I kicked Challenge in a Can (http://www.dymphna.net/challenge/) until it
gave me Charles Xavier, tragic, boots. The tragedy here is a little muted .
but hey, the story does as the story will.
Disclaimer: Property of Marvel Comics, not yours truly. Feedback to
[email protected] or on the list, whatever you prefer.
New Shoes
By Andraste
Charles Francis Xavier had been brought up as a gentleman, and although that
was an antiquated notion in the latter part of the 20th century, there were
certain things that had stuck. He placed a high value on table manners. He
always ironed his shirts. Until recently, he'd opened doors for people
without being asked. His mother had also taught him to clean his shoes
before he wore them, so they'd stay unscuffed for longer. It was sensible
advice.
Charles had bought his new boots months ago, but with one thing and another
he hadn't gotten around to cleaning them and breaking them in. He'd worn
the old ones on his last trip because he didn't want these ruined in the
snow - a wise decision, in spite of the way the other pair had leaked. He
would have had no boots at all now if the new ones hadn't been preserved in
his luggage.
The polish Charles managed to find in the cupboard wasn't *quite* the right
shade of brown. A bit too dark. He frowned at it, annoyed by the
imperfection. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. The cloth was just
right - worn to softness and marked with enough stains that he didn't feel
guilty about making a mess with it.
In part, this was a good excuse to sit on the balcony in the sun - he wouldn
't risk polish on the carpet that way, although he still had to watch to
make sure that he didn't get any on his pants. The ritual was soothing in
the late afternoon warmth. This was a welcome and ordinary thing to be
doing.
By the time his companion was ready, he could almost see his face reflected
in his shoes. Well enough to shave, he thought with a smile. He wondered
if he wanted to shave yet - it would be another sign of returning normality.
Then again, Amelia liked the beard .
The question was left unresolved when his lover came to rest against the
door frame. He turned his head to look at her, and couldn't help smiling.
Amelia looked gorgeous wearing a dress and all polished up, although she
couldn't often be persuaded to bother. "You OK?" she asked.
He tried not to resent the question. "I'm fine. I have clean shoes." He
brandished them like a trophy, and she grinned.
"Hiking boots?"
"Well, it's not as if I'm going to get any other use out of them." He
managed to keep his tone light. Charles knew it would be strange to turn up
in a shirt and tie and hiking boots, but he had a feeling that people would
try hard not to look at his feet from now on. Besides, he liked them. He
hadn't spent all that time finding a good pair so they could sit in a box
forever.
"They're lovely. Need a hand putting them on?" Casual, just like the
suggestion that they should go out for dinner in the first place.
He thought about it for a shade too long. "Yes, I think I probably do."
Charles was glad to find that admissions like that hurt less and less as
time went by. It was a small consolation.
She dropped to her knees, pausing to kiss him on the way down. Amelia had a
way of turning every bit of nursing she did for him into foreplay. It was
something he appreciated about her enormously, although he had to wonder if
he was wearing some of her lipstick now. He wasn't sure he trusted her to
tell him.
Charles did his best not to wince as she lifted first one leg and then the
other and put his boots on - he'd told her that he preferred a little
discomfort to being handled with kid gloves, and he'd meant it. At the same
time he took a moment to pat his pocket and check that his painkillers were
present and correct.
Later, as they left for dinner, Charles took a deep breath and hoped that
no-one would notice that someone else had tied his shoes.
The End
gave me Charles Xavier, tragic, boots. The tragedy here is a little muted .
but hey, the story does as the story will.
Disclaimer: Property of Marvel Comics, not yours truly. Feedback to
[email protected] or on the list, whatever you prefer.
New Shoes
By Andraste
Charles Francis Xavier had been brought up as a gentleman, and although that
was an antiquated notion in the latter part of the 20th century, there were
certain things that had stuck. He placed a high value on table manners. He
always ironed his shirts. Until recently, he'd opened doors for people
without being asked. His mother had also taught him to clean his shoes
before he wore them, so they'd stay unscuffed for longer. It was sensible
advice.
Charles had bought his new boots months ago, but with one thing and another
he hadn't gotten around to cleaning them and breaking them in. He'd worn
the old ones on his last trip because he didn't want these ruined in the
snow - a wise decision, in spite of the way the other pair had leaked. He
would have had no boots at all now if the new ones hadn't been preserved in
his luggage.
The polish Charles managed to find in the cupboard wasn't *quite* the right
shade of brown. A bit too dark. He frowned at it, annoyed by the
imperfection. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. The cloth was just
right - worn to softness and marked with enough stains that he didn't feel
guilty about making a mess with it.
In part, this was a good excuse to sit on the balcony in the sun - he wouldn
't risk polish on the carpet that way, although he still had to watch to
make sure that he didn't get any on his pants. The ritual was soothing in
the late afternoon warmth. This was a welcome and ordinary thing to be
doing.
By the time his companion was ready, he could almost see his face reflected
in his shoes. Well enough to shave, he thought with a smile. He wondered
if he wanted to shave yet - it would be another sign of returning normality.
Then again, Amelia liked the beard .
The question was left unresolved when his lover came to rest against the
door frame. He turned his head to look at her, and couldn't help smiling.
Amelia looked gorgeous wearing a dress and all polished up, although she
couldn't often be persuaded to bother. "You OK?" she asked.
He tried not to resent the question. "I'm fine. I have clean shoes." He
brandished them like a trophy, and she grinned.
"Hiking boots?"
"Well, it's not as if I'm going to get any other use out of them." He
managed to keep his tone light. Charles knew it would be strange to turn up
in a shirt and tie and hiking boots, but he had a feeling that people would
try hard not to look at his feet from now on. Besides, he liked them. He
hadn't spent all that time finding a good pair so they could sit in a box
forever.
"They're lovely. Need a hand putting them on?" Casual, just like the
suggestion that they should go out for dinner in the first place.
He thought about it for a shade too long. "Yes, I think I probably do."
Charles was glad to find that admissions like that hurt less and less as
time went by. It was a small consolation.
She dropped to her knees, pausing to kiss him on the way down. Amelia had a
way of turning every bit of nursing she did for him into foreplay. It was
something he appreciated about her enormously, although he had to wonder if
he was wearing some of her lipstick now. He wasn't sure he trusted her to
tell him.
Charles did his best not to wince as she lifted first one leg and then the
other and put his boots on - he'd told her that he preferred a little
discomfort to being handled with kid gloves, and he'd meant it. At the same
time he took a moment to pat his pocket and check that his painkillers were
present and correct.
Later, as they left for dinner, Charles took a deep breath and hoped that
no-one would notice that someone else had tied his shoes.
The End