Erik didn't know what to expect when he made his way to Shaw's quarters for dinner. He did have a few guesses though, and plenty of time to steel himself for what he was pretty much certain he would find.
After the message had come for a late supper with the boss in his rooms was delivered by the tall stocky man Gabe, the eldest Summers brother and a permanent fixture on the security crew, Erik tried his best to make himself presentable. He didn't have much to work with, a basin of slightly dingy water a communal razor and a small cracked shaving mirror that Logan had, but apparently didn't use often going by the state of his cheeks.
Alex Summers watched with dark eyes from the corner of the room as Erik shaved for the first time in a week, and wet his greasy hair back from his forehead. The trunk of used clothes provided him with a lightly yellowed, but still presentable dress shirt which was only a bit loose, and some brown slacks held up around his narrow hips by a pair of suspenders. As he futilely scrubbed at the dirt caked under his nails, Erik envisioned the scene that he suspected would greet him when he arrived.
The 'private dinner' would probably include at least two or three of Shaw's henchmen. It was obviously a play to intimidate Erik, and the next couple hours would be spent in tense conversation with the man while being leered at by bloodthirsty brutes. Erik could handle it, he was certain. A little bit of awkward conversation was nothing; he'd suffered through years of that at frat parties and pretty much the entirety of high school.
But there was only one person at the table when Shaw greeted him at the door. Charles smiled at him tightly from behind a table set with a whole roast chicken and a heaping plate of potatoes.
It was the first time Erik had laid eyes on the boy since they'd...dealt with the injured horse. He looked much the same, somehow still just as clean as if he'd had a bath that day, hair still damp and pushed behind his ears. His shirt was crisp and white, collar left unbuttoned a little too low and Erik caught a glimpse of a dark bruise at the base of his neck, on the left side. It looked fresh, just purpling and Erik was sure it hadn't been there that morning. The young followed Erik's gaze a flushed, fastening the shirt up fully.
"Erik!" Shaw exclaimed cheerfully from across the room, "Come in, come in, welcome!" he was dressed in the same white shirt and pressed black pants as Charles, but with a black smoking jacket over top. Erik feels very underdressed in his dingy hand-me-downs. Shaw seemed to have foreseen this and held out a bundle of clothes with a sickly sweet smile.
"Its not often that we welcome an Ivy League into our ranks m'boy, so indulge an old romantic and throw these on, make this a real feast." Erik was tempted to refuse, but this was, as he'd expected, an attempt to make him feel humiliated and if he made a fuss he'd only be playing into Shaw's hands. So Erik accepted the clothes, never breaking eye contact.
When he emerged minutes later, decked out in the fine clothes that, to his surprise, fit him perfectly, Shaw was nowhere in sight.
"He's gone to fetch some wine from the cooler." Charles said when he entered, "He's been saving a lovely chardonnay for an excuse to have a dinner. He'll be back in a minute."
"So do you throw parties for every new recruit who jumps your train?"
"No," Charles admitted laughing weakly, "Sebastian is just excited. He's been feeling a bit down lately, money hasn't been coming in quite as well as it used to, the times have hit us all." he was fiddling with the frayed edge of the floral tablecloth, "you're arrival, really, is like a gift."
"Did he say that?"
"Not in as many words, no," this time his laugh was warmer, more genuine, "but it is, you already saw, we have laborers, we have performers, but an embarrassingly low number of people who actually know what they are doing with the animals. It's easy for the most part, they have been in shows their whole lives and can basically run the routines by themselves, but with matters like, like today, we are a bit inexperienced. So thank you Erik, what you did was amazing."
"You already thanked me. Twice. Earlier today."
"I know, and I meant it every time."
Erik returned his smile wryly, "You thanked me three times now, and I have yet to thank you."
"You don't need to."
"Yes, I do. I have a feeling that it my situation would have been very different if you hadn't spoken for me. I hear quite a few tales involving speeding trains and unfortunate missteps."
Charles' face fell and he suddenly seemed unable to look Erik in the eyes, "Yes well, Sebastian has a bit of a temper that's all. But once you talk him down from it he's a very reasonable man."
"And how long did it take you to reason with him this morning?" Erik asked, thoughts in the hidden bruise.
Charles was very red and looking everywhere but Erik's face, "I-"
"Here we are!" Shaw reentered the compartment, a bottle of wine in each hand, "Charles dear, get the glasses out will you? That's my boy!"
Charles busies himself filling their glasses with the lovely smelling wine while Shaw settles into his chair. "So, Erik. Tell us a little about yourself son."
He was really not in the mood to share his life's story with a man who'd so far only given him reasons to dislike him, so he supplied the abridged version of events. Immigrant parents, grew up on a farm, got into Cornell on a scholarship, parents passed, Erik jumped a train. Nothing for Shaw to read too far into, no weaknesses for him to pluck up.
