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“Absolutely fucking not,” Erik says, seeing the idea forming in Charles’ mind even though they aren’t sharing thoughts at the moment.
Charles sighs. “How do you suggest we pay for our fare then? Now that you’ve wasted the last of your gold buying my papers.”
Erik puts his drink down, smacking his hand on the bartop. “That wasn’t—I have plenty of ways of getting money, Charles.”
“Legal ways?”
“No, not that what you’re suggesting would be either.”
“But my way wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Charles points out, raising one eyebrow, his tone indifferent. He’s getting that sardonic look that Erik hates.
“It would hurt you.”
Charles laughs at that. The sound is cold, but his eyes go tender and he shifts on his barstool so he can lean into Erik’s shoulder a little. “No it won’t, no more than anything else I’ve done. Look, see that man over there? The one that’s too well dressed?” He points across the loud room, past the drifting smoke to the side with the pool tables. Erik spots the man Charles means, wearing a three-piece suit and sitting alone near the wooden rail, his face bored as he watches the ongoing games. “Definitely slumming it.”
Erik grimaces. “No, forget it. I’m not letting you do that.”
Charles pulls away, tilting his head dangerously. “Who said it was your decision?”
Erik digs his nails into his palm. “Charles,” he says, trying to match Charles’ dangerous look with one of his own.
Charles ignores him, taking a last sip of his beer and standing, pushing Erik’s reaching hand away.
“Charles!”
He dodges Erik’s hand and makes his way across the crowded room, taking his time about it. He pauses at one of the packed tables, winking at one of the men there while as he waits for a barman to go past with an armful of glasses. Erik can see him slipping into character, his look turn carnal, his mannerisms slightly more effeminate. It’s effective. Someone near the pool tables lets out a catcall, and Charles turns toward him with a wicked smile. Erik gets up and follows several steps behind, not wanting to make a scene by hauling Charles out of the bar by the scruff of his neck. He’s pretty sure he’s only trying to make a point anyway. Or he’d fucking better be.
Erik stays back, watching from a distance as Charles flirts with the pool players, putting his arm around the one who called him over. The pool players aren’t his real target; they’re rough looking and might be trade themselves, joking coarsely with Charles in Spanish and asking him for good luck kisses while he fakes shyness. He makes the most of his limited vocabulary, chatting with them while sneaking glances at the well-dressed man. It’s working, the man has definitely taken notice. His eyes are dark as he looks at Charles over the rim of his glass, not attempting to hide his gaze as he looks up and down his body. Charles glances at him, biting his lip and darting his eyes away.
Charles makes an excuse to the pool players, laughing as the one holding him moans in exaggerated disappointment. He pushes him off, spinning out of his grasp and walking back toward the main bar. He hesitates like he’s thinking about getting a drink and then changes his mind, veering toward the wooden rail and going to stand on the other side, opposite Mr. Three Piece Suit. He leans there casually, his back to the man, looking around the room several times before glancing over his shoulder.
The man is staring openly, and he gives Charles a predatory smile when he meets his eyes. Charles asks him something, probably “Parlez-vous?”
Erik can’t hear them from where he’s standing, watching as Charles flutters his lashes and makes a show of being enthralled by the dark stranger. The man puts his hand over Charles’ forearm and Erik pushes himself through the crowd, walking past the pool players to stand closer to them against the wall.
Charles isn’t looking at him, but his smile turns mocking and the word Jealous? pops into Erik’s head.
Worried, he answers, trying to push all his frustration and anxiety forward, hoping it will guilt Charles into ending this stupid game.
The man must pick up on Charles’ distraction because he looks up and turns his head, spotting Erik easily. Or maybe he felt Erik’s glare burning a hole in the side of his head. Erik stares him down, trying to scare him away. The man smirks at him and lets his hand drift down Charles’ arm and around his back. A bottle cap at Erik’s feet suddenly takes on a life of its own, flipping over and zinging across the floor. Erik starts toward them. Enough of this.
The man watches Erik’s approach, looking amused. Charles has the gall to look disappointed, frowning as Erik comes closer.
“Is he your pimp or part of the deal?” the man asks. Oh, he’s English, fucking wonderful. The would-be john makes no effort to hide his appraisal, eyes drifting down to Erik’s waist and not looking impressed.
“Boyfriend,” Charles answers, glaring at Erik. “He can wait here.”
The man’s look changes, shifting to something more calculated as he continues studying Erik. “I might prefer it if he came.”
“Right,” Erik says, taking Charles’ arm and trying to pull him away. “Enough.”
Charles doesn’t come easily and as Erik is still trying to get a good grip on his upper arm the man says, “Double.”
Charles digs in his heels and gives Erik a sharp look. That’s almost enough to pay for passage for both of us.
Erik grimaces. No, Charles.
They’re still within three feet of the john, and he’s watching their silent battle of wills with interest.
“No.”
“Erik—”
He doesn’t let Charles finish, finally giving into his instincts and bodily dragging Charles across the room, pulling him through the bar and out the door into the cool night air.
“What the fuck was that?” he asks, letting go of Charles so he doesn’t give in to the urge to shake him.
Charles shoves him a little, pushing him further away. “Dammit, Erik, I’m trying to pull my own weight here.”
“And I’m trying to tell you that you don’t have to! Money is not a problem, Charles. We can get money. Between the two of us there must be a million alternate ways that don’t involve selling yourself.”
Charles wipes his mouth and turns. “You don’t get it.”
“No, I don’t!” Erik says, throwing his hands up. “You’d think that you—” he catches himself before he can finish saying like it, but Charles overhears the thought anyway, flinching away from him.
Erik turns his back too and covers his face with one hand. “I didn’t mean that.”
There’s a long moment of silence, and then Charles says, “I just—I don’t like using my powers like that. Being a conman. Maybe because I’ve been conned myself. I’d rather… it’s easier this way.”
“It’s okay,” Erik says, turning back and reaching out to touch Charles’ shoulder, his fingers light. Charles turns into the touch immediately, moving closer and tucking his head under Erik’s chin—previous hurt forgotten, just like that. Sometimes Erik wishes Charles wasn’t so forgiving.
“We’ll find another way.” Erik promises, holding him. “We don’t even need to con anyone, I still have some contacts I haven’t tried…”
Erik trails off as the door to the bar opens and the would-be john steps out. He spots where Erik and Charles are huddled together and smiles, walking closer to them and leaning against the brick façade as he pulls out a cigarette. “Triple.”
Charles snaps his head around, looking at the man with naked calculation. That’s a lot of money.
“I’m not asking for anything from the other chap,” the man continues, clicking his lighter, oblivious to Charles’ silent thoughts. “I only like an audience.”
The end of his cigarette catches and he draws in a deep lungful, blowing the smoke out and waiting, his eyes on Charles.
Charles turns back to Erik. You want to get to Miami as fast as possible, don’t you?
Not like this. I think I might kill him.
Don’t be ridiculous. Charles turns away from him.
“For what?” he asks, dropping any pretense of coyness.
The man considers, tapping his chin. He looks down the street and nods to an alleyway. “Suck me off while he stands guard.”
“For triple?” Charles asks, sounding surprised. He looks back at Erik and chews on his lip. It is a lot, more than they need. They could catch a ship leaving tomorrow and be in Miami in under a week.
It’ll take ten minutes, Erik, really, it’s nothing. He sounds like he’s already made up his mind. Please, let me. Let me do this. Not for you, for both of us.
Erik’s jaw works and he looks down at the ground. He grinds his teeth for a long minute before gritting out, “Do what you want.” Like you care what I think.
Charles turns away from him, smiling at the man as he throws his cigarette on the ground. The john holds out his hand, beckoning Charles over. Erik puts his hands in his jacket and looks away, but he’s sure the john is smirking as Charles takes his hand. Erik feels like he would punch him if he looked. I’m only doing this because I’m afraid of what might happen if you go alone.
Charles takes the john’s arm and leads him up the street, ignoring Erik until he reaches the alley, where he glances over his shoulder.
Erik nods once and follows them as they disappear into the shadows, nervous about letting Charles get too far ahead of him. He stays toward the mouth of the alley while Charles goes in further, stepping past an alcove and pushing the john back against the wall there. He drops to his knees and starts to undo the man’s belt.
“No,” the john says, stopping Charles’ hands. “Closer than that. I want him to be able to see. And hear.”
Charles sighs and glances back at Erik, looking exasperated. Erik’s jaw is twitching. There’s a metallic crunch from somewhere at the back of the alley and a trashcan falls over, clattering loudly onto the pavement. The man snaps his head around, startled.
“It’s probably a cat, relax,” Charles says, giving Erik a pointed look. “Well?” he asks.
Erik nods stiffly and moves closer, stopping about five feet away from where Charles is kneeling and leaning one shoulder against the wall. This is better, anyway, he’s close enough to intervene now if the man gets rough.
