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Chocolates and Corgi


Yet another corgi inspired fic! ohteepeeh I totally blame you for this ;)

Summary: Erik is helping out his mother in her sweets-shop. Usually working as a lawyer has him prepared for dealing with even the most annoying and unruly customers. What it doesn’t prepare him for is the charm and unabashed flirting of one Charles Xavier and the craving for dog-chocolate-treats of his corgi.

Posted as well on Ao3  here.

The bell above the shop door chimed. It was still early in the morning, Erik hadn’t expected any customers this soon, (people seemed to tend to buy sweets in the afternoon, for some odd reason) so he had snuck to the back-room behind the counter to drink some coffee and flip through the newspaper in peace. With a little sigh he put the coffee-cup down, smoothed down the purple apron he was wearing and stepped out into the shop.

“Sorry, I was just at the back, how can I help you.” This was what he had intended to say, but he didn’t get past the first syllables. There was a dog at the counter. To be more precise, there was a pair of oversized ears on a small head, brown gaping eyes and a large black leathery nose. The whole ensemble seemed to have emerged like a submarine on a recon mission right at the edge of the counter.

Erik frowned annoyed. The sign beside the door was big enough and it said rather clearly that no dogs were allowed inside. There was even a nicely crafted metal handle to tie any dogs to, made by Erik himself. He followed the loose leash that lead from the dog to a guy wearing jeans and a tight fitting blue shirt. He had his back turned to Erik, paying no attention to what his dog was getting up to.

It irritated Erik enough to ignore the way the man’s arse filled out the jeans rather nicely, and looked perfect for grabbing.

“Excuse me,” Erik started to say, voice stern, and then something went wrong. For he meant to lecture the man on not heeding the sign outside, that he couldn’t bring his mutt into the shop, the reason being rather obvious, because people like him had no control over their dogs and let them sniff and slobber all over the chocolates and sweets.

Erik had years of practice standing in courtrooms and making witnesses, accused and sometimes even the jury feel small and guilty without having to raise his voice. (Though he was known to do that too.) But all that experience was worthless as the man turned towards him. His wavy brown hair was long and thick enough to comb ones hands through, freckles littered his face and nose, that was neither to be called classic nor beautiful but nevertheless simply fit him and made Erik want to place a kiss on it. The morning sun fell through the large display-windows filled with sweets of all shapes and sizes and hit the man’s eyes just right, making the blue light up enthralling Erik’s gaze and mind.

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