Chapter Text
Charles had always known ghosts were real. He’d encountered his first when he was only seven years old, and his father had just been buried in the cold, unfeeling dirt of Westchester’s cemetery. The snow had covered the grave in great snowdrifts when his father... returned.
Charles didn’t remember much, recalling the event all those years later. He remembered being curled up in his bed, his father’s old blanket wrapped around him, desperately trying to hold onto the last bit of the man’s scent, when his bedroom door creaked open. He would have heard any footsteps—the wooden floors of the manor groaned underfoot, but this uninvited guest made no sound other than a dry, rattling rasp as it drew close to his bed. Charles didn’t dare to look; the sound was bad enough. The sound was so horrible that Charles didn’t think it could get any worse, until he felt the cold, steely grip of his father’s dead fingers wrap around his shoulder. He felt the icy breath of death on his neck, and the rasping voice echoed in Charles’s ears.
“My only son—beware... of Crimson... Peak...”
Charles didn’t know what those words meant at the time. All he could do was scream and scream until his nursemaid came running to his room and the ghost of his father had faded away.
It wasn’t until eighteen years later that he understood what his father’s warning meant.
The day dawned bright and cold, and Charles piled his curls into a pinned-up bun as he hummed under his breath, making swift work of dabbing a touch of rouge on his cheeks and lips, and smudging a bit of kohl under his eyes. His dress was a sapphire blue embroidered with pearls along the chest, and his matching pearl earrings swung from his ears cheerfully as he descended the stairs of the manor, the maid already standing at the door with his briefcase waiting for him. The maid, Jenny, smiled when Charles took the briefcase with a smile and murmured thanks, and opened the front door for him with a wave goodbye as he hurried out the door.
The rest of Westchester bustled around Charles as he made his way to the office, weaving between alphas and betas as he took the stairs to the third level two at a time.
“Charles!” The voice was warm and gruff, and Charles stopped dead at the sound, unable to keep a smile from growing on his face.
He turned, smile widening at the sight of Logan Howlett a few steps below him, the alpha leaning against the mahogany banister and looking Charles up and down with a slight smirk.
“I didn’t know you were back!” Charles tried to keep the delight out of his voice but failed miserably, and Logan’s smirk grew at the fact. He took a step towards Charles, his scent growing warmer and thick with the scent of pine as he met Charles’s gaze.
“Got back a few days ago. You didn’t hear I was back?”
Charles fought to keep the frown off his face as he responded. “My mother didn’t tell me.”
Logan chuckled without humor at that, shaking his head. “She never did like me.”
Charles had nothing to say to that, just descended a step, his briefcase held tight to his chest.
“What are you up to, bub?”
“I’ve brought my manuscript. I was hoping to get it published.”
Logan nodded, eyes cutting to the third floor and the Atlantic Monthly office out of sight.
“Well, good luck. I’ll see you around?”
Charles was surely imagining the slight edge of want in Logan’s gruff voice.
“You’re going to Moira’s tonight, right?”
“I’ll be there.”
Charles smiled at that and dipped his head in acknowledgement, turning to ascend the stairs once more.
“I’ll see you there! I have to go over this a bit more. Goodbye Logan!”
“Goodbye, Charles,”
The waiting room of the Atlantic Monthly office was empty when Charles bustled in, taking a seat on the bench and opening his briefcase to pull his manuscript out. It was quick work to spread the sheets of paper across the bench, and he hoped ruefully that no one would need to sit there beside him as he uncapped his pen and began to work. An hour flew by as he scratched out words and scribbled their replacements in the margins, and he only looked up when someone near him cleared their throat. Charles startled and looked up immediately, eyes locking with McMillan, the editor in chief.
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you had come in.”
McMillan smiled a little nervously, retreating backwards so Charles could rise from the bench, gathering his manuscript in his arms hurriedly.
“Hello, Charles. Are you ready to get started?”
Charles nodded and the two of them filed into McMillan’s office, McMillan sitting behind the enormous mahogany desk and Charles taking the cushioned chair in front of it. He shifted in the seat nervously, running a finger along the edges of the manuscript as McMillan stared at him.
Charles handed it over when McMillan smiled slightly. He felt his stomach pool over with dread as McMillan started to read, the beta fixing his glasses on his face and his strained, grey eyes moving back and forth across the pages.
The beta read for at least ten minutes, letting out a grunt here and there in response to what he was reading. When he was done, he set the manuscript aside and folded his hands together on top of the desk, leveling Charles with an intent gaze.