The man smiles and unzips, putting his hands back against the wall and keeping his eyes on Erik as Charles licks his lips.
Charles apparently decides not to bother with any illusions, leaning in and setting to work. Maybe he feels like he owes the guy his money’s worth, never mind what it does to Erik.
Charles is in profile to him, and Erik can see the wet slide of his mouth, hear the noises as he starts to suck. The sight gives Erik a little rush of desire and he looks away, disgusted with himself. No, no, enjoy it, Charles says, head bobbing up and down now. It’s not an angle you normally get to see…
The man is still staring at Erik, watching his reaction as Charles blows him. He gasps, playing it up for Erik’s benefit and chuckling a little. He brings one hand up to stroke through Charles’ hair, and Erik watches him like a hawk, waiting for an excuse to jump over and drag Charles away. Any reason at all to beat the ever-living shit out of him.
It’s okay, Erik, it’s fine, hold on, one more minute—
The man’s hand tightens in Charles’ hair and Erik pushes off the wall, stance ready. But the man doesn’t pull, only using his grip to hold Charles’ head in place and saying, “I think you can do better than that—”
Charles moves forward, and Erik can see his throat working, swallowing him down. “Ngh, yes, oh-oh-that’s it. Good show. Your boyfriend is very, ah, very lucky.”
He presses Charles’ face in harder and comes—fucking finally—gasping like a gutted fish while Charles swallows. Charles pulls back and wipes his mouth, standing up as soon as he’s done. He takes a step toward Erik and then stops himself, scratching the back of his neck and glancing at him like he thinks Erik won’t want to touch him.
Erik relaxes his shoulders and tries to make his expression less murderous. Charles gives him a little smile, coming closer and pressing his face into his shoulder. Sorry, sorry, it’s over now.
“Aww,” the john says, smirking from where he’s still standing at the back of the alley. He finishes tucking himself away and takes his wallet out of his coat, starting to walk toward them. He fishes out a wad of bills and tosses them on the ground as he brushes past, staring straight at Erik. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
Erik makes a fist, digging his nails into the half-moon cuts he made earlier. But Charles keeps him pinned against the wall, holding him tightly until the john is farther away, turning down the street. He waits until Erik relaxes slightly, letting go to snatch up the money and count it quickly. “Ha, Miami here we come.”
Charles stands, bumping up against Erik again and pressing a quick kiss against the side of his neck. Erik is still watching the john, who’s making his way down the street back to the bar. He’s close enough that Erik could still hit him, snatching up one of the trashcan lids or dragging a metal tile off the roof. He might even be able to kill him if he got up enough speed.
None of that, Charles says, touching his cheek and bringing Erik’s attention back to him. “He kept his end of the bargain. Come on now, forget it. Let’s get back to the hotel.”
He starts to pull away, but Erik won’t let go, getting Charles to meet his eyes and leaning in, going for a kiss without really thinking about it. No! Charles turns his face and Erik misses, getting the corner of his jaw instead. My mouth is disgusting.
Erik shakes his head, rubbing his nose against Charles’ cheek instead. Charles pushes away from him. Let’s get out of here.
He takes Erik’s hand and pulls him out of the alley, leading him the opposite way down the street, glancing over his shoulder and smiling. Thanks.
“For what?”
For letting me do that.
Erik tries to hide his anger, not sure if it’s really for Charles or not. He knows he needs to calm down, if only to stop himself from saying something hurtful again in the heat of the moment. He settles for saying only, “It’s not happening again.”
Charles smiles, but looks away, not answering.
___
When they get back to their room, Charles goes into the bathroom and immediately starts brushing his teeth. He looks around the door as he does it, giving Erik a speculative look. He spits and then turns back, flecks of foam clinging to the side of his lips obscenely. “Do you want to fuck my mouth? Make me forget his taste?”
Erik’s cock twitches, stomach twisting hotly, but he shakes his head, coming into the bathroom and leaning against the wall as Charles swishes. “Stop talking about it.”
“Sorry.”
He watches as Charles gets cleaned up, splashing water over his face and sneaking glances at Erik in the mirror. Erik’s own reflection is stony and impassive. He’s had something of a revelation just now, one that he really doesn’t like.
Erik is not normally very good at analyzing other people’s inner life, more because he doesn’t care than because he’s bad at it. But Charles’ pain is like a mirror of his own, and whenever it comes to the surface Erik can feel his heart trembling in sympathy, like two opposing magnetic poles that harmonize and sing the closer they get together. It helps that Erik often literally experiences Charles’ pain. Yet even then, Erik can tell he holds back, trying to keep the most damaged parts of himself hidden even as he opens every door in Erik’s head, looking at everything he is and accepting it without hesitation.
