down at his swollen abdomen. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell it. Two mutants for parents is bad enough, a biological impossibility is a whole other kettle of fish.”

“Tell it that its mother is Sophia Loren or something,” Raven said. “And that she had to give it up so she could pursue her career.”

“I can’t lie to it.”

“Then you better think of something,” Raven stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes at Charles’ belly, as if the baby could possibly see her.

“Has Hank got a letter back from his friend yet? The obstetrician?” Charles asked, pushing his shirt down.

“Yeah, it came this afternoon.”

“Is he going to help us?”

“Hank said he wanted to try.”

“What did Hank tell him?”

“I think he said you’re a transsexual.”

“Oh, good,” Charles said cheerfully. “That should encourage him to keep things quiet. If he thought I was a mutant homosexual having a baby we’d be in real trouble.”

I am never doing this again, thought Charles. If I have to remain celibate for the rest of my life, I’m never doing this again. Chastity doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll whack off to those surveillance pictures Moira took of Erik when I’m feeling down. Oh, God, did I broadcast that? Please tell me I didn’t broadcast that.

“Alright, Charles, just breath, I’m prepping the epidural right now.”

“HURRY UP, MAN, OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL TELEPATHISE YOU INTO SPEAKING IN FARM ANIMALS NOISES FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.”

“Don’t worry, Raven. That’s just the Demerol talking.”

“All the same, doctor, I think my brother would appreciate haste.”

---

There was a gentle breeze in the private hospital room. Raven had left the window open an inch, and forgotten to close it on her way out. Charles stared at the shifting curtain with half-lidded eyes. There was no way he’d be able to get up and close it, but he couldn’t bear ringing the bell to call a nurse. The last few that had come in had stared at him, trying to reconcile him with the tiny bundle lying in a bassinet beside him. Charles had insisted the baby was left in the room with him, along with a bottle of formula. The baby hadn’t cried once since the birth, only made small whimpers every now and then. His mind made little wordless cries in Charles’ head. Charles couldn’t bear the thought of the baby lying among a dozen others. What if something happened? Would someone notice? As it was he couldn’t sleep. Every time he started to drift off, he would become suddenly convinced that the baby had stopped breathing and would snap awake again.

“I should shut that window,” Charles muttered to himself. “You might be cold.”

The baby snuffled in its sleep. Two get-well-soon drawings from the younger children and a graphically illustrated “Congratulations!” card made by Sean and Alex sat on the nightstand, along with flowers from Hank and a large block of chocolate from Raven. On the edge was an envelope with a black-and-white Polaroid of the baby. On the back Charles had scribbled “You’re a bigger bastard than him” in a fit of post-birth, drug-addled anger. He wanted to mail it to Erik as soon as they found out his address with Cerebro – Raven had told him to wait a few days and see if he still felt mad about it.

The night nurse was arriving to check on him. Charles pretended to be asleep rather than roll over to greet her. He was surprised to hear a second set of footsteps, and then a third – and then a forth. That was an awful lot of nurses. He looked over slowly.

Four suited men were standing in his hospital room. A glimpse in their minds told Charles CIA, and he started to sit up in a hurry. The wound on his abdomen screamed in complaint and he bit back a cry.

“Don’t get up, Mr Xavier. You’ll hurt yourself,” said the lead agent, whose mind reeked of arrogance and authority.

Charles leaned back into pillows again. His head was still woozy with painkillers and exhaustion. He could try to freeze all four of them at once, but it would be a reckless move, and he could hear from their twitchy thoughts that they were all armed. He was also pretty sure he caught the thoughts of at least one more agent in the hall.

Charles bared his teeth at the leader. “Would you awfully mind pissing off, chaps? I’ve just had a caesarean.”

“We’ll be gentle,” grunted the leader – his name, ‘Hickory’, sat proudly in his brain like a sheriff’s medal. “Boys, could you bring in the wheelchair?”

A fifth agent appeared in the doorway with a squeaky-wheeled hospital-issue wheelchair. Charles felt his blood run cold.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” he said. “You know I can kill all of you with my mind, don’t you? In the blink of an eye. I’m giving you one chance to get out of here.”

Hickory grinned at him. “Now that would surprise me, Mr Xavier.”

“It’s professor.”

“Either way, Prof. We’d appreciate it if you and your little bundle of joy would cooperate in getting into this here wheelchair and heading out without any screaming. We would really hate to pump you full of ketamine. That means I’d be the one carrying the baby, and Lord do I hate holding babies.”

Charles gripped his fists in the sheets. He glanced at the bassinet and leaned over to pick up the tightly-wrapped baby, hissing as his stitches stretched agonisingly. Once the bundle was safe in his arms, he allowed the agents to help him into the chair. He had no other choice. Raven and Sean wouldn’t be coming back to see him until tomorrow morning, and if he tried to fight – well, Charles knew it didn’t take much of a shake to do permanent harm to an infant. He couldn’t risk that.