Or maybe there were. Over the next few hours Erik carefully fielded Shaw's 'polite' inquiries about his parents, how they died, his reasons for leaving home. Charles tried to help, throwing in questions about the days work, commenting on the upcoming bills to try and kickstart the economy, telling cheerful little stories about people who'd worked at the circus. But Shaw just kept bringing the conversation back to Erik's personal life. He appreciated the effort though.
Despite the dismal state of the conversation, the food was the best Erik had tasted since arriving at the circus. Here, it seemed, Shaw was unwilling to let quality decline. The chicken was moist and deliciously seasoned; the potatoes were crisped to perfection. And the wine, the wine was what gave Erik the strength to keep acting like he was enjoying himself. And once they'd finished the wine, it was the scotch that Shaw brought out. Oh yes, the scotch was delightful.
At some point Erik migrated to the chaise wedged in the corner, sprawled with one leg over the arm while Shaw and Charles spun around the small room to a scratchy record. Charles had protested when Shaw grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet, blushing and looking at Erik awkwardly. Erik, feeling gracious, or maybe just drunk, had waved them on encouragingly, possibly just so that he could have the rest of the scotch to himself.
Maybe it should have felt stranger to see two men dancing, but the influence of alcohol that had transformed the room and all of its faded glory and rotting decadence into a stately ballroom had similarly changed he spectacle that would normally make Erik uncomfortable into something near beautiful.
The golden light of the lamps set the room in an amber haze, haze from the cigarettes Shaw and Erik had smoked. Charles had sat on Shaw's lap, where the man had pulled him, and submitted to having Shaw's cigarette lifted to his mouth ever few minutes to take drags, never holding one of his own. The action was so possessive that Erik would have found it funny if it weren't so sad.
With the alcohol relaxing his mind and body, Erik could appreciate the lovely music and ignore the poor quality of the record. He could enjoy the way the light cast flattering shadows over the dancers faces, making at the same time Shaw look younger and Charles older. This Charles' hair was inky black, Erik observed with wonder, and gleamed like the moon on a lake. His cheeks were rosy from the wine, and as Erik watched Shaw leaned down and pressed his lips to one, than the other.
Charles was objecting to something. He seemed uncomfortable with Erik there and that made Erik sad. Perhaps Charles hadn't had enough of the wonderful wine, and he was just about to say as much when Shaw grabbed the boy's face and brought it forward for a passionate kiss.
Oh. Erik felt his face heat up from more than just the wine. Shaw was carrying on as if Erik wasn't there, with much groping and stroking that was fast turning indecent. But Charles certainly didn't seem to have forgotten that they weren't alone. He pushed his hands (oddly smaller and more delicate than Erik remembers thinking them before) against Shaw's chest and struggled weakly.
Erik in his drunken state was slow to respond and foolish when he finally did. He rose from the chaise, swaying slightly and groped around until his fist closed around a decorative (rusty) candle holder.
Charles managed to free his face from Shaw's greedy mouth but the man simply tugged him closer and relocated to his neck. Erik's mind flashed to the bruise again and his grip on the candelabra tightened, the motion feeling inexplicably right.
But Charles' eyes were staring at him, wide and alarmed at the metal clutched by his side, pinning him in place. He shook his head jerkily and gasped, "Sebastian!" and when the man didn't listen, "Sebastian please! Stop this, you're hurting me!"
This confused Erik for a moment (damn the wine) as although he could see that Charles was flustered and embarrassed, Shaw hadn't done much that could have actually hurt him. But the words are more than effective, and the ravaging of the young man ceased immediately, and Shaw drew back as if stung. His hands loosened and fluttered like butterflies, up Charles' arms, over his shoulders and face, stroking lightly his lips as he whispered apologies.
"It's okay, I'm alright," Charles was reassuring him softly, pulling at Shaw's hands and entwining their fingers, "It only hurt a little, I was just a little scared. No, don't worry I understand. Yes just excited. Yes of course I know."
Erik stood there dumbly as the intimate exchange drew to a close and Charles extracts himself from Shaw, although the man refused to relinquish one of his hands. His blue eyes are apologetic and beseeching all at once as he dragged Shaw over to the lounge that Erik had vacated.
The man went easily, drained and drunk now that the high of the moment has passed, pliable in Charles' hands as the man pushed him down and removed his coat. "Mr Lensherr," he mumbled groggily, "My sinsheer...sincere 'pologies, I acted most horriblistly. For you see, Mr Lensherr, I-I am under a shpell. Yes hopelessly...without hope...under a shpell of the most powerfulest sort. This beautiful, lovely, enchantering young man is a wizard Mr Lensherr! You'd better believe it a wizard! