A/N: Written for a prompt from hopsjollyhigh "Erik relishes whatever affection he can find, and thrives on the risk inherent in expressing it in the court; the Daroga hardly ever knows that Erik is there before he's pulling him into an empty room to steal kisses in the middle of the day, just barely out of sight of other people."
He cannot say that he was not dreaming of just such a thing happening. Well, not dreaming so much as intricately imagining. He can at least say that his imaginings were very nearly accurate - he had the billowing dark robes, the long white fingers, the gasps from behind the moulded mask. What he was missing was the alcove, having had a degree of sense and put them in Erik's chambers.
So it is something of a surprise, to say the least, to find his back pressed against the cold stone wall and that mask cast aside, the malformed lips pressed to his throat, mouthing a string of sweet words that he can't understand, but he does not need to, not really.
And, well, as that long-fingered hand snakes inside of his robes, brushing his thigh and lightly tracing the route to his hip, he cannot say that he...objects too much.
Though it would be nice if they were not at risk of being found…
