Chapter 2
In contrast to the contrived gloom of the midday parlor and the practiced elegance of dinner, the evening sitting room was bright and warm from the crackling fireplace, to say nothing of the brandy and the somewhat more limited company. A chessboard, stage for a close but amicable game, put respectable space between Charles and Erik. Respectable, damnable space, much to Charles’ chagrin.
“I must say,” Charles laughed, “when the candlestick moved I thought she would faint on the spot. Do you suppose the charlatans ever play tricks on each other like that? Is that why she seemed hardly ruffled?”
“To say nothing of when she heard you!” Erik crowed. “Truly I admire her composure - it was something of a nasty shock to hear a voice, not mine, in my mind. Imagine in hers. Oh, it was a brilliant trick! A brilliant one - but a shock, that’s all.”
Charles’ laughter abated. "Tell me, Erik." Charles' words were just barely slurred with drink. Erik's cheeks were flushed with the same. "How long have you known you were different?"
"You mean how long have I known I was a mutant, or how long have I known I was an invert?"
"Both. Either. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head in a way he hoped was charming.
"Tell me first why you won't just read my mind.” Erik tilted his head and grinned, roguish and challenging. “That’s not an invitation to do so, mind."
Charles' smile dimmed. "Do you think I make a habit of that?"
"You reserve the mind-reading for charlatans, then?"
Charles wet his lips. "Well - I often use my abilities, but in ways that are not... overly invasive."
"Your mother's blue dress?"
Charles looked down at the chess board. "It is your move, you know."
"You are more interesting than chess."
"My mother always hopes that these things will bring words from my father." Charles was suddenly rather exhausted. Blame the drink, he thought. "The moving metal, it was unlike anything she had ever seen these frauds do before. It seemed cruel to raise her hope only to crush it. I thought it would be a kindness to share something my father alone would know, to put her heart at ease."
"But your father alone would not know her dearest memory. You would know as well, if you wished. She could just as well deduce that you were the one responsible. Is she aware of your gift?"
"She is aware." Charles yawned. "You may have tired of playing, but I tire of speaking. Shall we resume or shall we retire?"
"No need to retire." Erik leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers tented beneath his chin. "If I am prying, I do beg your pardon. I do not mean to scold you."
"Very well. I shall move for you." Charles reached across the board and moved a rook, then just as quickly took it out with his own pawn. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Your move again."
Erik's eyes lingered on his with soft regard. "All right," he said at last. He looked down at the board. "My move." His fingers extended and hovered over a knight for a moment, then withdrew. "If I upset you, forgive me. It was not my intention."
"You haven't," Charles lied. It wasn’t Erik’s fault that he had, anyhow; he was not the telepath of the two, he could not know what he’d stir with his questions. Charles reached for his drink and took a lusty swig. "More brandy?"
"Please." As Charles rose, Erik moved a bishop, collecting a knight.
"Tell me about yourself, Erik. We have said quite enough about me. We have seen each other before in passing, but I’m afraid with my being away at Oxford for so much of the year we have never had the pleasure of becoming acquainted. I’d rather like to know you better."
"What do you know about me already?"
"What, do you think I took liberties?" Charles tried not to read too much into the moment of silence that followed.
"I meant no such thing."
Charles set the refilled glass before Erik and flopped back into his seat with his own glass in hand, the brandy sloshing precariously close to the rim. He took a sip, considering. “I know you are a mutant, and an invert, and I know you are from the continent, though I don’t know where. You take pride in your abilities, and you have a wicked sense of humor.” Another sip. “What else is there to know?”
“Correct on all counts. I am from Germany, though I haven’t been in many years. I was born there and lived there for the better part of my childhood, but my abilities got me into some trouble, I’m afraid, and attracted some unwanted attention, and so my mother sent me to be fostered with a cousin here in England the summer before I turned twelve years. I no longer live with my cousin, and I’ve no reason to return to Germany, and so here I am.”
"Do I know your cousin?"
"Unlikely. It is your turn, is it not?"
"Is it? I thought it was yours."
"I took your knight."
"Regardless." Charles brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. Erik's eyes followed the movement as his fingertips glided in lazy circles along the rim of his glass. They regarded each other across the board for a moment. "Sometimes if I indulge too much my control slips and I can hear things without meaning to," Charles confessed, apropos of nothing.
“Can you?” Erik shifted in his seat and lifted his glass to his half-curved lips. "Like now?"
"I can tell what you're thinking, yes." Charles arched his back and let his head loll against the chair. "You have many stories to tell and you’re pleased to have a companion you feel you can share them with, but you haven't the energy to tell them tonight. You hope I cannot tell that you were looking at my arse when we left the parlor after the seance - " Erik sputtered on a mouthful of drink - "and that you appreciated it, you wanton scoundrel, you, or that you also appreciate the color of my eyes."
"You are an articulate drunk."
"I'm hardly drunk!" Charles protested. "I am only slightly affected."
"Affected enough to slacken your control and loosen your lips but not to addle your mind, is that it?"
"Quite right, my friend. As I was saying, you appreciate the color of my eyes and the way that the drink colors my cheeks, and you would very much like to kiss me, among other things. You may, if you like."
Erik quirked an eyebrow. "Does the drink make you forward, or do you always have such cheek?"
"I could see what you were thinking about me when I reached out to you about the candlestick. I want it too. I may not have the breadth of experience you have with such things, but I - and - “ Erik’s eyes widened. “ - oh, do pardon me, Erik. As I said, my control slips a bit when I drink. I did not mean to intrude again."
"Then perhaps it is time to retire," Erik said, not unkindly. He rose and leaned over the board, hands settling on either armrest. He brushed the tip of his nose against Charles', then leaned forward and pressed a chaste, momentary kiss to Charles' mouth. "Good night."
“Good night,” Charles mumbled. Later he’d wish he’d said something devastating, something to leave Erik yearning for him all night, or to keep him from leaving at all. But in the moment he could only stare in a daze as Erik straightened to take his leave, smiling all the while.
---
The bedroom spun a little when Charles entered. All he could think about was Erik's voice, Erik's fingers, Erik's mind. It would be so pleasant to fall asleep musing on Erik, the fellow mutant and fellow invert who reciprocated Charles' desire. That was a dazzling thought indeed, one that brought a heated thrill to his core. But there was quite a bit else about Erik besides, an air of mystery, secrets that Charles wanted to know. The anticipation of learning it all warmed him; it would rock him to sleep that night.
"Did you think I wouldn't know it was you?” Charles whirled, his heart jumping. Sharon rose from the chair in the corner where she had apparently been waiting.
"A - a what? I - " She must have been waiting the entire evening, he realized. She curled her lip at him when she smelled the drink. Charles wildly ran through the events of the evening, through each moment that might have aroused her contempt and making sure there was no possible way she could have found out about him and Erik - that his powers would have alerted him had she been in their vicinity - yet under her flinty stare he was sure that she already knew, or she might as well have, and she was admonishing him as much for what he was as for what he’d done. Charles had no defense against that.
"Did you think I wouldn’t know? I know as well as you that spirits are not real.” She wet her lips, eyes hard and steady. “You've always thought yourself so clever. If your father had known that your childish insolence would grow into such arrogance - "
"Mother, please." He held up his hands and shook his head, dizzying himself. "Forgive me. I only meant - "
"Spare me,” she hissed. His eyes flickered to the floor.
She brushed past him in her long, brisk strides to the door, not sparing him a backward glance as she pulled the door shut with a decisive click. Charles sank onto the edge of his bed.
He thought about going to Erik, then dashed the thought from his mind as soon as it had come. Instead, without bothering to undress or lift the covers, he lay back and closed his eyes, drawing deep, steadying breaths. Sleep came for him shortly thereafter.