“Where are you taking me?” he demanded as the agents wheeled him through the quiet hospital corridors, two walking in front and three behind. No one answered him. Charles was in nothing but a hospital gown and a cardigan he’d brought with him; his feet were freezing. A porter blinked at them and stood to the side. Charles looked at him with pleading eyes, willing the man to run and call the mansion.

“None of that,” Hickory grabbed Charles’ shoulder and dugs his fingers in before he could finish planting the number in the man’s mind. “Remember the ketamine.”

“I’m not a criminal. I have rights,” Charles snapped at him. “You can’t just kidnap people out of hospitals.”

“Human rights only extend to humans,” Hickory drawled. Charles felt a frozen net wrap around his heart and squeeze. It was the first time he had heard those words, but he knew suddenly that it would not be the last.

They had made it into a foyer that was empty at this time of night on a Tuesday when a voice barked from a side corridor, “Hey.”

Two of the CIA agents glanced over, while Hickory urged the one pushing Charles to hurry. Charles twisted his neck around to see which unfortunate doctor or exhausted intern was about to have a run-in with the CIA.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

If he hadn’t already recognised the tall figure striding down the corridor, he would have known the voice instantly. Erik’s face was stony and his fists were swinging by his side. None of the CIA agents knew who he was, until one of them reached into his jacket for his pistol.

Erik raised his hand and the gun suddenly flew out of its holster and clattered away down the corridor behind Erik. One of the agents swore, and Hickory barked, “Get him out of here!” waving his hand at Charles.

The man pushing the wheelchair increased his speed, heading for the front doors of the hospital. Erik closed his fist and the wheels locked up and twisted into a shape that would never roll again – Charles was almost thrown out of the seat and clutched the baby tight to keep him still.

“If you’re smart, you’re all going to turn around and run as fast as you can,” Erik growled.

All four of the agents who still had guns had now drawn them. They opened fire. Erik held his palm out as he walked and the bullets slowed inches before they reached him, gathering in the air around his head and chest. When the magazines ran out, the bullets fell to the floor with a soft clatter. Erik kept walking. The metal legs of the chairs in the waiting area ripped off their wooden seats and flew towards him, circling him in an accelerating orbit.

The agent who had lost his gun to Erik was suddenly in front of Charles. He was reaching for the baby, and Charles kicked out frantically, yelling at him. His telepathy burst out of him like a meteorite and the man stumbled back clutching his head, his nose gushing blood. The baby began to whimper.

“Sh, sh,” Charles levered himself out of the wheelchair, his wound throbbing, and tried to bolt for the lift. He was pretty sure inside a metal box was the safest place he could be right now.

I'm so sorry for my absolutely hopeless numbering in this fill.

---

He made it three steps before Agent Hickory was on top of him, knocking him over. Charles couldn’t put out his arms to catch himself because of the baby, but Hickory’s hands closed around his throat, cutting his fall short with a jerk. They began to tighten. Charles wheezed in half a breath before his windpipe closed over.

Erik put one of the chair legs through the chest of the nearest agent, and another through the eye socket of a second. They crumpled, the latter gushing blood as his shattered skull split when he hit the ground.

“Stay where you are!” Hickory yelled at Erik, who instead sped up his pace. He was in the foyer now, but Hickory dug his thumbs into Charles’ carotid arteries and black blooms spread across Charles’ vision. He couldn’t hit Hickory with a telepathic blast, he could barely gather his thoughts enough not to drop the baby.

Erik must have seen that he was close to fainting, because he slowed down at last. He hissed, “You let him go or you’re dead.”

“You walk back the way you came or they’re both dead,” Hickory shot back.

The pressure on Charles’ blood circulation had eased just enough for him to stay conscious, but it was still a fight to keep his thoughts together. He could see Erik’s shape standing in the middle of the foyer, his retinue of chair legs bobbing gently around his torso.

Charles couldn’t speak, but he managed a brief, open broadcast of his last thoughts around the room. Erik, forget me, just save the baby—

Hickory shook him viciously, and Erik cried out in rage. In Charles’ arms, the baby began to cry.

He finally began to cry.

A ringing like a tuning fork swelled around them. The baby howled. The guns of the two dead agents began to rattle where they on the ground, and the remaining two suddenly yelped and dropped their weapons. The metal doors of the lift shook and then began to scream as they were torn out of the wall. The metal strips in the window frames began to pop their screws out of the wood one by one. And then, with a particularly loud shriek from the baby, every piece of metal in the room - including Erik’s chair legs – condensed into a solid mass with Hickory at the centre of it. The agent didn’t have time to scream, but made a squelchy gurgling sound as he was perforated like a wad of paper through a shredding machine. Looking like an obscene sculpture in honour of man’s industrial age, his body and the metal stood upright for a moment until Charles pulled away from his limp fingers. Then he toppled over with a clang.

