X-Men First Class fic: Downtown part 1 of 2 (Charles/Erik, 7,500 words)
So, this was written as a break from the WIP that wouldn't die. The idea was to write something SHORT, ie under 10,000 words, and I feel pretty successful for only going 30% over. TBH, I feel pretty successful for finishing it at all :D.
Written for this prompt over at xmen_firstkink.
Title: Downtown (everything's waiting for you)
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: R
Word count: 7,500 this part (13,000 total)
Warnings: Prostitution! Polo! Punching people! FLUFF!
Summary: Charles is a rich CEO, Erik is a hooker with a heart of gold... yeah, you know where this is going.
Downtown (everything’s waiting for you)
Tight jeans and eyeliner, bright lights and dirty streets. Downtown LA, with its rumbling traffic and crowded sidewalks. It’s a place you go to forget your cares. A place where everybody’s got a dream.
His dream was decent money, a client that didn’t leave marks and a roommate that he didn’t want to punch in the face. None of it was likely to come true any time soon.
Still, it was better than no dream at all.
Chapter 1
Charles pulled the confusing car over to the kerb and sighed. He was perhaps a little drunk. Not seriously drunk, not running round the pub, stripping off his clothes and dancing on the pool table drunk, but drunk enough that he probably shouldn’t be driving. If he died in a fiery wreck Kurt and Cain would only have themselves to congratulate.
He was definitely too drunk to remember the way to his hotel, not that he particularly wanted to go there. He wasn’t quite sure what this place was, but maybe he could get another drink, meet some nice people and end up dead in an alley somewhere.
Maybe not.
Besides, the people around here didn’t look nice. To be honest, he kind of suspected that they were prostitutes.
A tap on the window made him start in surprise. He looked up and felt his mouth drop open. This particular specimen, standing by the car with his hips tilted provocatively, was a renaissance sculpture in ripped jeans.
‘Hey,’ the man purred, ‘you looking for a date?’
‘No,’ said Charles firmly, trying to keep his thoughts on his predicament. ‘I’m looking for my hotel. It’s called the Regent. Can you help me?’ He hadn’t met a whole lot of prostitutes before, but perhaps they knew about these things.
Apparently they did. They also charged unreasonable prices for directions.
After being kicked out of the driver’s seat for incompetence Charles found himself being chauffeur-driven along Hollywood Boulevard at about 90 miles per hour. The fiery wreck situation was becoming more and more probable.
‘So what’s your name?’ he said. Anything seemed better than looking at the road.
The man’s muscular shoulders flexed in a graceful shrug that stretched his tight t-shirt. ‘Max. Hans. Erik. Jakob. You choose.’
Fair enough, thought Charles, a little embarrassed. It was really none of his business. Still, it didn’t do to show uncertainty. ‘It might as well be Erik, then,’ he said. ‘That’s a nice name. I’m Charles.’
The man currently known as Erik glanced sideways. ‘It suits you.’
For some reason Charles found the observation vaguely insulting, though he was too busy grabbing for the closest bit of car to do much about it. He hung on tight for the rest of the ride, making social chit-chat. It was a novel experience.
Erik was originally from Germany, didn’t follow current affairs, hadn’t read any good books lately and really couldn’t give a fuck what the weather was like. He also had light blue eyes and a sarcastic drawl that would have had any starched society matron dragging him bodily into the cloakroom.
When they pulled up outside the hotel, Charles suppressed the gasp of relief at not having died and fished for his wallet. The crisp twenty dollar bill looked rather pathetic. ‘Here. Thank you very much, my friend.’
Erik made no move to take the money. ‘Stop kidding yourself, Charles.’ He flashed a brief, mocking smile. ‘I’m not going anywhere except into that hotel with you.’
Charles blinked. He swallowed. He opened his mouth to say no, he was a Xavier, and Xaviers just didn’t do this kind of thing.
No sound came out.
Thirty seconds later he was walking into LA’s poshest hotel accompanied by a partially clothed sex-god with tattooed forearms and eye makeup, who prowled in as though he owned the place and glared at the other guests until they looked away.
Well, sometimes in life you just had to keep a stiff upper lip and make the best of things. It would be fine.
***
Though Erik would never to admit this, even to Azazel, he was far from comfortable with the situation. He’d charmed his way into the hotel room, but now things weren’t going according to plan. He took another cautious look at the silver tray. British politeness was all very well, but this was taking it a step too far. ‘Strawberries and champagne?’
It had to be an act, he decided. There was no way somebody could naturally have such a sweet smile and yet turn out to be so oddly unsettling.
His well-heeled client reached into the bowl and passed over a fruit. ‘Well, why not?’ he said, with yet another friendly smile. ‘I like them, don’t you? Eat it, it’s full of vitamins.’
Erik raised it to his lips, going for sultry and wondering if he was a little out of his depth. ‘Right,’ he said, when he had swallowed it, and the man had made no move to come closer, ‘what would you like to do first?’
‘Well, there are some great films on demand.’
Really not according to plan.
So they watched TV. Not even porn, just TV. Erik got more disconcerted with every passing minute.
‘Why am I here?’ he demanded eventually. He was stuck in a room with a small, uptight, upper class pretty-boy, and it was turning out to be surprisingly frustrating.
‘You know, I really couldn’t tell you.’ Charles looked away from the TV screen and shrugged ruefully. ‘I’m surprised myself.’
‘Well, can we please get on with it?’
It was unbelievable. The man actually pouted. ‘Not quite yet, OK? We’ll get to it soon, I promise.’
‘I’m on the clock.’ Not that he minded the venue and the company, but more clients meant more rent money.
‘Is that the problem?’ Charles tilted his tousled head. ‘Oh, I see, I’m so sorry. Listen, I don’t want to put you out, so why don’t I just pay you for the entire night? How much do you charge?’
Erik glared. Uncertainty didn’t come naturally to him, and he didn’t like it. There was no need to say yes, of course, it was up to him to decide who, and when, and how much, but he really needed the cash. ‘You couldn’t afford it,’ he said, knowing perfectly well that it wasn’t true. ‘Five hundred.’
‘Cheap at the price,’ said Charles cheerfully. ‘Now hush, we’re just getting to the good part.’
Erik shrugged and decided to be philosophical about it all. Money was money, even if you earned it by watching old movies and eating strawberries.
***
Charles couldn’t quite believe that his inherent politeness had led him to being blown by a prostitute. It wasn’t sensible. But the poor man had kept giving him uncomfortable little glances, and he felt he was making some kind of social faux pas, implying that Erik wasn’t good enough. He had finally cracked.
Still, it wasn’t nearly as sleazy as he’d feared. After getting through a Hitchcock thriller, a whole heap of strawberries, two chess games and a bottle and a half of champagne he’d decided that Erik was much nicer than most of the people in his social circle. Besides, he obviously knew what he was doing, which was more than could be said for the last few incredibly dull men with whom he’d exchanged stilted dinner conversation and unsatisfying blowjobs.
This blowjob certainly fell into the satisfying category. In fact, it lifted the lid off the satisfying category and exploded up into the stratosphere. It was fierce and drawn out and so… bloody… good… Jesus… Christ…
Erik raised his head and licked his wet, reddened lips. It was an image that should have been painted in glowing, subtle colours by an old master.
He really was astonishingly lovely.
It seemed like some sort of response was in order, though the devastating orgasm had made it a little difficult to think straight. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That was very nice. Thank you very much. Would you like me to, um, return the favour?’
Erik raised a particularly gorgeous eyebrow, the left one, which was perhaps fractionally more beautiful than the right. ‘It’s not really the protocol, but it’s your money. We can do what you like.’
Charles felt rather shy. He was probably blushing, but maybe Erik would take it for arousal rather than embarrassment. ‘Really? Well if you wouldn’t mind… I don’t suppose you’d care to fuck me?’
Erik laughed. It changed his face completely, making him look almost innocent. ‘Over here, then,’ he said, indicating the door to the bedroom. ‘I should tell you, though, that I don’t kiss on the mouth. Or any other orifice. It’s too personal.’
‘Of course, of course. Not a problem.’
It was a tiny bit of a problem. When Erik was inside him, expertly thrusting into that perfect, bone-melting spot, it seemed so unnatural not to press their gasping mouths together. Still, it didn’t dull the bliss of being filled and touched, and coming so hard that he scarcely knew his own name.
He’d take what he could get.
Afterwards, he slipped away from the warm, sleeping body, deciding to give himself another illicit little treat. He went over to his briefcase, pulled out the latest issue of Cell Biology, and settled down happily to read.
***
Erik had always enjoyed sleeping. He particularly enjoyed it when the bed didn’t jab rusting springs into his softer regions at every opportunity, but he never, ever slept at a client’s place. And yet this time he slept late and soundly and woke up feeling almost relaxed.
He looked round warily, then yearningly. There was no sign of Charles, but god, this place was gorgeous, with soft upholstery, elegant artwork and a bathroom the size of a respectable apartment. Caution warred with temptation, and temptation won. The shower was frankly amazing. He spent far too long in it, then wrapped himself up in the fluffy white robe with the hotel logo on the pocket.
When he looked in the mirror he could almost believe it. Just a nice boy in a nice hotel, staying with an old friend.
Yeah, right.
Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of contentment as he wandered out into the main room and looked around for his host.
‘Oh, hello, good morning.’