“Charles, I think you have a talent for this—but I’m not certain there’s an audience for a story like this. Or at least not,” He waved a hand, and Charles felt his face heat from embarrassment.
“At least not from... this perspective. Do you understand?”
Charles swallowed, chewing his tongue to keep from spitting out the words he wanted to.
“Do you mean from a writer that’s an omega, sir?”
McMillan took a while to respond, then finally nodded. “There are very few omega writers, as I’m sure you’re aware, Charles. And those that do exist, typically write--” Another wave of his hand as he fished for the right words.
“Well, to put it plainly, romances.”
Charles didn’t bother to hide his frown now. “I understand, sir. So you won’t publish my manuscript?”
McMillan sighed, gathering the sheets of paper together and handing them across the desk to the omega.
“I’m sorry, son. It’s just not right for our magazine. You can try a few others. But I would consider the romances.”
Charles didn’t wait to hear any more. He excused himself with a nod and a false smile, gathering his manuscript in his arms and stuffing it into his backpack swiftly. He would not cry; at least, not here.
He was rushing out of the office when he ran straight into someone and he stumbled, growling under his breath and clutching his briefcase close. Before he could fall into the street he was grabbed and pulled upright by strong arms, and he stared wide eyed at the man he had crashed into.
He was a broad-shouldered man, plainly alpha for the way his scent filled the air with its richness. His hair was smoothed back stylishly, his nose straight and proud, and his jawline carved from marble. His eyes were a curious, swirling combination of blue, green, and gray, and they were just as startled looking at Charles as Charles felt.
Charles couldn’t help the way he turned bright rerd and retreated a step immediately, clearing his throat in embarrassment.
“I am terribly sorry—I wasn’t paying attention. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, Mister...?”
The man squared his jaw and held out his hand, which Charles shook, dropping the handshake as soon as it was polite to do so. He purposefully ignored the electricity that had run up his arm upon their skin contact.
“Lehnsherr, if it pleases you. Erik Lehnsherr.”
Charles bit his tongue to keep himself from saying it does please me.
Instead, he simply introduced himself. “Charles Xavier. I do hope I haven’t delayed you too much, Mr. Lehnsherr. I must get going--”
Lehnsherr held out a hand, and Charles shut his mouth immediately.
“There is a way you can make it up to me. Can you point me in the direction of the Summers construction office?”
Charles smiled, looking back over his shoulder at the building he had just left.
“I can lead you there, if you like. It’s no trouble at all for me. I’d like to help however I can.”
Erik Lehnsherr finally showed a flash of emotion in his surprise, and the tiny uptick of one corner of his mouth—as if he was fighting a small smile.
“After you then, Miss Xavier.”
Charles began to lead Erik Lehnsherr back to the office, the handsome alpha following close by his side.
“Are you new to Westchester, Mr. Lehnsherr?” Charles didn’t want to announce that he’d noticed the slight accent in the man’s voice, or how much Charles enjoyed it.
Lehnsherr nodded, looking down at his feet as they walked.
“I’m only visiting on business, Miss Xavier. My brother and I crossed the ocean for this—I do hope it won’t prove to be a waste of our time.”
Charles looked sideways at the man, taking in harsh profile.
“May I ask what sort of business brought you here?”
Lehnsherr looked at him, and Charles quirked his mouth into a short smile.
“We’re looking for investors. Dreadfully dull stuff for a high-class omega like yourself, but we’re looking to do construction back home, and we need partners for the work.”
“Oh, it doesn’t sound dull. I do wish you luck. I know Alex Summers personally—he's a good man. I would imagine he might be able to help you.”
Their conversation trickled into silence after that, but Charles wasn’t anxious in the silence, didn’t feel the urge to fill it; silence with Erik Lehnsherr was perfectly easy. Charles led Lehnsherr up the steps of the office building, and Erik Lehnsherr grabbed the door handle immediately, showing off the proper manners of a well-bred alpha as he held the door open for Charles. Charles nodded in gratitude at the gesture and slipped by the alpha, Lehnsherr following closely behind. He looked around once they had entered the lobby of the office building, taking a deep breath.
Lehnsherr turned toward Charles, his eyes brighter, warmer, as they looked at him.
“Thank you for your help, Miss Xavier. I do hope we meet again.”
Charles felt his face warm, but nodded. “I do as well. Good day, Mr. Lehnsherr. And good luck.”
He turned on his heel and made his getaway before he could embarrass himself any further, the scent of Lehnsherr’s warmth and spice lingering in his nostrils in a way that made his heart race and his stomach pool with liquid amber.
The cheerful honking of a horn had Charles dashing down the stairs, a smile on his face. Jenny opened the door for Logan as he walked up the stairs, his motorcar idling in the drive—Charles could just make out the lights and hear the rumble of the engine. Logan was dressed in a smart tuxedo, his sideburns brushed neatly and his hair gelled into its characteristic twin points.
Logan nodded to the maid and flashed a canine in a quick smile when Charles skipped over to him.
“My, oh my, don’t you look dashing, Logan.” Charles bounced on the balls of his feet as he motioned for Logan to do a small spin, and the alpha obliged, holding out his arms slightly to show off the cut of the tuxedo, the way the silk of the tie shined in the candlelight.
Charles’s mother appeared at the top of the stairs with a cough, and the pair of them turned to watch her descend haughtily down the steps. Sharon Xavier’s harsh face only sharpened at the sight of Logan in her foyer, and she paused only for a moment before continuing. As a beta, she didn’t have much of a scent, but what she did turned charred with Logan’s presence.
As she descended the stairs, she glided towards Charles, pushing a stay curl behind his ear, her lips twisted into a frown.
“Hello, Mrs. Xavier. Are you ready to go to the MacTaggert’s?”
Sharon sniffed, and nodded. “I’ll go if I must, though I do hate the stink of that motorcar.”
Charles, who had taken her hand in his and was patting it, gave her a covert pinch. She sniffed again, and Logan turned back to Charles.
“Charles, are you coming?” His eyes flitted down to Charles’s amber colored robe, his slippered feet poking out from the flowing hem.
He couldn’t help the slight, rueful smile as he shook his head. “Ah, actually—I decided against going to Moira’s tonight. I’m working on revisions, since my appointment with the Atlantic didn’t go very well. I want to try submitting to other magazines through the mail.”
Logan carefully rearranged his face into its usual gruff, indifferent expression, but Charles could see the disappointment in his eyes.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you?” Logan’s tone turns a little playful, a little needling. “Who will I dance with if you’re not there?”
Charles rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You have plenty of options, I’m sure. You’ll survive.”
Before the pair of them could get much farther in their teasing, Sharon cleared her throat, and raised a brow at Charles.
“Don’t stay up too late, darling. You’ve got bags under your eyes already.”
At that, Logan shot a look at Charles behind Sharon’s back, and Charles’s mouth quirked up on one side. “I won’t, mother. Have fun, and give my hellos to the MacTaggerts, won’t you?”
She nodded and turned to accept Logan’s outstretched arm.
Charles watched them head out the door, leaning against the elegant mahogany bannister until Jenny shut the door behind them.
Jenny smiled at Charles, clasping her hands together and bouncing on her heels.
“Did you want me to prepare some tea, miss?”
“That would be lovely, Jenny, thank you. Chamomile?”
She nodded and hurried off, leaving Charles to climb the stairs, his nightgown dragging behind him, slowing down each step.
Charles turned his oil lamp on his nightstand, reclining in bed and scrubbing at his eyes. He didn’t bother holding in his sigh as he took a long sip of his tea, his hair falling out of his careful pinned-up position.
Charles twisted the end of his pen as he squinted down at his revisions, words on the pages blurring from his exhaustion. As he tried to reread a sentence for the third time, the door to his bedroom creaked open. Charles didn’t look up automatically—in such an old house, creaks and groans were normal. It was only the rush of wind that had him startling, and his head darted up, eyes locking onto the dark shape at the end of the hallway.
His heart jumped up to his throat, and he sat straight up, hand coming up to clutch at his throat as the figure took a step closer. Charles leapt out of bed as the figure took another step, racing to the door to slam it shut. His breath came in short and labored as he held the door tightly shut, the door handle jerking and seizing under his hands.
Pressing his face to the door, he breathed heavily, eyes scrunched shut.
“What-- what do you want? Why are you here?”
His father on the other side of the door groaned, his voice a death rattle.
“Crimson Peak... beware... of Crimson Peak...”
Charles shook his head, mind working a million miles an hour.
“I don’t know what you mean, I don’t know—please! Leave me, leave me alone,”
The door jerked wildly under his hand, throwing him backwards. He tripped on the carpet, falling to the floor, the door banging open. Charles clenched his eyes shut as he scrambled back till his back hit the bed frame, the air in the room turning glacial. The ghost of his father exhaled against his cheek, and Charles held in his breath, wishing for once he was religious—but he had never prayed before, and didn’t know the words now.
A ghostly finger stroked down the side of his face, his father breathing heavily.
“My son... do not leave me...”
He shook his head over and over, heart stopping until he no longer felt the coldness of the figure hovering over him. He still didn’t dare to open his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Miss? Miss! Are you alright?”
A warm, human hand shook his shoulder slightly, and Charles opened his eyes to meet Jenny’s concerned ones.
“Help me up, please, Jenny. I just—I saw--” His words failed him. What could he say that wouldn’t sound insane?
She helped him up with one hand on his elbow, the other clutching his hand tight. Her skin was reassuringly warm. Charles nodded in gratitude when she produced a handkerchief for him to dab his eyes with.
Jenny cleared her throat awkwardly, looking over her shoulder toward the hallway.
“There’s someone here for you, Miss. A Mr. Erik Lehnsherr—he's very adamant about seeing you.”
Charles shook his head immediately, hand flying to his disheveled hair.
“No, I absolutely can’t see him right now, Jenny. Tell him I can’t come down.”
Jenny swallowed but nodded, and she disappeared quickly back down the hallway.
Charles followed her after a minute, turning the corner and lingering in the shadow of the banister as he watched Jenny and Mr. Lehnsherr interact.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but my mistress is indisposed—he's not ready for company, especially at this hour--” Her voice turned a little disapproving, but Erik Lehnsherr skated his eyes up the staircase, and alighted on Charles, standing there half-obscured.
Charles flushed red and took several steps down the stairs, and Erik licked his lips, waiting for Charles to break the sudden silence.
“Pardon me, Mr. Lehnsherr—I'm not really in a state to receive visitors, I’m afraid...”
Lehnsherr took a few quick steps forward, a bit too boldly, and laid a hand on the banister. His eyes were fixed on Charles’s face, and Charles felt himself turn even more red. He dared to take another several steps down the stairs, so there were only a few feet between them. Erik Lehnsherr’s warm, woodsy scent with the slight tang of iron filled the room again, and Charles tried to inhale without being too obvious.
“Are you alright? You look very pale,”
Erik Lehsherr’s brow wrinkled in concern, and Charles ducked his head so he didn’t have to meet those unflinching, magnetic eyes.
“Just my wonderful complexion, I’m afraid. Now, Mr. Lehnsherr—what brings you here so late?”
Lehnsherr stared at him for a moment longer, before he spoke. “I’m here to hopefully acquire your help, Miss Xavier. If you’re generous enough to give it.”
“Oh? And what do you need my help for at this hour?”
Lehnsherr’s expression turned a little rueful. “I was on my way to the MacTaggert party—but found myself here, instead.”
Charles frowned in confusion. “The MacTaggert house is in Hatsby Park, sir. This is Maneston. You’ve taken a wrong turn, I’m afraid.”
The alpha hummed, his face growing more and more handsome as Charles looked at him.
“Perhaps I have. But I find myself in need of your help, not with the directions—but with the people.” His tone turned a little deprecating. “I don’t quite understand Americans, I’m afraid. And they can plainly tell.”
Charles smiled a little—he couldn’t help it. Erik Lehnsherr made his insides squirm, his omega instincts leaving him holding himself back from the simpering, giggling stereotype omegas turned into around alphas—but dear God, Erik Lehnsherr made him want to turn into that brainless creature.
“I was hoping you would accompany me to the MacTaggerts tonight. I need someone to help me steer my way through these American waters, if you will.”
Charles swallowed, looking over his shoulder back at the empty hallway. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the house tonight. His heart was still beating double-time.
“Well—alright. But I’ll need to get ready. Do you have a motorcar?”
Lehnsherr nodded, and he retreated a step down the staircase. “I’ll wait for you. Shall I find a seat in the parlor?”
It was Charles’s turn to nod, and he gestured to Jenny, still standing in the foyer.
“Jenny will lead you to the parlor, if you don’t mind. I’ll try to be quick.”
With that, he turned on his heel and scurried back to his room.
Charles shivered at Lehnsherr’s fingers that brushed against his sensitive nape, only inches from his scent glands, as Lehnsherr helped remove his fur stole. Charles murmured his thanks quietly, looking around with his face flushing. All eyes were on them, and Erik held out his arm for Charles to take after the alpha handed off his stole and coat to one of the attending staff hovering near them.