The last two agents gaped, their arms hanging by their sides. “Well?” Erik snapped his fingers beside them. “Run for your lives, you nitwits.”

They ran.

Charles slumped against the nearest wall, soothing the baby. Erik dashed over and grabbed him just before his legs gave way.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, could be better,” Charles squeaked. “You have amazing timing.”

“The hell I do. I’ve been walking around this hospital for five and a half hours, trying to work up the courage to come and talk to you.”

“You…” Charles looked around at the carnage. There was a splash of Hickory’s blood on the chest of his hospital gown that looked like a crudely-painted love heart. “You just killed two CIA suits but you were scared to talk to me,” he finished with a dull laugh. “Also, you used the word ‘nitwits’. That’s new.”

“I can’t swear in front of the baby. And I thought you’d mindwipe me or telepathically lobotomise me for sure. I wanted to come back before now, so bad, but the longer I was away the harder it got. I’m so sorry, Charles.”

“Me too,” Charles looked down at the baby in his arms. “Erik, would you like to meet our son?”

Erik’s face broke into a huge smile. He took the baby in his long arms, looking awkward and lost but very happy. This gave Charles a chance to sit down until his head stopped pounding.

“We should probably get out of here,” Erik said, looking around. “Unless you feel like telling the police how this happened.”

“I very much do not,” Charles agreed. He held out his hand and Erik pulled him to his feet, cradling the baby in the crook of his other arm.

“It’s amazing how he knew not to skewer me with all that metal,” Charles said, gazing down at the baby as they wandered out into the carpark.

“Oh, no, that was me shielding you. I’m pretty sure you would’ve got skewered.”

“Ah,” said Charles. He looked up at his old friend. “Erik, would you mind moving back into the mansion with me again? If that happens every time he cries, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to survive a week of fatherhood.”

“Charles, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

“Seven months and about a week, I believe. I could hear you thinking it as you walked out the door.”

Erik shook his head with a smile and slid his arm around Charles’ waist. Neither of them had any idea what the future held, but hey, things were always easier with someone you loved by your side.

Loved this!

Battle scenes are always win, especially reunion ones. -thumbsup-

And, of course, dry humor is the key to happiness, and yayyy, Erik finally comes back to stop being a douche save the day!

Post-birth, drug-addled angry!Charles is scary indeed. I'm glad Erik finally came back, the baby seems like he'll be taking up a lot of time. <3

I loved the conversations between Charles and Erik!
how these two are arguing is just too lovely to see :D
I definitely need more contentious talks like these!! Brilliant ;)!
(Although I'm not really into mpreg - until now your story was nice to read ^^)

http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lndcl2MtbL1qe37y8o1_400.gif

This is hilarious. Thanks for the crack; seriously, it's excellent.

Captcha says "convidli ngay," which I think is captcha-speak for how convincingly gay.

HAHAHA thank you for reading, and also thank you for the gif! I didn't know how incomplete my life was before my multiple 'Fassbender the Imprenator' .gifs.

You know, your idea about male mutants getting pregnant was about the way mine is going to go >_> I mean, it makes sense.

This is lovely, and yay! Double-Team!

Haha yay!

Yes, I was like... let's say Charles is some sort of hermaphrodite, and it does turn out to be an advantageous mutation (perhaps he gets pregnant from skin contact with a sexually aroused person, since I don't see how he's going to get his hands on any female gametes or how he gets sperm without a vaginal opening), and this mutation helps advance the mutant race... since eventually all mutants will need to breed into his lineage if they're going to be a race of women and hermaphrodites, that makes Charles the new Eve! Father-Mother of mutantkind!

OH DEAD GOD I'VE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS WAY TOO MUCH o_o

*dear God

My thought was more along the lines of: Mutants are just that, mutants. It stands to reason that since they've had changes in their minds that they would have changes in their body. Add in the fact that they're a minority and evolutionary instinct demands that they overcome their lesser cousins, it stands to reason that male pregnancy would be a viable option.

I really like your idea though :D

It's such a biologically interesting idea! I wish we could write academic papers on the subject and have conferences and get PhDs in mpreg XD it would be amazing.

"What are you a Doctor of?"

"Oh, you know, the evolutionary merits of mpeg."

"...What?"

"It's a fandom thing, you wouldn't understand. Suffice to say: I'm way fucking smarter than you and I have a doctorate to prove it."

"...I'm gonna edge away now."

"You do that."

where's the like button on this thing? -grumble grumble-

Will Laugh Forever!