The voice came from floor level. He looked down. Charles was seated cross-legged, practically under the table, wearing a tattered silk dressing gown, and completely surrounded by journals, photocopies, post-it notes and crumbs of croissant. He smiled vaguely without looking up. ‘I didn’t know what you’d like for breakfast, so I ordered everything, but it smelled good so I ate quite a lot of it.’
‘Fine,’ said Erik, looking at the platters of scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, bacon, pancakes and pastries.
He should just take his money and leave, but he was really, really hungry.
***
Out of the sixteen papers Charles had been through, four should never have got through peer review and another three had thrown up mildly interesting but useless facts. The remaining nine, however, told quite a coherent story if you looked at the combined results in a certain way, which apparently nobody had. He felt himself smile. ‘You know, Erik, I might just be able to pull some of this data into a worthwhile conclusion.’
‘Really? How interesting.’
That drawl again. Oh, god, he was planning a review article with a hustler in his hotel room.
No, with Erik in his hotel room. Erik was nice. Erik was…
Erik was clean and soft and fluffy.
Charles blinked. ‘Goodness, you look different without all the...’ He made an uncertain and possibly slightly flaily hand gesture, trying to indicate clothes, hair gel, makeup, overt sensuality and his own lack of sobriety. Put the man in a tux and he could have launched a charity benefit. ‘Um, sorry. Did you sleep well?’
Erik shifted languidly. ‘Too well. Did you sleep?’
‘No,’ Charles admitted sheepishly. ‘I was in the mood for some cellular genetics, and I don’t often get the chance, so….’
There was that raised eyebrow again. It was irresistible. Obedient to its siren call, Charles found himself giving a ten minute description of his father’s biotechnology company with its money-grubbing board of directors who had him under their collective thumbs, and Cain and Kurt, and why he had to run the damn thing to keep them from getting their hands on it. He wasn’t sure why the hell he was talking about any of it.
Considering that Erik was clearly half-starved and spent his life selling himself on the street, he looked unreasonably sympathetic. ‘Don’t let people push you around,’ he advised. ‘If you don’t like it, just leave.’ Then he got up and stretched. ‘I should be leaving too. Do you want one for the road? No extra charge.’
‘Yes please,’ said Charles, with considerably alacrity and absolutely no input from his brain.
With Erik’s mouth back on his cock, he realised he was in trouble. One more of these wouldn’t be enough. He wouldn’t let it be enough.
There was absolutely no way to justify what he was about to do, except that he wanted to. It was going to be a miserable week, and he hated this city, and he deserved something nice to make up for it. If he had to sit through dinners with investors and painful social occasions, at least he didn’t have to do it alone.
***
‘A week,’ said Erik. ‘You want me to spend a week with you.’ He was definitely out of his depth, and the man was completely mad. ‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘Well, for one thing…’ Charles gestured down at himself, ‘…you’re incredibly good at that. Spectacularly good. And for another, you’ll be very useful to me.’ He looked calm and businesslike, but Erik noticed his fingers twisting nervously. ‘I have to charm a smaller company into a takeover, and it would be easier to keep it relaxed with a date on my arm. Besides, it would stop people trying to set me up with their daughters.’
‘So I scare off potential brides in the daytime, look pretty for your business dinners in the evening and fuck you at night. Is that it?’
Charles nodded earnestly. ‘Exactly.’
Offers that seemed too good to be true usually were. Erik’s heart started thumping. There was absolutely no reason to suspect Charles, he wasn’t threatening, he wasn’t strong, he was utterly clean-cut and really almost adorable, but that didn’t stop him from being a dangerous freak with a cabinet full of rape drugs and knives.
‘You could get a million guys for free,’ he said cautiously.
‘Yes, I suppose so. But I want you.’ Nothing had changed in Charles’s voice or his manner, yet he seemed suddenly forlorn. Erik had an inexplicable urge to hug him.
‘Seven thousand dollars,’ he said.
Charles beamed. ‘Done.’
***
‘One more thing.’ Charles poked his head back into the bedroom. He was late for his meeting, but Erik was dressing. It was nice to watch. ‘What’s your real name?’
‘You don’t like Erik?’ Erik asked, tugging his t-shirt into place over his stomach. ‘Ok. How about Michael?’
‘I do like Erik. Michael is very nice too, but is it really your name?’
Erik grinned. ‘No.’
***
Chapter 2
‘Can I help you, sir?’
The tone was precisely the same as it had been in the last three stores: cold, sardonic, derisory, and finely crafted to make Erik feel like the cheap whore that he was. He imagined himself garrotting the man with one of the hideously expensive silk ties on the display, then decided that it really wasn’t worth it.
‘No,’ he growled, ‘you can’t.’
Why could he never think of a snappy comeback when he needed one?
He headed back to the hotel, fuming, with a pocket full of cash and no suit, wondering if the day could get any worse. Then he realised that he’d forgotten the room key. And about two seconds after that, someone tapped him meaningfully on the shoulder.
He swore under his breath and turned, finding himself face to face with an icy blonde, all in white, who was regarding him about as much cordiality as the salesman. She smiled falsely. ‘Excuse me sir, are you a guest at this hotel?’
It was one ‘sir’ too many. His patience snapped completely. ‘Of course not. Is there something wrong with your eyes? Everybody else can tell exactly what I am.’
She fixed him with an arctic gaze. ‘Very funny. Now are you going to leave or do I have to call security?’
Erik gritted his teeth. ‘It really isn’t funny.’ He had several hundred dollars in his pocket, and once again it would be far more sensible to take it and get out of here.
But Charles trusted him.
He took a deep breath. It was worth one last try. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s this crazy guy in the penthouse who hired me for the week. He’s called Charles, and I have no idea what his last name is or how to get hold of him. I’ll leave, but when he turns up you can tell him that I gave it my best shot.’
He turned to stalk out, and then stopped as the woman seized his arm. ‘What now? I’m going aren’t I?’
She raised her eyebrow at him. ‘Not so fast. Did you say Charles? About this big, blue eyes, doesn’t know how to dress?’
‘Yes.’
To his utter bafflement, she burst into a peal of delighted laughter. ‘Oh, sugar, this is priceless. Come and tell me all about it.’
It turned out that her name was Emma, and she’d known Charles for years, and she thought it was hysterical. She also had a tailor on call, a full understanding of dinner table etiquette and the cruellest sense of humour he’d ever come across.
They looked at each other with mutual approval. Possibly it would be the start of a beautiful friendship.
***
‘And this is my date…’ Shit, thought Charles. Shit, they hadn’t decided on a last name.
He was already rather befuddled. When he’d got back to the hotel lobby Erik wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so he’d looked around for Emma. She was talking to a tall, sleek young man in very nice suit, and he’d dithered about going over and interrupting with a genteel version of ‘Has anyone seen my prostitute?’
Then the man had turned round.
Erik in all-out slut mode was hot as hell. Erik in dove grey silk was absolutely breathtaking.
They’d walked out together with Emma smirking in the background, and Charles couldn’t suppress a thrill of ridiculous pride at having this beautiful creature at his side even if it was only on a strictly financial basis. Nobody else had to know. But now, face to face with the terrifying CEO of Phoenix Pharmaceuticals and her brisk, competent niece, he felt like the truth was written all over his face in shameful letters. If he could just think of a name, any name…
Erik stepped forward with a lazy smile, holding out his hand. ‘Erik Lehnsherr. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
Dr Grey looked sharply at him. ‘Indeed. Well, Xavier, you’ve taken one weapon out of my arsenal - I won’t bother ordering my niece to seduce you. I hope you’re not too disappointed, Moira.’
‘I’ll survive.’ She held out her hand to Erik with a blinding smile. ‘Dr Moira MacTaggert. Delighted.’
She seemed slightly too delighted for Charles’s peace of mind.
The introductions over, Charles gave Dr Grey his arm and escorted her to the table. He shot Erik a grateful look. You saved my arse back there, he thought. I could kiss you. Except that you wouldn’t kiss me back.
***
‘So business was good,’ said Erik. ‘You want their company, they don’t want to let it go.’
The rest of the dinner had been a total nightmare, spent trying to mind his manners and suppress his ingrained do-filthy-things-to-me body language, while keeping his smile firmly in place. The smile had probably got a little fixed and toothy at some points, particularly under the eagle eye of Dr Grey. He had a disturbing suspicion that the old battle-axe could see right through him.
‘Yes,’ said Charles moodily. His face was in shadow as he gazed out at the glittering city lights but his shoulders were clearly drooping. ‘Well, actually no. Not remotely. Oh dear, my life is a disaster.’
That morning Erik had surprised himself by not snapping something sarcastic about the poor little rich boy diatribe. Now he surprised himself still more by laying a comforting hand on Charles’s back. Sympathy was not part of his usual service. ‘How come?’
Charles scratched at the paint on the balcony railings. ‘I don’t want it. They shouldn’t sell it, it’s a terrible idea. They’re working on this astounding gene therapy but the investors don’t know what it means. They just see us sniffing around looking to buy, and they do that cartoon thing with huge dollar signs in their eyes.’ He waved a hand. ‘You know. Ka-ching.’
‘Ka-ching?’
‘Yes. And our directors do know, and once we’ve got the patent they’ll make us take the research in the most profitable direction. If Dr Grey kept control it could save hundreds of thousands more lives.’
Suddenly Charles’s problems didn’t seem quite so insignificant. Erik listened as he mumbled on miserably about shares and legalities, and enthusiastically about phase two trials, RNA expression, enzyme inhibitors and other long and meaningless words. In summary, it was very groovy research and it would all be wasted.
‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Charles, turning abruptly. ‘I’ve been boring on. You did brilliantly already, thank you so much.’ He smiled hopefully. ‘You know, if you’re offering… I could really use a hug.’
Erik had been asked for many strange things in his time, but rarely for this. A hug. He could do that.
Maybe he even wanted to.
***
Erik was not a Barbie doll, Charles reminded himself. It was not OK to dress him up in lots of different outfits just for his own amusement. At least it wasn’t just him; the staff at the store seemed to be having just as much fun, cooing over each new combination, scuttling around to find the right tie or belt or shoes and generally enjoying the quite exceptional view.
Erik looked good in everything.
‘That one,’ said Charles. ‘No, the blue one. Or both, let’s have both. What do you think?’
The assistants were clearly of the view that both was the way to go. Erik seemed less convinced. He scowled. ‘Is this really necessary?’
‘Yes,’ said Charles, ignoring the fact that Erik couldn’t possibly wear all those clothes in their remaining six days together. ‘You never know what you’ll need, the world can be very unexpected.’
Then his phone rang. ‘Oh bother.’
It was Kurt. Kurt was not impressed with his absence from the negotiating table. Charles instantly felt about a foot shorter and a little breathless. ‘Look, all right, I’m coming,’ he said, and hung up quickly. ‘Erik, I have to go. Will you be OK here on your own?’
‘It’ll certainly be cheaper than if you stayed,’ said Erik sardonically.
The assistants gave little synchronised sighs of disappointment as Charles handed over his credit cards, barely stopped himself from giving Erik a peck on the lips, and scuttled out of the door.
He really hated seeing Kurt. Nevertheless, he was determined to have his say. As he climbed out of the cab and went into the building he took a deep breath and composed his argument. It was clear and sensible and convincing.
Of course, Kurt didn’t listen to a word.
Cain sniggered. ‘So you’re saying Phoenix isn’t a “good fit” for us? Go ahead and take that to the directors. You’ll be doing me a favour, they’ll have you out on your ear.’
‘It’s a defensible position,’ Charles protested. Sadly Kurt and Cain had somehow missed the memo that he was infinitely more intelligent than they were. He sighed manfully and started to go through his reasoning again.
Kurt cut him off with a gesture. ‘If you’re asking for my support, you’re even more naïve than you look. Land the deal and let me sort out the details, or lose it and explain yourself to the Board. You decide.’
Which meant, quite simply, tear up Phoenix for its patents or hand his company over to the Marcos.
Charles pressed his lips together determinedly. Erik was right, he let everyone push him around. He took another deep breath. ‘You can go back in with the lawyers now, Kurt,’ he said. ‘Feel free to thrash out something preliminary, but I’ll be talking to Dr Grey again, and I will go to the Board if necessary. Now I have some paperwork to attend to. Goodbye.’
He strolled out feeling smug. While it wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering speech, from the expressions on their faces he’d at least made an impression.
***
Azazel peered at Erik. ‘Clean up nice,’ he admitted. ‘Good suit. Good shoes. Your sugar daddy, he sticking around?’
Erik scowled. ‘He’s not a sugar daddy, and he’s only here for the week.’
‘Shame.’
‘It’s fine,’ Erik said, ‘It’s a temporary thing, I wouldn’t stay with him even if he asked.’ Not even for the shower and the fluffy bathrobes, he told himself.
‘Ah. Ugly,’ said Azazel knowingly.
‘No, he’s cute.’ The words popped out without Erik thinking about it. He swore under his breath as Azazel fixed him with an interested gaze. It was true, though, Charles was objectively cute, with his blue eyes, red lips and friendly, open smile. Still, he was a trick like any other. ‘Look, will you just pay the rent? Don’t spend it all on drugs.’
‘Who, me?’
‘Yes, you. Where did the last lot go?’
‘Small issue with cash flow,’ Azazel said, offended.
‘Fuck off.’ Erik gave him a shove towards the door, then groaned as he saw Emma on an intercept course. ‘Oh, perfect.’
Her heels clicked across the floor as she approached, like tiny knells of doom. She looked Azazel up and down, taking in the half-bared chest and black leather trousers. ‘Erik, darling, are you starting a fashion, or has Charles decided to add to his harem?’
‘This is my roommate, Azazel,’ said Erik, ‘who was just leaving.’
‘I don’t get to meet sugar daddy?’ Azazel turned to Emma with a leer. ‘Very interested. Erik thinks his new trick is cute.’
‘Does he now?’ said Emma, clearly very interested too.
‘Oh Christ, I’m going back upstairs.’ He stomped back to the room, leaving the two of them standing there. They could discuss him all they liked, Charles was a nice guy but hardly sugar daddy material. Besides, he’d be gone soon. Erik would go back to his street corner a bit richer than before, and neither of them would think of the other again.
Charles came in at seven, rumpled and tired and still irritatingly cute. He bounced onto the bed where Erik had been moodily watching TV. ‘Hello. God, what a day. I think I held my own, though, you’re a good influence on me. Let’s get some dinner, then we’ll come back and collapse to the rest of… what’s this you’re watching? More Hitchcock? Oh, Spellbound, you big softie, that’s terribly romantic.’
‘Whatever you want,’ said Erik, more bitterly than he’d intended. ‘You’re the boss.’
Then he felt terribly guilty at the way Charles’s face fell, and spent the rest of the evening cheering him up again.
***
‘Honestly’ Charles gasped, as Erik’s hand wrapped around his cock, ‘what’s your name?’ It was really starting to bother him.
‘Still not a fan of Erik? You can use Ian, if you like.’
‘Ian? That’s not even German. Oh, yes, do that again. Keep doing that. Ohhhhh, bloody fucking hell, oh my god…’ He broke off for a minute to squirm and pant and make little mewling noises. ‘You’re not actually called Ian, are you?’
Erik licked his earlobe. ‘No.’
***
Chapter 3
‘Polo?’ said Erik. ‘You mean the ridiculous game with horses? What’s that got to do with business?’
Charles sighed. He didn’t really understand it either. For some reason polo fields were considered perfectly normal business venues, along with saunas and strip clubs. He’d really rather stay in the boardroom, where he could have tea and sandwiches and custard creams. ‘Dr MacTaggert is playing,’ he said, ‘you know, Moira, and we’ll mingle with tiresome people. We really have to go.’
Erik shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
So they went. Erik wore a light jacket and slacks and looked as though he’d just stepped out of a glossy magazine. Charles, with a tremendous effort, managed to get outside without peeling them off him again.
It was pleasant at the match. Erik seemed to expand in the warmth and the cleaner air. When they ran out onto the field to stamp the divots of turf back into place he picked Charles up and swung him round, nearly depositing him in a pile of horse shit, and laughed like a child.
Charles took a risk and kissed him on the cheek. Then he went to get them some drinks, and it all went wrong.
He was standing at the bar when Cain’s heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. ‘Hello Charlie,’ he said, ‘I see you brought a friend. I didn’t think you had it in you.’ He smirked. ‘Though by the look of him, I guess you do have it in you. Every night, maybe. I bet you beg for it, don’t you, little brother?’
Charles’s fists clenched. He forced himself to relax. Getting angry and lashing out was not a good plan, as empirical evidence from his boyhood had repeatedly confirmed. Besides, the polo people wouldn’t approve of the disturbance and they had very big sticks. ‘I’ll thank you to mind your own business,’ he said. At least it had the semblance of dignity.
Cain smirked even wider. ‘You’d better mind yours,’ he said nastily. ‘Don’t look now, but I think your boyfriend swings both ways.’
Charles did look, against his better judgement. Erik was talking to Moira MacTaggert, smiling warmly. She was smiling too, and she reached out to touch his arm, and then they both laughed and something cold and furious twisted in Charles’s stomach.
No, he told himself, it’s nothing. They’re just talking.
The evil seductress took Erik’s hand and guided it to pat her horse.
Charles tried to be sensible. The two of them had met once, they got on well enough, they were friends. That would be fine, except for the uncomfortable knowledge that he and Erik weren’t friends, they were business acquaintances. However convincing it might seem, Erik wasn’t interested in him. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in men at all.
‘Why would I care?’ he snapped. ‘He’s not my boyfriend, I picked him up on the streets. He’s a prostitute.’
‘He’s a…?’ Cain’s expression flipped from jeering to gleeful. He gave a barking laugh. ‘Prissy little Charles! Jumped off your moral high horse for once, have you?’ He gave Charles another slap on the shoulder. ‘There might be hope for you yet.’
He strode off, still sniggering. Charles stood there, frozen. He wanted to grab the words back, seal them in a lead box and toss them into the ocean, attached to several tons of anchor chain. It was such a stupid thing to say, in public, to an utterly despicable human being. He shuddered to think how Erik would feel if he knew.
Ten minutes later, Erik definitely knew.
Although Charles was too far away to hear, he saw it all. He saw them meet, and Cain’s obscene hand gesture, and how Erik jerked as though he’d been burned. He saw Erik raise his fist and Cain step hastily backwards, sending lawn chairs toppling. Then, just as he was dashing to intervene, Erik turned away, snarling something over his shoulder, and strode towards the car park, fast and angry.
