Dirty Little Secrets

PART I

Chapter 1: Crimson

Charles tried desperately to avoid the eyes of the boy who'd just stepped through the door of Period 2 Biology. He hoped and prayed that he would not recognise him from the night before, and that he would simply slot himself in with the other tall, good-looking boys, that sat with their feet up on the back bench, blissfully unaware of little Charles- sitting in the front row. His heart had not stopped pounding out of his chest since the announcement that there would be a new boy joining the class. It couldn't be him; the guy from last night was hardly a school-age boy. He was… Charles sniggered as his mind recalled the incidents from the night before, and how, ahem, un-childlike they were. He felt the eyes of the back row lock onto him, and then the teachers, and then…Erik's. Damn. Laughed out loud. Damn. He felt a crimson blush rush to his face, and slowly looking up, his eyes met with the 'new' boy's.

"This is Erik Lehnsherr, boys, he's just joined us. Welcome, Erik". Professor Shaw recited, without even looking up from his lesson plan.

"Thank you, Sir, though I have already been welcomed most thoroughly." Erik replied, and flashed a broad grin towards the front desk, where Charles sat, turned away in embarrassment.

"All right, all right, just go sit down." Shaw said, ushering Erik to his natural place at the very back. Erik's rough fingertips trailed along Charles' shoulder as he passed. Nobody could have seen, but Charles cringed away, as though Erik's hand betrayed the events playing out in his mind, and that same careful touch of his hand the night before.

The other boys thumped Erik on the arm as he sat down between them, a few shook his hand, and one or two did that strange hand-shake-back-slap that Charles had never gotten the hang of. It was as if he'd known them forever. Charles had never felt part of the school. Yes-all the boys got on with him, respected him-to a degree- but he would never be one of the lads. They'd asked him to sit 'up the back' with them once, but he'd politely declined, knowing that he couldn't sit with those boys- even for one class- without either compromising his morals or pretending to be something he wasn't. This didn't make Charles dislike them, mainly because they were dull, and mostly didn't know when they were rude or offensive, and more often than not, they were just completely oblivious to life outside of their little group; it was just the way they were. They hadn't been offended by Charles' declination, a little taken aback, maybe- they found it hard to believe that anyone would rather be alone than sitting with them- but they accepted that Charles was what he was: the only nerd in school whose shoes they wouldn't take. They could never admit it, but part of their acceptance of Charles was more out of fear than respect. Charles was friendly, quiet, yet open, and always willing to help; but he was also intense. He was intelligent and they'd all seen him trick and manipulate teachers to achieve what was a flawless and untouchable school record. It was deserved. He worked for it and would not let himself be distracted. Charles didn't know if they understood, but they accepted it. And that was enough.

But now he was afraid, because Erik was dangerous, and knew some dangerous things about Charles. From what he'd gathered last night, Erik didn't seem like the kind of person who would be particularly concerned with the way he, or others, were perceived. Charles' heart was still going at a thousand beats a minute, and as Shaw began the class again, he tried desperately to concentrate on the work in front of him, rather than Erik, and what Erik was doing right now, if Erik was looking at him, the way Erik looked at him last night, everything, every corner of his mind taken up with Erik. Erik…Erik…Erik…

"Anyone going to answer?" Shaw tried, looking out at the class sitting before him, some daydreaming, others chatting. Charles, of course, belonged to the former group. Usually he would jump right in with the correct answer, once he'd given the others a chance to get there themselves. He didn't like to be arrogant. But on this occasion, he had to confess he hadn't even heard the question. Shaw's eyes met with his, questioningly. Shaw didn't like Charles, particularly, but he could always rely on him to participate in class, even when no one else did.

"No? Alright then boys, five minutes to recess" He mumbled at the boys as he packed his things into his brown satchel, slung it over his shoulder and made for the door "I'll see the Darwins in the Common Room"

Charles was a Darwin. It was a pleasant enough house, and honestly they spent little time in their common rooms other than for prep, but he hadn't been too pleased when he'd discovered that Shaw was this year's head of house. After Professor Hainsworth's shock passing last year, Shaw had stepped in, being the only other senior staff member in Darwin house. Of course, calling Shaw 'senior' was always strange-he was easily the youngest staff member and didn't look a whole lot older than the year 13 boys- but he was a Professor, and there were few at Blackmount.

