Charles knocked nervously at the door, unsure of what to expect.
He was not prepared for what answered the door. Erik was changed out of his costume, now only wearing pants and a loosely buttoned shirt. His mask was gone, but that only made his eyes and cheek bones more apparent.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Charles entered the room while Erik lingered behind him to shut the door.
"I'm ready for some poetry," he growled into Charles' ear, making him jump.
"How about a little supper?"
Charles twisted his hat nervously in his hand. "I'd rather just get it over and done with."
Staring, Erik set down the champagne bucket with a clank. "Oh."
He lounged onto the bed, sprawled out invitingly. "Why don't you come down here and get it done with then?"
"I prefer to do it standing up." Charles clutched at his now crumpling hat awkwardly.
Erik quirked an eyebrow, and made to get up.
"No, please, sit down. It can be quite long, and I want you to be comfortable."
At this both of Erik's eyebrows rose, but Charles didn't notice.
"It's quite modern, what I do, but I think if you're open you'll be quite pleased."
Erik nonchalantly loosened one of his buttons, revealing more of his skin. Charles looked away suddenly, feeling his face flush instantly. He twirled his hat in his hand, before trying to begin.
"The sky—" he started, as his eyes drifted back to Erik, who was now splayed on the sheets with yet another button loosened.
"The sky. . . " Charles struggled to continue his train of thought. Turning, he took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind.
"Is everything all right?" Erik asked, and Charles turned back sheepishly.
"Sometimes, it just takes a little while for, you know. . . inspiration," he mumbled, and Erik rose off the bed.
"Oh, I see. A little trouble, then? Let me inspire you."
He knelt at Charles' feet, before the belt buckle suddenly came undone and flew the belt off. Smirking, Erik looked up into Charles' eyes.
"Inspired yet?"
Charles could only stammer, before he was pushed back onto the bed. His buttons were undoing themselves, and Erik clambered on top.
"Take me, you want this, don't you?" Erik growled as he tugged at Charles' collar, his body heat radiating into Charles.
"A big boy," he grinned as he tugged on Charles' pants. "I need your poetry, I need it now!"
"Wait, wait! All right!" Charles yelped, rolling off the bed and away from Erik. Panting, Charles looked out the window, trying to calm down. And then the words started to come.
"It's a little bit funny. This feeling inside."
Erik watched Charles pace the carpet, dumbstruck and panting on the bed.
"I'm not one of those who can easily hide. . . . is this okay, is this what you want?" he ended tentatively.
"Oh, poetry. Yes, this is what I want," Erik stretched out, and as Charles began speaking again he thrashed about on the bed.
"Yes, oh, don't stop, yes," he cried, rolling in the blankets with every word Charles said. Charles could only stare, a feeling of both confusion and want mingling in the pit of his stomach. He could win this man over.
"~My gift is my song. . . .and this one's for you. . . ~" he sang gently, barely breathing the words into the night. Erik paused, staring up at him from the floor where he lay flushed and breathless.
"~And you can tell everybody, that this is your song. It may be quite simple, but, now that it's done.~"
Erik watched, enraptured by the words. Charles was staring back at him from the balcony, all his tension and nervousness melting away as he just sang out his heart.
"~Hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words…~"
A small smile began to creep onto Charles' face, driving all other thoughts from Erik's mind. He never moved his eyes from this strange English poet, and was certain something in the air was changing.
"~How wonderful life is, now you're in the world.~"
Now Erik had risen slowly off the floor, and was standing next to Charles. The words kept coming, and Charles couldn't help but grin giddily as he sang. He felt on top of the world, and his thoughts were soaring out into the night.
Every consciousness lit up like a small beacon, dotting the city in a blanket of stars as Charles sang; he felt as though he were flying through the night sky as he sang to this prince, his Prince.
He grabbed Erik's hands and danced out onto the balcony, singing to the moon.
"~And you can tell everybody, that this is your song.~"
Erik was enthralled, his smirk replaced with a genuine smile. Charles could feel the words slowing, the sudden flash of music leaving, but he sang the last few words with every ounce of his being as he drew in closer to Erik.
"~How wonderful life is now you're in the wooooooooorld...~" he grinned at Erik.
"I can't believe it," the paramour breathed. "I'm in love…I'm in love with a young, handsome, talented duke."
"Duke?" Charles breathed.
"Not that the title's important, of course," Erik smirked, wrapping his hands around Charles' shoulders.
"I'm not a duke," Charles whispered back.
"What?"
"I'm a writer."
Erik backed away a step, and stared hard at Charles.
"A writer? What, no no-"
"Well, Beaubier said-"
"Beaubier? No, you're not another one of Beaubier's oh-so-talented-charming-Bohemian-tragically-impoverished protégés?"
Charles shrugged with a small grin. "Well, you might say that-"
"Oh, Beaubier, I'm going to kill him," Erik muttered as he headed for the door, Charles frantically chasing after him.
"But Beaubier said-"
"I need to see the Duke," Erik growled as he waved at the door to rip it open with his powers.
He slammed it shut the second it opened.
"The Duke!" he nearly shouted, startling Charles.