Charles ran after him. ‘Erik, wait! Stop, please.’ He stumbled up, panting. It wasn’t his fault, if Erik hadn’t, if Erik… But he knew there was no excuse. ‘I shouldn’t have told him, it wasn’t fair.’
‘Fuck you, Charles,’ Erik snapped. ‘Give me my money. I’m leaving.’
***
The worst thing was that it came as a surprise. He should’ve known better, he was a whore, that was what people saw and that was how people treated him. He was a mouth and a cock and an ass, nothing more, nothing worthy of respect or consideration, and he was used to it. He’d stopped giving a fuck a long time ago.
Charles was just like the others, just some sleazebag john, and he was an idiot to have let himself believe any different.
‘At least take the clothes,’ said Charles.
‘Keep them. What am I supposed to do with them where I’m going?’ He flung off the jacket and tugged at his shirt buttons with one hand, scrabbling in the closet with the other. His jeans were in there somewhere, and his t-shirt, he’d feel like himself again once he had them on. He could go down into the lobby and Emma would give him a disgusted look and kick him out onto the sidewalk, and he’d be back where he belonged, on the streets.
‘Look, I know you’re upset…’
‘I’m not upset!’ Erik yelled. He got himself under control and lowered his voice. ‘I can’t hang around if you’re going to pull shit like this. Do you know what would have happened if I’d hit that asshole? I’d be in jail. He knows what I am, he’d’ve called the cops.’ There, that was convincing. It wasn’t as shameful as, How could you do this to me?
‘But you don’t have to leave,’ said Charles. In his odd little world it was apparently perfectly acceptable behaviour to announce that you’d brought a prostitute to a polo match. ‘I won’t do it again, I swear. It was only because I saw you and Moira, and you…’
‘I what?’ Erik snapped. He found his jeans and stripped off his slacks and underpants with no attempt at modesty. Charles might as well get one last look at what he’d paid for.
Charles looked defiant. ‘You were being so nice to her, and she touched you and you laughed. If you like her, fine, just tell me.’
‘You wanted me to be nice to her!’ He could hear his voice rising up to yelling volume again. ‘What the fuck, Charles? She’s a fucking woman.’
‘Oh.’
Erik tugged his jeans up over his bare buttocks, turned to glare at the little wilting figure, and then continued to rummage. He was getting out now.
‘Well how was I to know?’ Charles asked petulantly. ‘I wasn’t even sure that you were really… you know.’
Finally, there was the t-shirt, crumpled up in the back of a drawer. It was cheap and nasty and it smelled. ‘Yes, I am, really, not that it’s any of your goddamn business.’
He heard a small noise from behind him. Charles had sat down on the bed and was picking awkwardly at the coverlet. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I just didn’t like seeing it. I got jealous.’
‘You got jealous over a whore?’
‘No,’ said Charles quietly, ‘I got jealous over you.’
***
To his ashamed bewilderment, Charles actually found it quite enjoyable getting fucked by someone who was furious with him. Erik had been so unlike his usual competent self, all hard eyes, fierce glares and strong, unyielding hands. He’d bitten and sucked until Charles was sore all over, whimpering with every touch, unable to bear any more, writhing and moaning at the scrape of teeth over his nipples and the fingers shoving roughly into him, prepping him for the pounding of his life.
All right, it had been more than quite enjoyable, it had been amazing, but sadly all the amazingness had resulted from him being a total arse. Erik would have been perfectly justified in walking out and never coming back.
That wouldn’t have been enjoyable at all.
Charles rolled out of bed, trying not to make too much noise. He was too het up to sleep. He padded to the bathroom and took a long look at himself, noting with some satisfaction the swollen lips and the red marks blossoming on his chest. Experimentally, he ran a finger over one still-sensitive nipple. Ow. Ohh… mmm.
No, he wasn’t going to get distracted by thoughts of sex. ‘You can fix this, Charles Xavier,’ he told his reflection. Tomorrow would be different. He’d take Erik somewhere nice, a real date, and apologise properly. Then maybe they actually would be friends, and things would be like before when they’d stumbled around on the polo field together and hugged each other and laughed.
The date might be a problem though. He didn’t have a clue what Erik liked, beyond knowing that he approved of Hitchcock movies and disapproved of polo. Also, there was some pointless performance that they were scheduled to go to with Dr Grey and bloody Moira MacTaggert.
It didn’t matter. He was going to make it a special evening. They could blow off this whatever-it-was, he didn’t really need to see Dr Grey again, Cain and Kurt could have it their own way this time.
He just needed to find some kind of excuse.
***
‘Did we buy you a tuxedo?’
Charles was standing in the doorway, looking vaguely discontented. Erik set his book aside, wincing slightly at the memory of that shopping trip. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You bought me half the store, I’m surprised I haven’t got a dozen.’
‘Oh,’ said Charles sadly. ‘Oh well, I suppose it wouldn’t have worked anyway. We could have just hired one. Maybe I can say we both went down with food poisoning, but that’s such an obvious lie. She’d probably think we were just having lots of sex.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Erik started to smile and suppressed it hurriedly, telling himself not to be so stupid. He’d wanted to stay angry but Charles was being conciliatory and cuddly in such a hopeful way. Every moment was a struggle not to pull him close and tell him he was forgiven.
Charles shuffled his feet. ‘I thought we could do something tonight, just the two of us, so I need an excuse for Dr Grey. We were supposed to go to this thing with her. La Traviata, I think it’s called.’
‘La Traviata?’ Erik repeated, feeling his mouth go dry.
‘Yes. It’s an opera, or something. We can skip it though. I mean, who wants to go to the opera?’
Erik swallowed. He could remember, very vividly, the last time he’d been to the opera. It was just after they arrived in America and his father had taken him to make him feel more at home, a reminder of their many family outings back in Berlin. They’d seen The Marriage of Figaro, with its implausible plot and joyously happy ending, and his father had said, ‘You see, Erik? There is confusion on the way but very often it all turns out well.’
And now his parents were dead and he was just another LA rentboy.
Fingers brushed his hand. Charles was suddenly kneeling at his side, looking up at him with heart-stopping earnestness.
‘Erik, do you want to go?’
He shrugged. Of course he did. He wanted the curtain and the lights and the thrum of excitement, and most of all he wanted the music with all its passion and power. It made no difference though, it was up to Charles what they did and where they went.
‘I like opera,’ he managed.
‘Oh, well then, that’s different!’ said Charles, delighted. If he’d had a tail he would have been wagging it excitedly. ‘I’m so glad, I’ve been wracking my brains to think of something you’d like. And you can talk to Dr Grey and it won’t matter that I’m so frightfully ignorant. Perfect.’ He dropped his eyes and smiled shyly. ‘Then it’s a date. ’
Erik opened his mouth to say, ‘you do remember I’m a prostitute, right? We’re really not dating.’ Then he realised that he was going to see La Traviata and all he could say was, ‘Thank you.’
***
‘Your young man is quite the opera buff,’ Dr Grey said, during the second interval. ‘Very well informed.’
‘Yes, I know, he loves it,’ said Charles. At least, he knew now. His eyes flicked towards the door to the box. Erik had stepped outside after the curtain came down, nominally to get a breath of air but more probably to hide the fact that he was tear-stained and sniffly.
‘I’m glad someone’s having fun.’ Dr Grey’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, Xavier, let’s get on with it. How much are you offering for my company?’
Her voice was taut. He knew it had nothing to do with the money, if she lost Phoenix she’d lose her life’s work, her staff would lose their integrity and thousands of people would lose what little hope they had.
He started on the pitch. Then, about halfway through, he stopped. He couldn’t meet their eyes. ‘I really don’t want to be doing this, you know.’
‘Don’t you? Then don’t do it,’ Moira snapped.
‘I don’t know if there’s another way.’ There had to be. ‘I hope… I’m still working on it.’
‘Well keep working,’ Dr Grey told him sharply. She gave him one of her more piercing glances, which might have had a shade of approval in it. ‘At least you know what you’re talking about, which is more than most. I’ve read some of your articles. What are you doing wasting your time as a CEO?’
Charles looked down at his feet. He was beginning to wonder about that himself.
Erik slipped back into the box at the three minute bell. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I just needed to…’ He shrugged and insinuated his gorgeously tuxedoed form back into his seat with a watery, dazzling smile.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ said Charles inanely. He had no idea, the music was pretty but he wouldn’t mind having a few electron micrographs to analyse as he listened. Still, as act three progressed he realised that he’d be quite willing to sit through hours of the stuff. By the end he scarcely registered that the woman dying of tuberculosis had just sung at full volume for five minutes, because the last aria had set Erik’s eyes glistening again, and he’d taken Charles’s hand and held on tight.
Out in the street, after they’d handed the Doctors into a cab, he tried once more to prove that he wasn’t a total philistine when it came to music. ‘It was very artistic. I liked the… singing.’
Erik laughed. ‘Bullshit. You hated it,’ he said, ‘but what do you know? You’re an idiot who gets lost in LA and picks up prostitutes by accident. It was beautiful.’ He practically glowed under the streetlights, still the sexiest thing imaginable yet nothing like he’d looked on Hollywood Boulevard. It wasn’t the clothes, the hair, or the seductive pose. He looked happy.
‘Beautiful,’ Charles agreed weakly.
***
Erik was gentler that night. Afterwards, Charles lay nestled against him for a long time. ‘What’s your name?’ he said eventually.
‘James,’ said Erik. ‘Do you like that?’