Blackmount stood metres above the sea at the East Coast of England. Charles and his stepbrother Cain, and adopted sister Raven had moved there from their home in the states after their lives had fallen apart at the mercy of abuse, fire, and death. The three never spoke of it, and since Cain had left high school two years ago- Charles supposed he'd probably moved to London, or back to New York- he hardly had any contact with him at all. Charles and Raven got on much better, but the boys weren't permitted to visit the girls' school except on occasions such as Christmas, when the few kids who had no place to go- Charles hated the word orphan- joined for celebrations at Blackmount. Of course the teachers were more lax during this time- and Charles could pretty much come and go as he chose, so long as he was around for the festivities and back before the begin of the new term. So he wrote Raven letters instead, which usually arrived within the day, so communication was swift. On weekends they could use their phones and the two would call and text all day.

There were five houses at Blackmount: Darwin, the red house; Churchill, the yellow house; Shakespeare, the blue house; Hardy, the green house; and Newton, the black and white house. The five were not nearly as separate as the school might have liked and the dorms were arranged by age, rather than house. The only real difference was where you spent prep, the teachers you went to for assistance, and the colours that were on your tie. Charles' uniform was much too big, a second hand uniform that had been given to him upon arrival two year ago with the anticipation of growth. The junior years wore navy blazers, and pale blue shirts, and the senior boys wore black blazers with navy shirts. Trousers were navy or black depending on age, and the ties corresponded with house and position within the school. Charles' trousers hung well below his ankles, trailing in the grass and mud and thoroughly ripped. He had to wear a thick black belt to hold them up. The other boys all wore their trousers fitted, black dress shoes pointing out beneath neat hems. Charles' shirts weren't tight and flattering like the others', rather, thin and bunchy. They rose up and bulked at the waist line, and his blazer sleeves were so long that when rolled down they dusted his knuckles. His uniform was every part the orphan.

Though uniform was strict at Blackmount, during the first term they could usually get away with non-regulation items-due to the chill- so long as they looked presentable. He wore a thigh length black coat, rather than the blazer when around the school. It had been Cain's, but it had remained, along with his massive school uniform, bed linen, textbooks and stationery, in his dorm when he left, and naturally they'd been given to Charles as there was nowhere else they could be sent. Cain hadn't left an address or any means of contact. The waist tie meant the coat fitted well, and disguised the messy waistline his shirt and trousers created. He wore a navy knit V-neck jumper on colder days, and that held the masses of fabric down nicely. His navy blue and red striped scarf hung loosely about his neck, and held in the hair at the nape of his neck that was getting far longer than he would've liked. One thing that could be said of Charles is that he could always make the very best out of a dreadful situation.

The boys filtered out of the classroom as Charles rounded up the last of the things on his desks. Erik was amongst the crowd, being welcomed into the boys' strange world of social discourse: talking loudly over one another and slapping each other hard on the back, laughter roaring and echoing down the high stone corridors. When the ringing of their voices had finally died down, Charles grabbed the rest of his books and made for the door. As he looked up, he noticed the tall figure leaning against the wall, arms crossed over a stack of books.

"Erik." Charles gasped, and dropped the books he had not yet managed to shove into his satchel. He'd gone for nonchalance, but it came out raspy, aching, almost. Shit. Erik's smile only broadened. He had a seemingly endless row of perfect white teeth, and when he smiled creases formed around his eyes and mouth. His eyes were a beautiful deep blue, but with sparkles of green. Not dull and bland like mine. He let his eyes trail down Erik's frame, the strong lines of his jaw-where the deceivingly mature auburn stubble dusted his chin in the morning light-his neck and chest, the sweep of his legs and oh god. Charles gulped hard and with great effort brought his eyes back to meet Erik's. Erik chuckled lightly at the effect he had on Charles, and the irony of Charles' shyness.

