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“That was easy,” Erik said suspiciously, watching the door close behind Angel. The dragonfly-winged dancer had gone to turn in her notice after only ten minutes’ conversation. “Did you… persuade her?” He tapped his temple.
“Certainly not,” Charles said, offended. “I wouldn’t interfere in a life-changing decision like this—at least not without a really good reason. No, she’s just ready to change her life. Tired of being stared at and pawed over all day.”
“I can certainly understand that,” Erik murmured, and Charles picked up the briefest flash of an image from him—Dr. Schmidt watching through glass as Erik tried to catch knives thrown at him. But Erik didn’t dwell on the thought. He was… distracted, his mind pulled away by something else he also didn’t wish to dwell on.
Charles was feeling a little distracted, himself. Sitting tucked against Erik like this, feeling his warmth all the way down one side of his body while they sat together on a bed in this tawdry, lust-drenched establishment… It was enough to distract anyone, and it had been days now since Charles could convince himself he wasn’t feeling what he felt, when he looked at Erik.
A few moments of awkward silence passed.
“Well, we should—” Charles said.
“Yes, certainly,” Erik agreed.
Charles leaned across Erik to put the bottle of champagne back in its bucket, at the very same moment that Erik moved to get up off the bed, and their faces knocked into each other.
More specifically, their mouths knocked into each other. For the briefest split second, Charles felt Erik’s lips warm and soft against his.
Charles steadied himself on Erik’s thigh and cried, “Oh, bother!” Which was definitely the stupidest thing he had ever said and it was too bad he couldn’t instantly evaporate into non-existence.
“Sorry,” Erik said breathlessly.
He didn’t draw back. Neither did Charles. Their lips were less than inch apart. Erik had gone a little cross-eyed, staring at Charles’s.
“Oh,” Charles said, because honestly, it was impossible to miss now—the thoughts Erik had been trying so hard to hide were boiling at the front of his mind. In overall flavor, they were indistinguishable from Charles’s own; only the details differed.
Well then.
Charles dropped the champagne bottle onto the carpet, swung himself into Erik’s lap, and kissed him again. Deliberately, this time, a long, deep, melting kiss that Erik surged up into like a drowning man, his arms sliding around Charles’s back.
At some point, the door opened behind them. Angel’s voice muttered something disparaging in Spanish, and the door closed again. Neither of them looked up. They had much better things to do.