Charles propped himself on one elbow to peer into his face. ‘You don’t look like a James.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘No. Is it really…?’
‘No.’
***
On to part two!
Written for this prompt over at xmen_firstkink.
Title: Downtown (everything's waiting for you)
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: R
Word count: 7,500 this part (13,000 total)
Warnings: Prostitution! Polo! Punching people! FLUFF!
Summary: Charles is a rich CEO, Erik is a hooker with a heart of gold... yeah, you know where this is going.
Downtown (everything’s waiting for you)
Tight jeans and eyeliner, bright lights and dirty streets. Downtown LA, with its rumbling traffic and crowded sidewalks. It’s a place you go to forget your cares. A place where everybody’s got a dream.
His dream was decent money, a client that didn’t leave marks and a roommate that he didn’t want to punch in the face. None of it was likely to come true any time soon.
Still, it was better than no dream at all.
Chapter 1
Charles pulled the confusing car over to the kerb and sighed. He was perhaps a little drunk. Not seriously drunk, not running round the pub, stripping off his clothes and dancing on the pool table drunk, but drunk enough that he probably shouldn’t be driving. If he died in a fiery wreck Kurt and Cain would only have themselves to congratulate.
He was definitely too drunk to remember the way to his hotel, not that he particularly wanted to go there. He wasn’t quite sure what this place was, but maybe he could get another drink, meet some nice people and end up dead in an alley somewhere.
Maybe not.
Besides, the people around here didn’t look nice. To be honest, he kind of suspected that they were prostitutes.
A tap on the window made him start in surprise. He looked up and felt his mouth drop open. This particular specimen, standing by the car with his hips tilted provocatively, was a renaissance sculpture in ripped jeans.
‘Hey,’ the man purred, ‘you looking for a date?’
‘No,’ said Charles firmly, trying to keep his thoughts on his predicament. ‘I’m looking for my hotel. It’s called the Regent. Can you help me?’ He hadn’t met a whole lot of prostitutes before, but perhaps they knew about these things.
Apparently they did. They also charged unreasonable prices for directions.
After being kicked out of the driver’s seat for incompetence Charles found himself being chauffeur-driven along Hollywood Boulevard at about 90 miles per hour. The fiery wreck situation was becoming more and more probable.
‘So what’s your name?’ he said. Anything seemed better than looking at the road.
The man’s muscular shoulders flexed in a graceful shrug that stretched his tight t-shirt. ‘Max. Hans. Erik. Jakob. You choose.’
Fair enough, thought Charles, a little embarrassed. It was really none of his business. Still, it didn’t do to show uncertainty. ‘It might as well be Erik, then,’ he said. ‘That’s a nice name. I’m Charles.’
The man currently known as Erik glanced sideways. ‘It suits you.’
For some reason Charles found the observation vaguely insulting, though he was too busy grabbing for the closest bit of car to do much about it. He hung on tight for the rest of the ride, making social chit-chat. It was a novel experience.
Erik was originally from Germany, didn’t follow current affairs, hadn’t read any good books lately and really couldn’t give a fuck what the weather was like. He also had light blue eyes and a sarcastic drawl that would have had any starched society matron dragging him bodily into the cloakroom.
When they pulled up outside the hotel, Charles suppressed the gasp of relief at not having died and fished for his wallet. The crisp twenty dollar bill looked rather pathetic. ‘Here. Thank you very much, my friend.’
Erik made no move to take the money. ‘Stop kidding yourself, Charles.’ He flashed a brief, mocking smile. ‘I’m not going anywhere except into that hotel with you.’
Charles blinked. He swallowed. He opened his mouth to say no, he was a Xavier, and Xaviers just didn’t do this kind of thing.
No sound came out.
Thirty seconds later he was walking into LA’s poshest hotel accompanied by a partially clothed sex-god with tattooed forearms and eye makeup, who prowled in as though he owned the place and glared at the other guests until they looked away.
Well, sometimes in life you just had to keep a stiff upper lip and make the best of things. It would be fine.
***
Though Erik would never to admit this, even to Azazel, he was far from comfortable with the situation. He’d charmed his way into the hotel room, but now things weren’t going according to plan. He took another cautious look at the silver tray. British politeness was all very well, but this was taking it a step too far. ‘Strawberries and champagne?’
It had to be an act, he decided. There was no way somebody could naturally have such a sweet smile and yet turn out to be so oddly unsettling.
His well-heeled client reached into the bowl and passed over a fruit. ‘Well, why not?’ he said, with yet another friendly smile. ‘I like them, don’t you? Eat it, it’s full of vitamins.’
Erik raised it to his lips, going for sultry and wondering if he was a little out of his depth. ‘Right,’ he said, when he had swallowed it, and the man had made no move to come closer, ‘what would you like to do first?’
‘Well, there are some great films on demand.’
Really not according to plan.
So they watched TV. Not even porn, just TV. Erik got more disconcerted with every passing minute.
‘Why am I here?’ he demanded eventually. He was stuck in a room with a small, uptight, upper class pretty-boy, and it was turning out to be surprisingly frustrating.
‘You know, I really couldn’t tell you.’ Charles looked away from the TV screen and shrugged ruefully. ‘I’m surprised myself.’
‘Well, can we please get on with it?’
It was unbelievable. The man actually pouted. ‘Not quite yet, OK? We’ll get to it soon, I promise.’
‘I’m on the clock.’ Not that he minded the venue and the company, but more clients meant more rent money.
‘Is that the problem?’ Charles tilted his tousled head. ‘Oh, I see, I’m so sorry. Listen, I don’t want to put you out, so why don’t I just pay you for the entire night? How much do you charge?’
Erik glared. Uncertainty didn’t come naturally to him, and he didn’t like it. There was no need to say yes, of course, it was up to him to decide who, and when, and how much, but he really needed the cash. ‘You couldn’t afford it,’ he said, knowing perfectly well that it wasn’t true. ‘Five hundred.’
‘Cheap at the price,’ said Charles cheerfully. ‘Now hush, we’re just getting to the good part.’
Erik shrugged and decided to be philosophical about it all. Money was money, even if you earned it by watching old movies and eating strawberries.
***
Charles couldn’t quite believe that his inherent politeness had led him to being blown by a prostitute. It wasn’t sensible. But the poor man had kept giving him uncomfortable little glances, and he felt he was making some kind of social faux pas, implying that Erik wasn’t good enough. He had finally cracked.
Still, it wasn’t nearly as sleazy as he’d feared. After getting through a Hitchcock thriller, a whole heap of strawberries, two chess games and a bottle and a half of champagne he’d decided that Erik was much nicer than most of the people in his social circle. Besides, he obviously knew what he was doing, which was more than could be said for the last few incredibly dull men with whom he’d exchanged stilted dinner conversation and unsatisfying blowjobs.
This blowjob certainly fell into the satisfying category. In fact, it lifted the lid off the satisfying category and exploded up into the stratosphere. It was fierce and drawn out and so… bloody… good… Jesus… Christ…
Erik raised his head and licked his wet, reddened lips. It was an image that should have been painted in glowing, subtle colours by an old master.
He really was astonishingly lovely.
It seemed like some sort of response was in order, though the devastating orgasm had made it a little difficult to think straight. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That was very nice. Thank you very much. Would you like me to, um, return the favour?’
Erik raised a particularly gorgeous eyebrow, the left one, which was perhaps fractionally more beautiful than the right. ‘It’s not really the protocol, but it’s your money. We can do what you like.’
Charles felt rather shy. He was probably blushing, but maybe Erik would take it for arousal rather than embarrassment. ‘Really? Well if you wouldn’t mind… I don’t suppose you’d care to fuck me?’
Erik laughed. It changed his face completely, making him look almost innocent. ‘Over here, then,’ he said, indicating the door to the bedroom. ‘I should tell you, though, that I don’t kiss on the mouth. Or any other orifice. It’s too personal.’
‘Of course, of course. Not a problem.’
It was a tiny bit of a problem. When Erik was inside him, expertly thrusting into that perfect, bone-melting spot, it seemed so unnatural not to press their gasping mouths together. Still, it didn’t dull the bliss of being filled and touched, and coming so hard that he scarcely knew his own name.
He’d take what he could get.
Afterwards, he slipped away from the warm, sleeping body, deciding to give himself another illicit little treat. He went over to his briefcase, pulled out the latest issue of Cell Biology, and settled down happily to read.
***
Erik had always enjoyed sleeping. He particularly enjoyed it when the bed didn’t jab rusting springs into his softer regions at every opportunity, but he never, ever slept at a client’s place. And yet this time he slept late and soundly and woke up feeling almost relaxed.
He looked round warily, then yearningly. There was no sign of Charles, but god, this place was gorgeous, with soft upholstery, elegant artwork and a bathroom the size of a respectable apartment. Caution warred with temptation, and temptation won. The shower was frankly amazing. He spent far too long in it, then wrapped himself up in the fluffy white robe with the hotel logo on the pocket.
When he looked in the mirror he could almost believe it. Just a nice boy in a nice hotel, staying with an old friend.
Yeah, right.
Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of contentment as he wandered out into the main room and looked around for his host.
‘Oh, hello, good morning.’
The voice came from floor level. He looked down. Charles was seated cross-legged, practically under the table, wearing a tattered silk dressing gown, and completely surrounded by journals, photocopies, post-it notes and crumbs of croissant. He smiled vaguely without looking up. ‘I didn’t know what you’d like for breakfast, so I ordered everything, but it smelled good so I ate quite a lot of it.’