"You left so early this morning" Erik sighed, his thumb pushing a strand of Charles' hair behind his ear, and lingering there. Charles inhaled swiftly again and took a step back from Erik.

"I had to er, sneak back into school this er morning, but that's no important" Charles mumbled staring at Erik's shoes with stony eyes. He took a deep breath in: "What are you doing here, Erik?"

"I just moved, I told you that." Erik said, the smile on his face fading, just slightly.

"I thought you were like twenty!" Charles gushed, his hands trembling and blood pumping in his ears. He was angry at Erik, though he knew he had no right to be.

"Oh, and that's your excuse? That makes it better?" Erik retorted, eyes boring into Charles' head.

"Can we just forget this happened?" Charles mumbled, bending down to pick up the books still lying between them. Erik watched Charles for a moment, looking so beautifully vulnerable beneath him, before kneeling to help him.

"That's not fair." Erik said, searching for Charles' eyes beneath the wisps of hair that had fallen before his eyes. "Charles you can't shrug me off like this, not after last night" As he spoke he slipped his fingers around Charles' wrist and gripped lightly, smiling at Charles- who was still fumbling aimlessly with the last of the books. As soon as Erik finished the sentence Charles' head snapped up, and he tugged his hand from Erik's. He stood up, wordlessly swinging his bag over his shoulder, and reached for the door.

Erik was too quick for him. He effortlessly caught the door between two fingers before Charles could open it properly. And once again grabbing Charles' wrist, he shimmied along the frame so his back leant against the door and slammed it shut. He tugged on Charles' arms lightly and he fell against Erik's chest with a dull thump. Erik's breath was heavy against Charles' forehead and he could feel Erik's stubble graze against his face, the way it had last night. Erik still smelt musky, and manly, and Charles doubted that he'd even showered. This is too much. Charles inhaled deeply, and then with all his courage, peeled away from the taller boy.

"No, Erik, this is fair. Last night meant nothing, and you knew it. I owe you nothing" His voice trembled slightly, but he pushed past Erik with purpose and stormed off down the hall. Erik's smell was still thick in his nostrils and in the morning air he thought he could almost still taste him on his tongue.

...

Erik slid down the classroom door. The old oak was harsh on his back, but he didn't care. He was exhausted. And alone; he was surrounded by so many people, but so, so alone. He cradled his head in his hand for a few moments, and then, with a sharp intake of breath pushed himself up off the floor and made his way down the corridor. He'll give in yet. Not soon. But he will. And he chuckled to himself, feeling significantly comforted that he knew a dirty little secret about the schools star pupil, and he would use it. If I even have to…

...

Charles swung back the crimson velvet curtains that hung before the sixth form area of the Darwin common room. There were a few chairs, but it was well known within the house that Charles sat there every prep, to study in peace. If anyone ever joined him, they too had to sit in silence or risk one of Charles' metallic stares. He exhaled as he saw his leather arm chair empty, as usual. He kicked off his shoes, and tossed a quickly lit match from the box in his pocket into the large iron cast fireplace. Blackmount always had enough dry wood for fires; the stone walls meant it could get cold very quickly, especially during the winter months. He set the brass alarm clock on the mantel piece for three hours- the minimum evening prep time for sixth formers - and once sitting back in the chair with his feet on the low mahogany table, pulled his satchel onto his lap, removing the biology books from the morning's class and opening them to the relevant pages. Usually Charles found genetics interesting, but today he couldn't focus his mind on it. It constantly strayed back to Erik. The emotional investment Charles had made in the stranger was unreal. He wasn't usually like this. And the first day of term isn't even over yet. Erik would be here till the end of the year. There was no changing that. All he could do was keep his head down and try his best to shut out any feelings regarding the tall, beautiful, stranger. Charles let his imagination swallow him once again, and it wasn't until the harsh clang of brass woke him that he even realised he'd gone to sleep, and that he'd wasted the whole of prep. What a start to the year. He threw aside his books and nestled into the armchair, maybe he could just curl up here, and never venture out into the corridors, where he would be victim to those wonderfully wicked, all- knowing eyes.