The MacTaggerts’ home was lovely, all mahogany paneling and tourmaline wallpaper, replete with low-set velvet sofas and chaise lounges—but that had all been cleared away for the party tonight, and everyone who was anyone in Westchester’s social circle was in attendance, crowded into the ballroom. And every single one of them turned to look at Charles and Erik as they entered the room. Charles wanted to hide in the shadow of Erik Lehnsherr’s bulk, but Erik escorted him along by the arm, unfazed by the attention and looking around as if he was almost bored. They glided towards Moira MacTaggert, standing in the middle of the crowd, and she smiled widely at Charles, though her eyes turned questioning when she took in his escort.
“Charles, darling. Logan said you weren’t able to come tonight.”
Charles and Moira exchanged doting kisses on the cheek, and Moira squeezed his hand before they separated.
“I had a little change of heart. Mr. Lehnsherr here asked me to introduce him, and I found I couldn’t say no.”
Erik dipped his head in acknowledgement, lips quirking up in amusement. “Guilty as charged.”
After exchanging pleasantries with Moira, Charles and Erik migrated to the other side of the ballroom, where a tall, broad man was reclining against the wall, swirling a glass of scotch under his nose.
The man looked Charles up and down, a smile spreading across his face that was more a flash of fang than anything else. The alpha—because of course he was, stood up from his position of recline and took a few steps forward to clap Erik on the shoulder.
“You’re late, Erik. Though I can see now...” Eyes raked down Charles’s figure again. “What kept you so long. Hello, lovely omega.”
Charles held in the instinct to snarl and held out his hand politely for the man to take and place a lingering kiss on his hand. Charles applauded himself for his restraint on not wiping his hand on his dress, skin crawling.
“My name is Sebastian. I can see you’ve already met my brother.”
Charles looked at Erik out of the corner of his eye, taking in the man’s stony expression, confusion running through him at the way Erik’s hand tightened on his arm.
“Oh, you are Mr. Lehnsherr’s brother? Well, it’s lovely to meet you—my name is Charles Xavier. We meet earlier today, when Mr. Lehnsherr was needing a little help with directions.”
Sebastian’s smile grew, and he shot a glance at Lehnsherr. “Yes, that’s my brother. Hopeless with directions unless a pretty omega comes along, isn’t it?”
Lehnsherr ground his jaw, looking away from Sebastian deliberately down at Charles, his eyes tight, despite the way he quirked his lips up in a half-hearted, forced smile.
“How about you introduce me to your friends, Miss Xavier?”
Charles nodded quickly, eagerly steering Erik away from his leering brother.
Logan, in the middle of the ballroom with—oddly, with Charles’s mother at his side, turned at their approach. His thick, dark eyebrows shooting up at the sight of Charles with the taller, well-dressed man, their shoulders brushing as Charles and Erik stopped a few steps away.
“Charles. I thought you weren’t coming tonight. But here you are,”
His voice had the question he didn’t say, and Charles inclined his head.
“Yes, well—I hope it’s a nice surprise. May I introduce--” Erik stepped forward confidently, his hand shooting out to shake Logan’s. Charles could see how white Logan’s knuckles turned as the two alphas faced off, a show of dominance playing out subtly.
“Count Erik Lehnsherr. Visiting across the pond for a few weeks. Nice to meet you,”
Logan flashed his teeth—Charles grimaced, praying that Logan wouldn’t play any more into the tension sizzling between them. “Logan Howlett. A Count, is that right?”
Lehnsherr’s smile tightened. “Yes. Are you familiar with the title?”
Logan shook his head, though he took a step towards Charles. “I’ve learned most of it from Charles. Telling me all about how they’re parasites with titles. Isn’t that right, Charles?”
Charles worried his lip, shooting a death glare at Logan. “Well, you see--” He turned to Erik, sweat clamming on the back of his neck as the alpha stared down at him, expression unreadable.
“I had never really met anyone that had a title like--” Erik held up a hand, and his eyes turned softer.
“No, no, you’re exactly right. They are a parasitic bunch. I’m extraordinarily privileged. I try to give as much as I can, or even more. It’s the least I can do.”
Charles stared up at him, heart beating faster as he leaned in, Erik’s eyes never leaving him. The alpha was a line of warmth along his side, and the air felt charged, as if the rest of the world had fallen away.
“Yes, I—I feel the same way. I try to do what I can.”
The moment was interrupted when Sharon Xavier cleared her throat, stepping forward with narrowed eyes focused on Lehnsherr.
“Charles, darling, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your ‘friend’.” She thrust her hand out for Erik to kiss politely, her lips pursed. “Sharon Xavier.”
Erik kissed her hand before retreating, unwavering under Sharon’s wanting eye, and the tightness of her jaw at the way Charles leaned into Erik.