‘Fine,’ said Erik, looking at the platters of scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, bacon, pancakes and pastries.
He should just take his money and leave, but he was really, really hungry.
***
Out of the sixteen papers Charles had been through, four should never have got through peer review and another three had thrown up mildly interesting but useless facts. The remaining nine, however, told quite a coherent story if you looked at the combined results in a certain way, which apparently nobody had. He felt himself smile. ‘You know, Erik, I might just be able to pull some of this data into a worthwhile conclusion.’
‘Really? How interesting.’
That drawl again. Oh, god, he was planning a review article with a hustler in his hotel room.
No, with Erik in his hotel room. Erik was nice. Erik was…
Erik was clean and soft and fluffy.
Charles blinked. ‘Goodness, you look different without all the...’ He made an uncertain and possibly slightly flaily hand gesture, trying to indicate clothes, hair gel, makeup, overt sensuality and his own lack of sobriety. Put the man in a tux and he could have launched a charity benefit. ‘Um, sorry. Did you sleep well?’
Erik shifted languidly. ‘Too well. Did you sleep?’
‘No,’ Charles admitted sheepishly. ‘I was in the mood for some cellular genetics, and I don’t often get the chance, so….’
There was that raised eyebrow again. It was irresistible. Obedient to its siren call, Charles found himself giving a ten minute description of his father’s biotechnology company with its money-grubbing board of directors who had him under their collective thumbs, and Cain and Kurt, and why he had to run the damn thing to keep them from getting their hands on it. He wasn’t sure why the hell he was talking about any of it.
Considering that Erik was clearly half-starved and spent his life selling himself on the street, he looked unreasonably sympathetic. ‘Don’t let people push you around,’ he advised. ‘If you don’t like it, just leave.’ Then he got up and stretched. ‘I should be leaving too. Do you want one for the road? No extra charge.’
‘Yes please,’ said Charles, with considerably alacrity and absolutely no input from his brain.
With Erik’s mouth back on his cock, he realised he was in trouble. One more of these wouldn’t be enough. He wouldn’t let it be enough.
There was absolutely no way to justify what he was about to do, except that he wanted to. It was going to be a miserable week, and he hated this city, and he deserved something nice to make up for it. If he had to sit through dinners with investors and painful social occasions, at least he didn’t have to do it alone.
***
‘A week,’ said Erik. ‘You want me to spend a week with you.’ He was definitely out of his depth, and the man was completely mad. ‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘Well, for one thing…’ Charles gestured down at himself, ‘…you’re incredibly good at that. Spectacularly good. And for another, you’ll be very useful to me.’ He looked calm and businesslike, but Erik noticed his fingers twisting nervously. ‘I have to charm a smaller company into a takeover, and it would be easier to keep it relaxed with a date on my arm. Besides, it would stop people trying to set me up with their daughters.’
‘So I scare off potential brides in the daytime, look pretty for your business dinners in the evening and fuck you at night. Is that it?’
Charles nodded earnestly. ‘Exactly.’
Offers that seemed too good to be true usually were. Erik’s heart started thumping. There was absolutely no reason to suspect Charles, he wasn’t threatening, he wasn’t strong, he was utterly clean-cut and really almost adorable, but that didn’t stop him from being a dangerous freak with a cabinet full of rape drugs and knives.
‘You could get a million guys for free,’ he said cautiously.
‘Yes, I suppose so. But I want you.’ Nothing had changed in Charles’s voice or his manner, yet he seemed suddenly forlorn. Erik had an inexplicable urge to hug him.
‘Seven thousand dollars,’ he said.
Charles beamed. ‘Done.’
***
‘One more thing.’ Charles poked his head back into the bedroom. He was late for his meeting, but Erik was dressing. It was nice to watch. ‘What’s your real name?’
‘You don’t like Erik?’ Erik asked, tugging his t-shirt into place over his stomach. ‘Ok. How about Michael?’
‘I do like Erik. Michael is very nice too, but is it really your name?’
Erik grinned. ‘No.’
***
Chapter 2
‘Can I help you, sir?’
The tone was precisely the same as it had been in the last three stores: cold, sardonic, derisory, and finely crafted to make Erik feel like the cheap whore that he was. He imagined himself garrotting the man with one of the hideously expensive silk ties on the display, then decided that it really wasn’t worth it.
‘No,’ he growled, ‘you can’t.’
Why could he never think of a snappy comeback when he needed one?
He headed back to the hotel, fuming, with a pocket full of cash and no suit, wondering if the day could get any worse. Then he realised that he’d forgotten the room key. And about two seconds after that, someone tapped him meaningfully on the shoulder.
He swore under his breath and turned, finding himself face to face with an icy blonde, all in white, who was regarding him about as much cordiality as the salesman. She smiled falsely. ‘Excuse me sir, are you a guest at this hotel?’
It was one ‘sir’ too many. His patience snapped completely. ‘Of course not. Is there something wrong with your eyes? Everybody else can tell exactly what I am.’
She fixed him with an arctic gaze. ‘Very funny. Now are you going to leave or do I have to call security?’
Erik gritted his teeth. ‘It really isn’t funny.’ He had several hundred dollars in his pocket, and once again it would be far more sensible to take it and get out of here.
But Charles trusted him.
He took a deep breath. It was worth one last try. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s this crazy guy in the penthouse who hired me for the week. He’s called Charles, and I have no idea what his last name is or how to get hold of him. I’ll leave, but when he turns up you can tell him that I gave it my best shot.’
He turned to stalk out, and then stopped as the woman seized his arm. ‘What now? I’m going aren’t I?’
She raised her eyebrow at him. ‘Not so fast. Did you say Charles? About this big, blue eyes, doesn’t know how to dress?’
‘Yes.’
To his utter bafflement, she burst into a peal of delighted laughter. ‘Oh, sugar, this is priceless. Come and tell me all about it.’
It turned out that her name was Emma, and she’d known Charles for years, and she thought it was hysterical. She also had a tailor on call, a full understanding of dinner table etiquette and the cruellest sense of humour he’d ever come across.
They looked at each other with mutual approval. Possibly it would be the start of a beautiful friendship.
***
‘And this is my date…’ Shit, thought Charles. Shit, they hadn’t decided on a last name.
He was already rather befuddled. When he’d got back to the hotel lobby Erik wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so he’d looked around for Emma. She was talking to a tall, sleek young man in very nice suit, and he’d dithered about going over and interrupting with a genteel version of ‘Has anyone seen my prostitute?’
Then the man had turned round.
Erik in all-out slut mode was hot as hell. Erik in dove grey silk was absolutely breathtaking.
They’d walked out together with Emma smirking in the background, and Charles couldn’t suppress a thrill of ridiculous pride at having this beautiful creature at his side even if it was only on a strictly financial basis. Nobody else had to know. But now, face to face with the terrifying CEO of Phoenix Pharmaceuticals and her brisk, competent niece, he felt like the truth was written all over his face in shameful letters. If he could just think of a name, any name…
Erik stepped forward with a lazy smile, holding out his hand. ‘Erik Lehnsherr. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
Dr Grey looked sharply at him. ‘Indeed. Well, Xavier, you’ve taken one weapon out of my arsenal - I won’t bother ordering my niece to seduce you. I hope you’re not too disappointed, Moira.’
‘I’ll survive.’ She held out her hand to Erik with a blinding smile. ‘Dr Moira MacTaggert. Delighted.’
She seemed slightly too delighted for Charles’s peace of mind.
The introductions over, Charles gave Dr Grey his arm and escorted her to the table. He shot Erik a grateful look. You saved my arse back there, he thought. I could kiss you. Except that you wouldn’t kiss me back.
***
‘So business was good,’ said Erik. ‘You want their company, they don’t want to let it go.’
The rest of the dinner had been a total nightmare, spent trying to mind his manners and suppress his ingrained do-filthy-things-to-me body language, while keeping his smile firmly in place. The smile had probably got a little fixed and toothy at some points, particularly under the eagle eye of Dr Grey. He had a disturbing suspicion that the old battle-axe could see right through him.
‘Yes,’ said Charles moodily. His face was in shadow as he gazed out at the glittering city lights but his shoulders were clearly drooping. ‘Well, actually no. Not remotely. Oh dear, my life is a disaster.’
That morning Erik had surprised himself by not snapping something sarcastic about the poor little rich boy diatribe. Now he surprised himself still more by laying a comforting hand on Charles’s back. Sympathy was not part of his usual service. ‘How come?’
Charles scratched at the paint on the balcony railings. ‘I don’t want it. They shouldn’t sell it, it’s a terrible idea. They’re working on this astounding gene therapy but the investors don’t know what it means. They just see us sniffing around looking to buy, and they do that cartoon thing with huge dollar signs in their eyes.’ He waved a hand. ‘You know. Ka-ching.’
‘Ka-ching?’
‘Yes. And our directors do know, and once we’ve got the patent they’ll make us take the research in the most profitable direction. If Dr Grey kept control it could save hundreds of thousands more lives.’
Suddenly Charles’s problems didn’t seem quite so insignificant. Erik listened as he mumbled on miserably about shares and legalities, and enthusiastically about phase two trials, RNA expression, enzyme inhibitors and other long and meaningless words. In summary, it was very groovy research and it would all be wasted.
‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Charles, turning abruptly. ‘I’ve been boring on. You did brilliantly already, thank you so much.’ He smiled hopefully. ‘You know, if you’re offering… I could really use a hug.’
Erik had been asked for many strange things in his time, but rarely for this. A hug. He could do that.
Maybe he even wanted to.
***
Erik was not a Barbie doll, Charles reminded himself. It was not OK to dress him up in lots of different outfits just for his own amusement. At least it wasn’t just him; the staff at the store seemed to be having just as much fun, cooing over each new combination, scuttling around to find the right tie or belt or shoes and generally enjoying the quite exceptional view.
Erik looked good in everything.
‘That one,’ said Charles. ‘No, the blue one. Or both, let’s have both. What do you think?’
The assistants were clearly of the view that both was the way to go. Erik seemed less convinced. He scowled. ‘Is this really necessary?’
‘Yes,’ said Charles, ignoring the fact that Erik couldn’t possibly wear all those clothes in their remaining six days together. ‘You never know what you’ll need, the world can be very unexpected.’
Then his phone rang. ‘Oh bother.’
It was Kurt. Kurt was not impressed with his absence from the negotiating table. Charles instantly felt about a foot shorter and a little breathless. ‘Look, all right, I’m coming,’ he said, and hung up quickly. ‘Erik, I have to go. Will you be OK here on your own?’
‘It’ll certainly be cheaper than if you stayed,’ said Erik sardonically.
The assistants gave little synchronised sighs of disappointment as Charles handed over his credit cards, barely stopped himself from giving Erik a peck on the lips, and scuttled out of the door.
He really hated seeing Kurt. Nevertheless, he was determined to have his say. As he climbed out of the cab and went into the building he took a deep breath and composed his argument. It was clear and sensible and convincing.
Of course, Kurt didn’t listen to a word.
Cain sniggered. ‘So you’re saying Phoenix isn’t a “good fit” for us? Go ahead and take that to the directors. You’ll be doing me a favour, they’ll have you out on your ear.’
‘It’s a defensible position,’ Charles protested. Sadly Kurt and Cain had somehow missed the memo that he was infinitely more intelligent than they were. He sighed manfully and started to go through his reasoning again.
Kurt cut him off with a gesture. ‘If you’re asking for my support, you’re even more naïve than you look. Land the deal and let me sort out the details, or lose it and explain yourself to the Board. You decide.’
Which meant, quite simply, tear up Phoenix for its patents or hand his company over to the Marcos.
Charles pressed his lips together determinedly. Erik was right, he let everyone push him around. He took another deep breath. ‘You can go back in with the lawyers now, Kurt,’ he said. ‘Feel free to thrash out something preliminary, but I’ll be talking to Dr Grey again, and I will go to the Board if necessary. Now I have some paperwork to attend to. Goodbye.’
He strolled out feeling smug. While it wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering speech, from the expressions on their faces he’d at least made an impression.
***
Azazel peered at Erik. ‘Clean up nice,’ he admitted. ‘Good suit. Good shoes. Your sugar daddy, he sticking around?’
Erik scowled. ‘He’s not a sugar daddy, and he’s only here for the week.’
‘Shame.’
‘It’s fine,’ Erik said, ‘It’s a temporary thing, I wouldn’t stay with him even if he asked.’ Not even for the shower and the fluffy bathrobes, he told himself.
‘Ah. Ugly,’ said Azazel knowingly.
‘No, he’s cute.’ The words popped out without Erik thinking about it. He swore under his breath as Azazel fixed him with an interested gaze. It was true, though, Charles was objectively cute, with his blue eyes, red lips and friendly, open smile. Still, he was a trick like any other. ‘Look, will you just pay the rent? Don’t spend it all on drugs.’
‘Who, me?’
‘Yes, you. Where did the last lot go?’
‘Small issue with cash flow,’ Azazel said, offended.
‘Fuck off.’ Erik gave him a shove towards the door, then groaned as he saw Emma on an intercept course. ‘Oh, perfect.’
Her heels clicked across the floor as she approached, like tiny knells of doom. She looked Azazel up and down, taking in the half-bared chest and black leather trousers. ‘Erik, darling, are you starting a fashion, or has Charles decided to add to his harem?’
‘This is my roommate, Azazel,’ said Erik, ‘who was just leaving.’
‘I don’t get to meet sugar daddy?’ Azazel turned to Emma with a leer. ‘Very interested. Erik thinks his new trick is cute.’
‘Does he now?’ said Emma, clearly very interested too.
‘Oh Christ, I’m going back upstairs.’ He stomped back to the room, leaving the two of them standing there. They could discuss him all they liked, Charles was a nice guy but hardly sugar daddy material. Besides, he’d be gone soon. Erik would go back to his street corner a bit richer than before, and neither of them would think of the other again.
Charles came in at seven, rumpled and tired and still irritatingly cute. He bounced onto the bed where Erik had been moodily watching TV. ‘Hello. God, what a day. I think I held my own, though, you’re a good influence on me. Let’s get some dinner, then we’ll come back and collapse to the rest of… what’s this you’re watching? More Hitchcock? Oh, Spellbound, you big softie, that’s terribly romantic.’
‘Whatever you want,’ said Erik, more bitterly than he’d intended. ‘You’re the boss.’
Then he felt terribly guilty at the way Charles’s face fell, and spent the rest of the evening cheering him up again.
***
‘Honestly’ Charles gasped, as Erik’s hand wrapped around his cock, ‘what’s your name?’ It was really starting to bother him.
‘Still not a fan of Erik? You can use Ian, if you like.’
‘Ian? That’s not even German. Oh, yes, do that again. Keep doing that. Ohhhhh, bloody fucking hell, oh my god…’ He broke off for a minute to squirm and pant and make little mewling noises. ‘You’re not actually called Ian, are you?’
Erik licked his earlobe. ‘No.’
***
Chapter 3
‘Polo?’ said Erik. ‘You mean the ridiculous game with horses? What’s that got to do with business?’
Charles sighed. He didn’t really understand it either. For some reason polo fields were considered perfectly normal business venues, along with saunas and strip clubs. He’d really rather stay in the boardroom, where he could have tea and sandwiches and custard creams. ‘Dr MacTaggert is playing,’ he said, ‘you know, Moira, and we’ll mingle with tiresome people. We really have to go.’
Erik shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
So they went. Erik wore a light jacket and slacks and looked as though he’d just stepped out of a glossy magazine. Charles, with a tremendous effort, managed to get outside without peeling them off him again.
It was pleasant at the match. Erik seemed to expand in the warmth and the cleaner air. When they ran out onto the field to stamp the divots of turf back into place he picked Charles up and swung him round, nearly depositing him in a pile of horse shit, and laughed like a child.
Charles took a risk and kissed him on the cheek. Then he went to get them some drinks, and it all went wrong.
He was standing at the bar when Cain’s heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder. ‘Hello Charlie,’ he said, ‘I see you brought a friend. I didn’t think you had it in you.’ He smirked. ‘Though by the look of him, I guess you do have it in you. Every night, maybe. I bet you beg for it, don’t you, little brother?’
Charles’s fists clenched. He forced himself to relax. Getting angry and lashing out was not a good plan, as empirical evidence from his boyhood had repeatedly confirmed. Besides, the polo people wouldn’t approve of the disturbance and they had very big sticks. ‘I’ll thank you to mind your own business,’ he said. At least it had the semblance of dignity.
Cain smirked even wider. ‘You’d better mind yours,’ he said nastily. ‘Don’t look now, but I think your boyfriend swings both ways.’
Charles did look, against his better judgement. Erik was talking to Moira MacTaggert, smiling warmly. She was smiling too, and she reached out to touch his arm, and then they both laughed and something cold and furious twisted in Charles’s stomach.
No, he told himself, it’s nothing. They’re just talking.
The evil seductress took Erik’s hand and guided it to pat her horse.
Charles tried to be sensible. The two of them had met once, they got on well enough, they were friends. That would be fine, except for the uncomfortable knowledge that he and Erik weren’t friends, they were business acquaintances. However convincing it might seem, Erik wasn’t interested in him. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in men at all.
‘Why would I care?’ he snapped. ‘He’s not my boyfriend, I picked him up on the streets. He’s a prostitute.’
‘He’s a…?’ Cain’s expression flipped from jeering to gleeful. He gave a barking laugh. ‘Prissy little Charles! Jumped off your moral high horse for once, have you?’ He gave Charles another slap on the shoulder. ‘There might be hope for you yet.’
He strode off, still sniggering. Charles stood there, frozen. He wanted to grab the words back, seal them in a lead box and toss them into the ocean, attached to several tons of anchor chain. It was such a stupid thing to say, in public, to an utterly despicable human being. He shuddered to think how Erik would feel if he knew.
Ten minutes later, Erik definitely knew.
Although Charles was too far away to hear, he saw it all. He saw them meet, and Cain’s obscene hand gesture, and how Erik jerked as though he’d been burned. He saw Erik raise his fist and Cain step hastily backwards, sending lawn chairs toppling. Then, just as he was dashing to intervene, Erik turned away, snarling something over his shoulder, and strode towards the car park, fast and angry.
Charles ran after him. ‘Erik, wait! Stop, please.’ He stumbled up, panting. It wasn’t his fault, if Erik hadn’t, if Erik… But he knew there was no excuse. ‘I shouldn’t have told him, it wasn’t fair.’