Erik goes back into the room and tries to sort out his thoughts. There’s something he needs to say but he’s not sure he can do it without making things worse. Without making Charles worse.
Charles comes out of the bathroom with a towel, patting his face and smiling at him. He looks sultry again instead of apologetic, and he glides up to him with a sway in his hips, back in character.
Erik catches his shoulders. “No. Sit down.”
Charles’ mask slips, worry and confusion flashing for a moment as he drops to sit on the bed. “What—”
“No, just let me—that wasn’t. It wasn’t necessary.” He turns away, walking to one end of the room and back, running his fingers through his hair and tearing at it hard enough to hurt. “Charles, God, do you want me to be disgusted by you? Because I’m not, I never will be, and I don’t know what to do if that’s what you want. What you think you need.”
“Oh, oh, Erik—” He’s smiling his fake smile again, and Erik lets it stoke his anger.
“Will you stop—look, this isn’t easy for me. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blow me off and belittle me every fucking time I try to tell you that—that I—” He turns away, walking to the other side of the room again and reaching for the door.
“Erik!” Charles sounds startled, his cover shaken, and it’s the only thing that keeps Erik there, hand on the doorknob.
Charles doesn’t say anything so Erik inhales once and tries to continue. “You’re so powerful, I just. I don’t understand what makes you do this, what makes you think like this.”
There’s a long pause before Charles responds. “Like what?”
“Like this is all you can do, the only thing you’re good at. Like I’m the best thing you—what you deserve.”
“Erik—”
“No. Don’t follow me. I’m not. I’m not leaving, but it hurts too much to look at you right now.”
___
He goes out and walks the streets alone, going through alleyways and dark places, wishing someone would jump him so he’d have an excuse for violence. No one does, probably out of self-preservation, and after a few hours the desire to see Charles outweighs his frustration and sadness again. He finds his way back to the hotel, getting lost twice since he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and finally having to stop and ask directions.
When he gets back, Charles is sitting by the bed, staring out the window. He must have seen him come up the street then, been waiting for him. He turns when Erik comes in and watches as he hangs his coat behind the door. Erik doesn’t know what to say or where to even start, so he comes over and sits on the bed across from him. Charles seems to know what he wants to say at least, leaning forward and taking a breath before beginning.
“Erik, you are what I deserve, more than I deserve—”
“Charles—”
“Let me finish, dammit. It’s my turn. You’re not a monster, you’re wonderful, you’re gentle and loving and so, so sweet, and I honestly don’t understand how you can be, after everything. But you’re still. You never lost your idealism, somehow.”
“What?” Erik is honestly confused now. He had no idea Charles was this delusional. “Charles, I don’t know what you think—”
“No, of course you don’t.” Charles waves a hand, tracing vague shapes in the air and getting up to sit next to Erik on the bed. “Neither of us can see ourselves properly anymore. But that’s okay, we can be each other’s eyes.”
“Charles—”
“Please, Erik. Please try. Try to see what I see when I look at you.”
He shakes his head and has to cover his face, turning into Charles’ shoulder as his mouth twists, voice failing him.
“It’s okay, Erik, I know. Of course I know.”
It’s all Erik can do to keep breathing, especially when Charles brings his hand up to cradle the back of his head and adds, “I didn’t mean to be dismissive, and I promise I’ll try not to anymore. It’s just hard for me to—I know you love me, I do, but I can’t quite believe it either.”
Erik bites his lip, holding Charles tighter because he can’t seem to form the words, even inside his head. “You don’t have to, shh,” Charles says, soothing him. “I love you too, in case it wasn’t obvious.”
You shouldn’t.
Let me be the judge of that. “That’s the deal I want to make: I have to believe you now, when you tell me these things, okay? And you have to try too, for me.”
Erik nods. He’s shaking a little now and Charles holds him in return, waiting for him to get hold of himself. “I can—I’ll try.”
Charles nods into his hair, letting out the breath he was holding. “Thank you, that’s all I’m asking, that’s all we—” I want us to at least try. I couldn’t stand it if we, if this ended and we never really tried.
“Okay,” Erik says. It’s not enough, but Charles smiles anyway, tears running down his face as he pulls back, thumbs stroking over Erik’s cheeks as he holds his face.
“Okay,” he agrees. It comes out breathless, the sweetest vow Erik has ever heard, and he leans in, giving Charles a kiss to seal their promise.
Okay.