liked him too little to care for his approbation
“Mr Xavier will be joining us for dinner,” Logan said, coming into the room, and Erik realised he meant Charles. “I had to instruct the servants to give him some of your clothing; mine would be far too wide in the shoulders.”
Erik felt his eyebrows rise, minutely. “I see.”
Logan clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you for understanding; he’s anxious to stay with his brother, and I think Hank will find his presence comforting.”
“So it’s Hank, now, is it?” Erik asked, teasing a little but also genuinely wanting to know.
A little colour appeared on Logan’s cheeks (above the stubble – no matter how often Logan shaved, he always looked untidy again within a few hours).
“I find myself becoming very fond of him,” he replied simply.
Erik smiled, despite himself. Perhaps I should not be so cynical. Perhaps one of their party would make a happy match, at last.
They sat down to dinner at around six. Charles Xavier was seated across from him. Charles Xavier was, unmistakably, wearing Erik’s clothing. The dark blue shirt, which looked only passable on Erik, made Charles enchanting – the colour was beautiful with his eyes and complexion, and the shoulders and chest seemed a little too big on him, emphasising his slenderness. It was difficult not to stare.
For God's sake. Three weeks ago he was barely worth my notice. What has overcome me? Erik hastily sipped some wine and then hastily put his glass back down; it would not do to get drunk. His hands twitched in his lap. Mr Xavier was making him into a fidgeting wreck.
“We’ve hardly seen you, Mr Xavier,” Emma remarked. “Have you been nursing your brother all this time?”
“Yes, whenever he wakes,” said Charles. “I’ve been reading while he slept; Mr Howlett was kind enough to let me borrow from the books in there. You must have quite a library throughout the house, Logan.”
“I confess, it’s not a library I have much use for, myself, but an alpha who keeps a grand house is expected to have a grand library, and I inherited many books from my father. Erik reads, though, don’t you, Lensherr?”
“On occasion, yes,” Erik replied.
“I have borrowed a book by Sir James Edwards,” Charles said, looking across at Erik. “But I am sure you read far more intellectual works, Mr Lensherr.”
“On the contrary,” Erik was pleased to reply. “I enjoy any novel with spirited characters and evocative language.” He was gratified by a look of surprise on Charles’ face.
“I was happy to read a novel with a virtuous Alpha lead,” Charles remarked, recovering quickly.
*****
Although Charles was enjoying antagonising Mr Lensherr, he could reluctantly admit that at times he also genuinely enjoyed the quality of their conversation. Mr Lenhsherr had proven himself to be very well-read; perhaps even better read than Jean. His taste was good, and he held opinions that he was ready to argue for and justify.
“I have heard that Mr Moreley is his own editor and publisher, and that’s why his novels run far too long,” Erik said, over their main course.
Brendan Moreley was a popular contemporary writer; Charles wondered at Erik's familiarity with a novelist considered by some to be common and unrefined.
“I enjoyed Cordelia,” Charles replied, referring to Moreley’s most recent novel – the story of a young omega pursued by an older Alpha woman. “I find it nice to have a book one can return to, again and again, of such great length that I might make it last a fortnight or more.”
“And do you enjoy serialized novels?” Erik asked.
“Not at all,” Charles said, shaking his head vehemently and taking another drink. “It’s far too easy to misplace an issue, and besides, I don’t like being made to wait for things.” He smiled. “I rather prefer to take things when I want them, and in whichever quantity.”
“Then we are alike in that respect,” Erik replied. Their eyes met for a long moment.
Does he mean to remind me that I was not up to his standards? Charles wondered. But what would be the point?
“So you are not of the opinion that waiting for something can make its eventual arrival sweeter?”
“It would have to be a very great reward, to both hold my attention and maintain my patience,” Charles retorted.
Erik seemed to have no response to that.
Dinner passed quickly; when he was not talking with Erik, Charles was more than happy to answer all of Mr Howlett’s questions about Hank.
“And does your household have dogs?” enquired Logan.
“Yes. In fact, my brother keeps his own hounds,” Charles said.
“Truly?” Logan asked, looking pleasantly surprised.
“Unusual, I know, but Hank has rather an affinity with animals. He enjoys their company; he says they are simpler to understand than men.”
“I would say that Logan shares that sentiment,” Erik offered, smiling at his friend.