‘Fuck you, Charles,’ Erik snapped. ‘Give me my money. I’m leaving.’
***
The worst thing was that it came as a surprise. He should’ve known better, he was a whore, that was what people saw and that was how people treated him. He was a mouth and a cock and an ass, nothing more, nothing worthy of respect or consideration, and he was used to it. He’d stopped giving a fuck a long time ago.
Charles was just like the others, just some sleazebag john, and he was an idiot to have let himself believe any different.
‘At least take the clothes,’ said Charles.
‘Keep them. What am I supposed to do with them where I’m going?’ He flung off the jacket and tugged at his shirt buttons with one hand, scrabbling in the closet with the other. His jeans were in there somewhere, and his t-shirt, he’d feel like himself again once he had them on. He could go down into the lobby and Emma would give him a disgusted look and kick him out onto the sidewalk, and he’d be back where he belonged, on the streets.
‘Look, I know you’re upset…’
‘I’m not upset!’ Erik yelled. He got himself under control and lowered his voice. ‘I can’t hang around if you’re going to pull shit like this. Do you know what would have happened if I’d hit that asshole? I’d be in jail. He knows what I am, he’d’ve called the cops.’ There, that was convincing. It wasn’t as shameful as, How could you do this to me?
‘But you don’t have to leave,’ said Charles. In his odd little world it was apparently perfectly acceptable behaviour to announce that you’d brought a prostitute to a polo match. ‘I won’t do it again, I swear. It was only because I saw you and Moira, and you…’
‘I what?’ Erik snapped. He found his jeans and stripped off his slacks and underpants with no attempt at modesty. Charles might as well get one last look at what he’d paid for.
Charles looked defiant. ‘You were being so nice to her, and she touched you and you laughed. If you like her, fine, just tell me.’
‘You wanted me to be nice to her!’ He could hear his voice rising up to yelling volume again. ‘What the fuck, Charles? She’s a fucking woman.’
‘Oh.’
Erik tugged his jeans up over his bare buttocks, turned to glare at the little wilting figure, and then continued to rummage. He was getting out now.
‘Well how was I to know?’ Charles asked petulantly. ‘I wasn’t even sure that you were really… you know.’
Finally, there was the t-shirt, crumpled up in the back of a drawer. It was cheap and nasty and it smelled. ‘Yes, I am, really, not that it’s any of your goddamn business.’
He heard a small noise from behind him. Charles had sat down on the bed and was picking awkwardly at the coverlet. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I just didn’t like seeing it. I got jealous.’
‘You got jealous over a whore?’
‘No,’ said Charles quietly, ‘I got jealous over you.’
***
To his ashamed bewilderment, Charles actually found it quite enjoyable getting fucked by someone who was furious with him. Erik had been so unlike his usual competent self, all hard eyes, fierce glares and strong, unyielding hands. He’d bitten and sucked until Charles was sore all over, whimpering with every touch, unable to bear any more, writhing and moaning at the scrape of teeth over his nipples and the fingers shoving roughly into him, prepping him for the pounding of his life.
All right, it had been more than quite enjoyable, it had been amazing, but sadly all the amazingness had resulted from him being a total arse. Erik would have been perfectly justified in walking out and never coming back.
That wouldn’t have been enjoyable at all.
Charles rolled out of bed, trying not to make too much noise. He was too het up to sleep. He padded to the bathroom and took a long look at himself, noting with some satisfaction the swollen lips and the red marks blossoming on his chest. Experimentally, he ran a finger over one still-sensitive nipple. Ow. Ohh… mmm.
No, he wasn’t going to get distracted by thoughts of sex. ‘You can fix this, Charles Xavier,’ he told his reflection. Tomorrow would be different. He’d take Erik somewhere nice, a real date, and apologise properly. Then maybe they actually would be friends, and things would be like before when they’d stumbled around on the polo field together and hugged each other and laughed.
The date might be a problem though. He didn’t have a clue what Erik liked, beyond knowing that he approved of Hitchcock movies and disapproved of polo. Also, there was some pointless performance that they were scheduled to go to with Dr Grey and bloody Moira MacTaggert.
It didn’t matter. He was going to make it a special evening. They could blow off this whatever-it-was, he didn’t really need to see Dr Grey again, Cain and Kurt could have it their own way this time.
He just needed to find some kind of excuse.
***
‘Did we buy you a tuxedo?’
Charles was standing in the doorway, looking vaguely discontented. Erik set his book aside, wincing slightly at the memory of that shopping trip. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You bought me half the store, I’m surprised I haven’t got a dozen.’
‘Oh,’ said Charles sadly. ‘Oh well, I suppose it wouldn’t have worked anyway. We could have just hired one. Maybe I can say we both went down with food poisoning, but that’s such an obvious lie. She’d probably think we were just having lots of sex.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Erik started to smile and suppressed it hurriedly, telling himself not to be so stupid. He’d wanted to stay angry but Charles was being conciliatory and cuddly in such a hopeful way. Every moment was a struggle not to pull him close and tell him he was forgiven.
Charles shuffled his feet. ‘I thought we could do something tonight, just the two of us, so I need an excuse for Dr Grey. We were supposed to go to this thing with her. La Traviata, I think it’s called.’
‘La Traviata?’ Erik repeated, feeling his mouth go dry.
‘Yes. It’s an opera, or something. We can skip it though. I mean, who wants to go to the opera?’
Erik swallowed. He could remember, very vividly, the last time he’d been to the opera. It was just after they arrived in America and his father had taken him to make him feel more at home, a reminder of their many family outings back in Berlin. They’d seen The Marriage of Figaro, with its implausible plot and joyously happy ending, and his father had said, ‘You see, Erik? There is confusion on the way but very often it all turns out well.’
And now his parents were dead and he was just another LA rentboy.
Fingers brushed his hand. Charles was suddenly kneeling at his side, looking up at him with heart-stopping earnestness.
‘Erik, do you want to go?’
He shrugged. Of course he did. He wanted the curtain and the lights and the thrum of excitement, and most of all he wanted the music with all its passion and power. It made no difference though, it was up to Charles what they did and where they went.
‘I like opera,’ he managed.
‘Oh, well then, that’s different!’ said Charles, delighted. If he’d had a tail he would have been wagging it excitedly. ‘I’m so glad, I’ve been wracking my brains to think of something you’d like. And you can talk to Dr Grey and it won’t matter that I’m so frightfully ignorant. Perfect.’ He dropped his eyes and smiled shyly. ‘Then it’s a date. ’
Erik opened his mouth to say, ‘you do remember I’m a prostitute, right? We’re really not dating.’ Then he realised that he was going to see La Traviata and all he could say was, ‘Thank you.’
***
‘Your young man is quite the opera buff,’ Dr Grey said, during the second interval. ‘Very well informed.’
‘Yes, I know, he loves it,’ said Charles. At least, he knew now. His eyes flicked towards the door to the box. Erik had stepped outside after the curtain came down, nominally to get a breath of air but more probably to hide the fact that he was tear-stained and sniffly.
‘I’m glad someone’s having fun.’ Dr Grey’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well, Xavier, let’s get on with it. How much are you offering for my company?’
Her voice was taut. He knew it had nothing to do with the money, if she lost Phoenix she’d lose her life’s work, her staff would lose their integrity and thousands of people would lose what little hope they had.
He started on the pitch. Then, about halfway through, he stopped. He couldn’t meet their eyes. ‘I really don’t want to be doing this, you know.’
‘Don’t you? Then don’t do it,’ Moira snapped.
‘I don’t know if there’s another way.’ There had to be. ‘I hope… I’m still working on it.’
‘Well keep working,’ Dr Grey told him sharply. She gave him one of her more piercing glances, which might have had a shade of approval in it. ‘At least you know what you’re talking about, which is more than most. I’ve read some of your articles. What are you doing wasting your time as a CEO?’
Charles looked down at his feet. He was beginning to wonder about that himself.
Erik slipped back into the box at the three minute bell. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I just needed to…’ He shrugged and insinuated his gorgeously tuxedoed form back into his seat with a watery, dazzling smile.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ said Charles inanely. He had no idea, the music was pretty but he wouldn’t mind having a few electron micrographs to analyse as he listened. Still, as act three progressed he realised that he’d be quite willing to sit through hours of the stuff. By the end he scarcely registered that the woman dying of tuberculosis had just sung at full volume for five minutes, because the last aria had set Erik’s eyes glistening again, and he’d taken Charles’s hand and held on tight.
Out in the street, after they’d handed the Doctors into a cab, he tried once more to prove that he wasn’t a total philistine when it came to music. ‘It was very artistic. I liked the… singing.’
Erik laughed. ‘Bullshit. You hated it,’ he said, ‘but what do you know? You’re an idiot who gets lost in LA and picks up prostitutes by accident. It was beautiful.’ He practically glowed under the streetlights, still the sexiest thing imaginable yet nothing like he’d looked on Hollywood Boulevard. It wasn’t the clothes, the hair, or the seductive pose. He looked happy.
‘Beautiful,’ Charles agreed weakly.
***
Erik was gentler that night. Afterwards, Charles lay nestled against him for a long time. ‘What’s your name?’ he said eventually.
‘James,’ said Erik. ‘Do you like that?’
Charles propped himself on one elbow to peer into his face. ‘You don’t look like a James.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘No. Is it really…?’
‘No.’
***
On to part two!