Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/252590.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men:_First_Class_(2011)_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Erik_Lehnsherr/Sebastian_Shaw
  Character:
      Erik_Lehnsherr, Sebastian_Shaw
  Additional Tags:
      Except_we_call_him_Schmidt_here, Sort_of_AU, Actually_definitely_AU,
      Librarian_AU
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-09-12 Words: 3105
****** Day Shift ******
by GabrielVincent
Summary
     Klaus Schmidt is a librarian because he likes the quiet. One day Erik
     Lehnsherr appears, and it's really not very quiet at all.
     Note: Erik is 14, Klaus is 35. They have sex. Just to warn you.
Notes
     Okay so this has been about eight weeks in the making, as in the idea
     of Lolita!Erik blossomed between myself and my friend before the
     summer, we discussed what might happen were they in a library, I went
     away for a month sans computer and wrote it in my notebook, I
     returned and wrote this in sections, sending it to friend for
     approval which took a while, and then there was this. So. This was
     fun. This was exciting. I hope you enjoy it. It would not exist
     without Chloe.
Klaus Schmidt sits behind a sprawling mahogany desk in an ancient, labyrinthine
library. He has been alone all day so far- expected, for a week day. He wonders
why they bother opening when no one's ever around, he wonders why he likes to
take this shift- then he remembers, it's because he savours this peace amongst
worlds and worlds of people safely kept in yellowed pages bound in beaten
leather and painstakingly stacked, to be marvelled at or forgotten.
Little sunlight permeates the years of dust that have all but blacked out the
windows, but where it escapes it forms tiny golden spotlights, illuminating
particles of crumbling paper and dead skin. The light dances on the wooden
floor and Klaus considers how majestic it could look if someone cleaned it- and
yet, how cleaning it might somehow erase a part of its soul or history. He
laughs at himself, his tendency to personify and form attachment comes too
easily for a man of his age- and age he has to keep reminding himself of since
he forgets so easily these days. It's actually a decade since he was twenty
five, a decade since youth, since prospects and since relocating to this
western outskirt and finding the quietest profession he could. This is because
it's a decade since his sister caught him with a man's legs wrapped around his
and his life was, for all intents and purposes as far as his father was
concerned, emphatically over. These are thoughts he doesn't like to dwell on so
much (it is after all, a decade since a man's legs were wrapped around his too)
so he is relieved to be woken from this depressing reverie by a clatter of
footsteps coming from around the corner.
He prefers to affect invisibility here, understands the pleasures of perusing a
book without feeling someone's eyes on your back, but the newcomer coughs
discreetly and Klaus looks up.
He sees lightly scuffed but mostly shiny shoes with careful bows. Neat white
socks pulled to different heights, Pale legs with bruises on one knee, the
uniform dark green of shorts that only begin at the very top of his thigh
because they're rolled up- and a white shirt tucked in, sleeves about the elbow
and enough buttons undone to reveal a scandalous glimpse of porcelain chest.
When he meets the boy's eyes, he finds himself slightly slower to offer his
usual friendly smile.
"Herr Schmidt, I wondered if you'd help me with a school project I'm doing," he
says, and Klaus doesn't register him speaking until his gaze falls to his mouth
and his ears adjust to the sound of his voice. He doesn't respond quick enough
and the boy quirks an eyebrow and sort of smiles as he says, "I wondered if you
could open that door for me over there," gesturing to the restricted area.
"Shouldn't you...shouldn't you be in school now?"
"I have the day off," he shrugs, and Klaus thinks, so you wear your uniform and
come to the library?but doesn't say it because he's already standing up with
keys in his hand and he doesn't know why.
"Are you sixteen?"
"Yes," he says, No,Klaus thinks and opens the door, wondering if he just
imagined the boy inclining his head just a little so his eyes look wider and
his bottom lip sticks out imperceptibly.
Once inside, Klaus stays in the room because it would be unprofessional not to
do so. The fact that the room is open is unprofessional.The place is darker
than the rest of the library, perhaps on account of it having no windows, or
maybe because of the darker colours of the spines of most of the books here.