“I hope to introduce Henry to my horses, when he recovers,” Logan said.
“I am sure he would like that very much.” Charles reflected that Logan and Hank seem remarkably well-suited to each other; he did not want to let his optimism get the better of him, but he allowed himself some hope that they might make a match, in time.
Charles felt heartened to see the genuine friendship and affection between Mr Lensherr and Mr Howlett – well, heartened might not be the right word, but he was beginning to understand that perhaps, although Erik had unforgivably odious towards himself, Mr Howlett was not entirely unfortunate in having such a friend as Mr Lensherr.
“Would you be our fourth for quadrille, Mr Xavier?” Miss Frost asked him, with her bright, pretty smile, as they finished their meal.
Charles offered her what he hoped looked like a regretful smile. “I am not much one for gambling; I prefer chess.” This was an utter lie, but he was aware that the stakes Mr Howlett and Miss Frost would play for would surely far out of his modest budget.
“Chess?” Logan exclaimed. “Well, you will have to indulge Erik; he has had no worthy opponent since London. Neither Emma or I are any good at the game.”
“Oh.” Damn. Charles did enjoy chess – that part was not a lie – but he had rather hoped to return to his room, read a little, and retire early. Now he would have to spend even more time with Mr Lensherr. At least I might have the pleasure of besting him at his favourite pursuit, Charles thought to himself with a quiet smirk.
They play by the window; it was growing dark, now, but the sky was clear, and the stars were out.
“You have revealed yourself to be a very great reader,” Erik said, as they lined up their pieces.
“Surprised that an omega should have some intellectual substance?” Charles asked, archly.
“If it were a surprise, it would be a pleasant one,” Erik said, “but Logan’s ward Marie is a great reader, too, as well as an omega.” His grey eyes met Charles’.
“You will forgive me for assuming you to be judgemental,” Charles replied, taking one of Erik’s bishops.
Erik said nothing. Charles could not read his expression, but felt pleased to have reminded Erik of their first meeting. If he was to be forced by politeness to play chess with such a rude alpha, he might as well make him as uncomfortable as possible.
In time, Charles was surprised to discover that Erik seemed a very well-matched opponent for him in chess - neither superior nor inferior - and because of this, he found himself reluctantly enjoying the game. Hank was far too good at it for either of them to ever enjoy playing against each other, and Raven had no patience for it; nor did Moira.
If I cannot beat him by a great margin, perhaps I can irritate him in some other way, Charles thought to himself. “Not pretty enough to tempt me” was surely the remark of an alpha who had no care for the feelings or worth of omegas, and Erik must therefore, maybe, find autonomy and confidence repulsive in the fairer sex. Charles licked his lips, slowly and deliberately, tasting Mr Howlett’s expensive brandy, and looked up at Erik.
Erik raised his eyebrows, and Charles smiled to himself.
Good, Charles thought. Moira often teased him for being an idealist, for holding out for a love match rather than a marriage of money or convenience, but it meant at least that Charles was a well-practiced flirt. Meeting many alphas, being courted by some of them, and settling for none of them over the past few years had given him a wealth of knowledge.
Slowly, he unbuttoned the top button of his – Erik’s – shirt, and loosened his tie. “Do excuse me, Erik,” he said, careful to sound warm and familiar. “I find the room a little hot.”
“Of course,” Erik murmured. “I quite agree.” His eyes flickered to Charles' throat, where it was now visible.
They continued their game, Charles gaining a slight edge over Erik as they progressed, leaning much further over the board than necessary, allowing Erik to catch his scent. Upon his next turn, he sucked a finger into his mouth, feigning deep concentration as he peered at the board. When he finally moved a pawn and glanced up, Erik’s eyes were fixed on him.
“Hm?” Charles said, widening his eyes. “Oh. I quite apologise,” he said, taking his finger out of his mouth. "A dreadful habit, really. I don’t even notice I’m doing it,” he lied.
Erik’s eyes were slightly glazed as he lowered them and quite pointedly stared at the chess board.
I am sure he quite detests me, Charles thought, smug. Good. I hope I am irritating him enough to distract him from the game.
Just as Charles was about to take Erik’s queen, a servant entered, and immediately addressed Logan. “Mr Xavier’s fever has worsened,” he reported. “He is in quite some discomfort; I believe he has gone into heat.”