Who do I need to bribe to write fanfic for this? *puppy eyes*
Oh God, all i see is a sort of Cherik/McFassy crossover where Erik has Shoulder Beings, a little mini!Charles with wings to be his subconscious on one shoulder, and a mini!James with devil horns and tail on his other shoulder telling him to do all the bad things he wants.
“You should go over there,” a voice whispers in his ear, “talk to him.”
Michael’s gaze snaps over to where James is pilfering the on set coffee machine, his fingers twisted behind him as he waits for his cup to fill and for once - completely absent of a conversation partner.
Michael glances down at his right shoulder, momentarily startled by the soft smile his good conscious is throwing at him, his small face beaming up at MIchael as brightly as the halo that fits snugly around his mop of dark curls.
“You think so?”
Charles nods encouragingly at him, uses one of his wings to nudge just beneath Michael’s jaw to urge him forward.
Emboldened, Michael makes to get up from his cast assigned chair when he spots January sidling up to James, stealing his newly made coffee and forcing him to make another for himself as they begin to chat animately.
Irritated, Michael slumps back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly at the missed opportunity to interact with James some more, only mildly comforted by Charles’ soothing pats to his cheek.
“There, there old chap; we’ll get him next time.”
Michael nods imperceptibly, waving off a crew member with a polite grin when they ask if they can get him anything.
He’s still watching James, lips set in a pout as the other man throws his head back with a delighted laugh, face flushed with the effort.
Michael groans pitifully, slouching deeper into his chair.
Three weeks. It’s only been three weeks into rehearsals and he was already so fucking smitten, practically panting for James’ attention in every which way he could grab it. To say the least - it was more than a little embarrassing. And obvious, apparently, given the amused looks Kevin has become accustomed to flinging his way.
“Screw next time. Go over there now and show that blonde broad who James fucking belongs to.”
Michael grimaces at the sudden extra weight on his left shoulder, Wesley’s presence always bringing with it a sear of heat that was just shy of scalding.
Wesley grinned devilishly up at Michael, wearing nothing but a pair of low slung jeans as per de course; a high contrast to Charles modest white robe. Michael quirks an eyebrow when his bad conscious (aka the mind that rules his cock) raises his hands, gripping the air in front of him as his hips rolled forward obscenely; mimicking the motion of thrusting into a willing body.
“Just go over there and push him down - bend him over” Wes says conspiratorially, giving an appreciative whistle. “He’ll fucking love it!”
Michael feels vaguely violated as Wes gave him a smarmy wink, his demon’s tail, red as blood, sliding along Michael’s jaw in a smooth glide - right up to the point Charles’ halo smacks the little devil directly in the horn.
Wesley practically howls as he brings his hands up to cradle the afflicted horn; one of two small, red peaks protruding from under his hair. He glares venomously over at a red faced Charles, eyes spelling murder as his lips articulate them.
Charles merely gives a hoity huff in response, returns his counterpart’s glare with equal ferocity, leaning forward from his perch on Michael’s shoulder so as to do a better job of it, a small hand twisting into Michael’s stubble to keep him steady and balanced.
“Da fuck, twinkletoes?” Wesley grouses, copying Charles’ movement “Just because you never get laid doesn’t mean Fassy can’t.”
“Sod off, Michael isn’t some common heathen who goes dry humping unsuspecting men - he’s a gentleman.” Charles turns his face up so he’s making eye contact with Michael; idly ignoring Wesley’s snide ‘fucking suck up’ as his blue gaze turned from menacing to wide and adoring in the space of a second. “Isn’t that right, Michael?”
James chooses the inopportune moment from across the set to bend over and pick up something from the ground, and Michael is forced to remain tactfully silent on the matter, looking anywhere (anywhere being James’ ass) but at his angel’s imploring look.
His cheeks betray him though, the high flush evidence enough of his answer.
He watches on woefully as Charles’ bright gaze dims with disappointment, his perfect wings drooping to an all new low. He really does hate falling below Charles’ expectations.
Wesley, naturally, is delighted, cackling fiendishly as he gives Michael’s neck a congratulatory ‘thwack’ with the flat of his tail, the scaly appendage hot to the touch.
“Atta’ boy!” Wesley cries, ” I mean just look at those lips, look how red they are! They’re practically gagging for some hot coc-“
“Wesley!” Charles admonishes, lips pursed in anger as his cherubic cheeks puff out adorably; Michael wincing as the small fingers grasping his stubble tightens.
“How dare you objectify that poor man. We” Charles stresses, “were crafted in his image, what ever crude thoughts you have are reflected upon both me and your own person.”
Wesley opens his mouth as if to reply with something scathing but hesitates before speaking. His eyes narrow on Charles, a finger tapping his chin contemplatively.
Something decidedly evil lights his eyes after a moment, and the next thing Michael knows his personal demon is dragging his eyes up and down the angel’s form in the filthiest manner possible while wetting his smirking lips; appearing to relish in Charles’ indignant squawk at being so obviously eye-fucked, the latter uncomfortably clutching his white robe more securely around him, expression scandalized.
“And like I said,” Wesley waggled his eyebrows lewdly, “Gagging for it.”
Michael can’t fucking believe this is now apparently his life.