It's totally dishevelled, neglected so long that no one would even consider
beginning to sort it because it's so infrequently used. There's a chair in the
corner of the room, it faces an ancient table as if some kind of inquisition
was once held here. Klaus takes a sear and thinks about how one day he might at
least dust these shelves, and that someone ought to try and alphabetise someof
these books, and the way the fabric of the boy's shorts stretches over his
backside as he bends to look at a lower shelf. Klaus blushes and looks away.
The boy turns his head and smiles- he caught him staring.
After a while, he seems to decide on something. He walks slowly towards Klaus,
his gaze held on a specific page in the book he's holding. "Here, let me show
you something," he says, and climbs onto Klaus' lap before he gets the chance
to speak. Klaus nearly chokes as he wriggles backwards, beginning to see how an
awkward situation might arise- and then he looks at the open page and has to
look away and breathe deeply and keep his hands at his sides and his legs
pressed together. The page is an illustration: a man sits atop a low desk,
dressed in a sailor's cap and shirt but his trousers are pushed down to his
ankles, between which another man sits, his head turned to the side so that the
focus of the image is where his crudely caricatured tongue meets the sailor's
cock. It's drawn like one of those dirty magazines, everything huge and
grotesque and out of proportion, vulgar cartoons where the pleasure is half
shocked disgust. It's not for the wide eyes of the boy on his lap, but he's not
looking at it anyway- he's looking at Klaus, his mouth slightly open and a look
of determination and power Klaus wishes he could affect himself. He tries to
speak but his voice is broken and breathy when he mumbles awkwardly, "you
shouldn't...this...not appropriate..." and the failed sentence is lost between
the boy's teeth.
Klaus isn't sure he can justify the length of time it takes for him to pull
away. The boy smiles, his hand still resting on Klaus' cheek despite the
fingers wrapped firmly around his wrist. "Don't you want me, Herr Schmidt?" he
says, and it's not really a question because he asks it whilst palming the
erection Klaus found impossible to avoid, doesn't wait for an answer, just puts
his mouth back where it was and Klaus is just thinking that ejaculating in his
underwear isn't something he's ever done when he does, and feels the boys
smiling lips against his as he jerks forward, his frame collapsing and his
unwilling hands clasping the boy to his chest in the most despicable way which
feels lovely. "Tell me your name," he gasps, not sure if he really wants to
know.
"Erik Lehnsherr," replies the boy, almost shyly. "You're not going to...tell
anyone, are you?"
Klaus laughs at this first display of naivety, the way the boy seems oblivious
to the fact that he could have been put away for the second he shut that door,
that he could have been hangedfor the last five minutes- it's almost charming.
"Erik Lehnsherr..." he says to himself, enjoying the way it falls off his
tongue, inadvertantly loving every syllable while he takes in as much of the
boy as he can with his eyes. This is Erik Lehnsherr, who came to the library
with who knows what intentions. Erik, with the endless legs that tangle about
Klaus' body, with the shoes scuffed by the childish drag of his toes, with the
stare that dictates that you sin, the mouth that invites you to bite, the hair
that could look so lovely were it pulled out of its careful comb- Erik, whose
whole self asks to be ruined and debauched and loved and claimed. Whose shirt
has slipped from his shoulder, giving a hint of what it might look like were
Klaus the one to claim him.