“Count Erik Lehnsherr. It’s delightful to meet you, Madame. Your son is lovely. He’s been a perfect escort tonight.”
Sharon shot Charles a look, and he felt the sweat gather on the back of his neck, as she licked her lips, jaw tightening.
“My lovely son, yes. I am surprised he decided to come out tonight—and even more surprised to see him with company. But it’s good to meet you, Count. Will we be seeing more of you?”
Erik shifted on his feet, picking up on the clear distaste in Sharon’s voice and expression.
“Yes, I should hope so. My brother and I are here on business matters. I met with the Summers earlier today.”
Charles tugged a little on Erik’s arm, and he darted his eyes from Logan, his mother, and finally up to Erik.
“Count Lehnsherr—would you like to dance? You can teach us the European waltz.”
Lehnsherr’s smile returned, and he looked down at Charles with a strange excitement in his eyes. “I would love to. Shall we?”
Dipping his head to Logan and his mother, Charles allowed himself to be led away by Erik. The pair of them sidled up to Moira, who cradled a flute of champagne in her delicate fingers and beamed at Charles when they came close.
“Charles, darling! You’re back. Have you said hello to everyone?”
Charles couldn’t help the rueful smirk, and inclined his head toward his handsome companion.
“Count Lehnsherr met my mother, so we’re a little too worn out to make any more introductions. However,”
Erik flashed his sharklike smile, and took a step forward.
“Charles has asked me to give a little demonstration on the merits of the European waltz for my new American friends.”
Moira smiled widely at that and nodded generously, waving a hand to gesture them towards the dance floor.
“By all means, Count. Allow me to inform the orchestra that we want to dance.”
Moira hurried to the edge of the ballroom where the orchestra was arrayed, and when the music had suitably died down, the chattering of the guests did as well. Moira clapped her hands for attention and beamed at her guests, walking confidently towards the center of the ballroom, where people had already begun to make room for dancing.
“Welcome everyone, and thank you for coming tonight. I’m pleased to welcome some new friends from across the ocean, visiting our city for a few weeks—Count Erik Lehnsherr, and his brother Sebastian. Let’s give them a warm welcome,”
The guests erupted into applause, and Erik held up a hand in acknowledgement, dipping his head and his other arm tightening on Charles’s. Charles caught the eye of Sebastian, still across the room, and shivered at the way the man smirked at him, the leer on his face.
Moira continued. “And Count Lehnsherr would like to demonstrate for us the European waltz. Now, Count, if you please...”
She retreated, and Erik released Charles’s arm to step forward, his arms coming out in a wide sweep as he addressed the guests, a smile on his handsome face. Charles could hear some of the omegas tittering eagerly at the sight of a handsome, eligible, and rich bachelor.
“Now, the trick to the European waltz—it's all about having the right partner. With the right partner, you can maintain the smoothness and the swiftness necessary that--” At this, he plucked a long, tapered candle from one of the candelabras spread throughout the room.
“A candle will not go out in the hand of the lead dancer. Now, as for my perfect partner,”
Erik turned back to Charles, and Charles felt his heart stop at the way a curl fell across the man’s forehead, the shimmering depths of those eyes—at once blue, and then green, and then steely grey.
“I have, luckily, found the one already.” He held out a hand, and Charles marveled at the length of his fingers, how meticulously clean the man’s fingernails were— how lovely, Charles thought. Such a simple thing, but the man had beautiful hands; along with everything else about him. It almost wasn’t fair.
Charles took the hand, trying to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest at the surge of electricity he felt at the touch, even more so when Erik brought him close, and put one hand on his waist, and the other, clasping Charles’s. The tapered candle sat between their hands, and Charles simply had to hope that the trickling wax wouldn’t burn his fingers.
Erik stared intensely down at him, and Charles sucked in a breath, blushing profusely at how every eye in the room was on them. His skin felt itchy under all that attention, but looking into Erik’s eyes, the room narrowed down to just them once more.
“Eyes on me. Forget about everyone else. And just follow my lead, alright?”
Charles chuckled nervously. “I’ll try not to step on your toes.”
A quick darting glance down to the delicate ivory heels Charles was wearing, and then Erik’s smile grew sharklike again, though Charles, for once, didn’t mind feeling like prey—if this was the predator.
“Step on them all you like.”
After a beat, the orchestra started up, and Charles was swept off his feet. All he could do was let himself be dragged along by Erik Lehnsherr—and pray he wouldn’t be ruined.