Summary: You decide to hit Erik in the head with a pillow...

Warnings: Mild language.

A/N: I mean...pillow fight with Erik "grumpy pants" Lehnsherr??? YES

884

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sitting on the sofa in the library. Nothing moved. Not a soul stirred. It was silent, saved for the murmur of the ticking grandfather clock and the whisper of the pages Erik turned at the desk across the room. The two of you had escaped from the other mutants and their late night shenanigans for some greatly desired peace and quiet, but thirty minutes of it has made you sick. Like someone gorged on candy, you're ready for something different. A palate cleanser, so to speak. As you pout your lips, observing the room for some means of entertainment, you begin to fiddle with the throw pillow in your lap. It's soft. Less stiff than most throw pillows, and velvety to the touch. Your fingers glide over the fabric, changing the shade as you shift the direction of the threads. The subtle tick, tick, harmonizes with the sharp turn of a page. You glance up at Erik.

Rather, the back of his head.

Finally, it clicks.

You grin impishly and rise to your feet, silent as the grave, and creep towards Erik, throw pillow gripped tightly in both hands.

Erik's neck turns slightly while he reads and you hesitate.

When he makes no move to look over his shoulder at you, you take one final step...raise the pillow high above your head...and –

SMACK!

Erik doesn't flinch.

Your pillow rolls off his shoulders and hangs at your waist.

You wait.

Hardly brave enough to breathe.

Then...little by little Erik turns in his chair. It groans beneath his weight. Erik drapes an arm over the back of the seat and pegs you with that killer stare of his. Intense blue eyes peer right through you. You watch in suspense as his jaw pops in and out of lock. With every movement, a vein in his neck is triggered. A delightful thrill dances along your spine as you wait for him to say something.

The firm line splits and a smirk takes its place.

"You asked for it."

Oh shit.

He raises a hand and a pillow zooms into his grasp.

HOW THE HELL –

Oh right, zipper.

He leaps up from his chair and charges at you, causing you to squeal and trip backwards. You raise your pillow as he brings his down. They meet in a clash of fabrics and stuffing. Erik is far stronger than you – taller too – and your only hope of victory is to evade him. You break the pillow lock and twirl around, attacking his exposed sides twice before he engages you again, smacking ruthlessly. He nails your arms and hands and pillow-shield as the two of you dance around the library, kicking aside stools and chairs and occasionally tearing books off the shelves. Fortunately, your pillow has no metal in it, something Erik discovered when he tried to yank it out of your hands using his powers. When the pillow didn't budge, you burst out laughing.

And received a deserved smack in the head.

"How long can you withstand me?" Erik grunts as he forces you back, hitting and smacking like crazy.

You block his advances and score a hit to his ribs. "As long as I want!"

He raises a brow, "Oh really?"

Suddenly, you trip.

Mid scream, you fall onto the couch.

Your pillow slips from your hands.

Grinning wickedly, Erik pounces.

He assaults you with his pillow, laughing maniacally as you laugh and squirm like you're being tickled, crying 'stop, stop!' to no avail.

Just when you think you'll die of laughter, Erik does as you plead.

"I win."

Alright.

"Let me read in peace."

Sure.

He backs away, judging your body language until he's certain you won't surprise attack him. You wait patiently for him to pivot, turning his back towards you. It's then that you seize your pillow and rush at him –

But he whirls back around and catches you.

Your pillow gets squished between your faces, smothering your laughter.

Erik holds your wrists in his hands. Laughing, he guides the pillow away and tosses it onto the floor. Charles will be very disappointed when he sees the mess the two of you have made. Pillows on the floor?! You can almost hear him throwing a fit. In the midst of your laughter, you nearly miss how close you and Erik stand. One look at his face and you stop laughing. Your heart continues to race; your chest goes on heaving. You're acutely aware of the way the rise of your breath forces your chest to touch Erik's. His hands are hot on your skin. His grip is like iron. Fitting, for a man of metal. You study his face. The twitch of his lip as he teeters on the verge of a smile. With the pillow gone, there's hardly an appropriate gap between your faces.

All it takes is the dip of a head and your lips are sealed together in a slow kiss.

Rough and tender, all at once.

Erik leads your hands to rest around his neck and then runs his own along your arms to your back where he kneads your shirt, awakening the skin beneath.

"I won," You murmur against his lips, coaxing a smile out of Erik.

"Bullshit," he growls, "We tied."