Erik's fingers are wet. He brings them to his mouth and sucks on them, one by
one, eyes on Klaus to make sure he's watching. As if he'd be doing anything
else.He watches Klaus' eyes grow wider, hears his breath fall heavier, feels
his cock stir and enjoys dragging it out until he feels like it's time enough
to undo the buttons of his shirt. Klaus reaches up and pushes the crisp fabric
from his shoulders, exposing the milky flesh stretched across growing bones,
unmarked and unseen and unexplored. Klaus wants to taste every inch of it, so
he begins at his neck, not so much kissing as sucking and tasting and relishing
the impossibly smooth texture and the tiny beads of sweat at the base of his
throat. He can feel Erik clumsily undoing his belt, he'd move but he doesn't
want to stop tasting, but Erik slides neatly off his lap and tugs at his
trousers until Klaus takes them off, feeling exposed as Erik walks away from
him. He panics momentarily that the boy's about to literally take off and leave
him with his pants around his ankles but Erik has something else in mind. He
leans back against the heavy desk, pulls his shirt all the way off and undoes
the button on his shorts. Then he just waits, his head cocked to the side, his
chest bare and his shorts balancing on his hips and that look is expectant.
Klaus doesn't feel up to walking so when he gets off the chair he crawls,
perversely loving the feeling of the floor beneath his knees, enjoying the
sensation of appearing at Erik's mercy- perhaps it's a step towards making them
equals, although however much Klaus wishes it were it's inescapably not the
case. Klaus places his hands over Erik's ankles, reverently slides off his
shoes and socks, kisses his feet and slides hands up his slim calves. He longs
for the time and space to worship this perfect, unmarred body, this delicate
angelic being who gives himself so happily. He glides his fingers softly
upwards, reaches the shorts and pulls them down carefully, replacing them with
his mouth in a way so seamless he hopes Erik won't feel that brief
embarrassment at being exposed so suddenly- it's not like he would, of course,
Erik arches his neck back in response, moans quietly when Klaus breathes over
his cock through his underwear. He slides fingers delicately into the
waistband, coaxes them down and off Erik's feet and can't help but take a
second to admire him, naked, perfect and beautiful- and waiting for Klaus.
Klaus wraps his hands around Erik’s hips, they span too much space. He licks at
the base of his cock and Erik sighs and his hands hover awkwardly around Klaus’
head like he’s afraid to touch. When Klaus swallows him down, however, he
grasps frantically, unintentionally and it feels good to be the one making it
happen. He tries to pull back, just kisses and licks because he can hear Erik
being undone by it, can feel him tugging helplessly on his hair like a lifeline
and he’d be moving his hips if Klaus wasn’t holding him still. He sucks hard
suddenly, just to see what happens but Erik makes this noise and pushes Klaus’
head back and he pulls off in a panic, looks up to see Erik smile as he comes
over Klaus’ open mouth. He closes his eyes and licks his lips and tries not to
think about how he got here. Erik licks him too, his cheekbone and the side of
his nose and then underneath his ear which feels beautiful so he’s letting
himself be cleaned, just kneeling there, submissive and he feels like he’s
praying at the altar of Erik Lehnsherr. When he opens his eyes he sees Erik
still leaning against the desk and half hard again already and he looks
impeccable and spotless and smiling and Klaus is overcome with an urge to ruin
him completely. A person this dangerous shouldn't look so angelic. He stands,
lifts Erik by the waist and sits him on the desk, sweeping books out the way
before he lays him out gently and props up his legs. Klaus is so hard he can’t
think straight and he pushes his face back up to Erik’s crotch, licks
everywhere until he reaches his hole which flinches and that won’t do so he
shoves his tongue in as hard as he can and Erik cries out in surprise. He’s
making him as wet as possible, working in and out before he adds his forefinger
which pushes and stretches and bends and makes Erik gasp even more and his cock
get fully hard again. Klaus adds another finger, feeling reckless and stupid
and dizzy and trying to block out all other thoughts because if he stopped for
a moment he might actually consider the situation in hand which could be
deadly. He can’t stop. He removes his tongue and sucks Erik’s dick and there is
nothing about this that isn’t horrendously obscene, the tightness around his
hand and the way he presses in with his face and Klaus has never seen anything
so pornographic let alone be a part of it and he feels like he has to keep
touching to make sure it’s all real.
Erik is as ready as he'll ever be. If anything, if Klaus drags this out any
longer he'll lose his nerve and everything will come crashing down on him and
that would be awful. If anything, Klaus can't take the sight of him anymore. He
stands, pushes Erik back across the table and eases in, watches himself
disappear into Erik and has to stop to force himself not to come from the sight
of it. He leans forward and pushes in too far and too fast and Erik cries out
but he can't help it, he's lost perspective from the strangeness of the
situation, forces himself to believe he's imagining it so no one can get hurt,
tells himself he wouldn't do this really, it's not him, it's not something that
would happen, and he looks up and sees Erik bite down on his bottom lip and it
forces him to move. Erik keeps making noises and it's stupidly erotic and he's
going to start making noises too but he doesn't want to so he locks his mouth
onto the gap between Erik's neck and shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut. Erik
is hot and tight around him and it feels like he's receiving sensations from
nerve endings he doesn't think he has and he wonders if this manner in which
they're so well fused together could cause him to feel what Erik's feeling as
well but that's got to just be his imagination but it doesn't make it any less
overwhelming. He's abandoned, drowning just outside his safety vessel and
panicking, crashing into Erik again and again, trying to make it enough to stop
his skin crawling like this and it's like there's an itch he's not quite
getting, like every part of him that isn't in contact with Erik is burning and
he can't touch him enough. He wants Erik wrapped around him, he wants Erik full
of him and inside him simultaneously, he wants to be in Erik's head as well as
his own and he shifts further onto the desk, shoving Erik's legs into position
recklessly, one over his shoulder and one at his waist, and he fucks him,
merciless and unstoppable, furious and ecstatic and totally, entirely out of
control. Erik is gasping and he looks delectable. Klaus doesn't want to
translate what he feels as he drives into him too clearly for fear he'll
realise something he doesn't want to, something like he enjoys this power or
this advantage or this situation and he never wants this to happen again but
really he wants it to happen every single day because he doesn't think he'll
ever really get enough of this...whatever it is. Whatever perverse thing holds
him here. He's too close, he's watching Erik's breath and it's going to be
over, he takes hold of Erik's dick and pulls too fast, irregular and awkward
but Erik doesn't need much until his back arches up into Klaus and he comes
over his stomach. Klaus watches it happen, watches it cover him, ruin him,
feels it on his skin the next time he drives in, breathes them both in, hears
Erik's gasp and it's a sensational overdose that forces itself out of him, he
comes whilst pulling out and it's all over Erik, all over the desk and that
awful pornography he had earlier is nothing in comparison to this debauched
image.
Klaus sits on the bench outside the library smoking a cigarette. His shift
finished twenty minutes ago and now he's watching a tiny figure disappear from
view. He doesn't want to think about it. Not now, not in fading daylight when
grandmothers walk past him with a smile, parents with their children bid him
good evening, trusting and innocent and heavy hands over his conscience. His
jacket hangs over his shoulder, he used it to hastily wipe away all evidence
but he knows that desk and that room would still stink of the incident were it
demolished and rebuilt. A woman waves. Klaus smiles amicably. She could be his
mother. A group of boys walk past wearing the familiar dark green uniform. In
some ways they look older than Erik- they're tall, their faces thinner, their
shoulders broader and their limbs more muscular. In others, they're younger- no
second glance to the old man on the bench, headed for the sweet shop after
school, talking loudly about girls in their class and it makes Klaus wonder who
exactly it was he met in the library. There are things he can sort out in his
mind- comfortably, that's he's never going to see the boy again (perhaps he
should change his shift, perhaps he should change his name, perhaps he should
move away and never come back-), uncomfortably, that he's never going to forget
what he looked like. What he looked like dressed. What he looked like on his
knees. What he looked like spread out on a desk. What he looked like fucked out
and breathless, eyes fluttering and tongue flicking out over his lips like he
was tasting who he'd just become. He's definitely never going to forget that-
but perhaps, one day, perhaps tonight, perhaps the image will warm him, excite
him, thrill him when he pretends it's just a fantasy, just his own hand that
for one day felt mysteriously like the mouth of a beautiful, fictional boy.
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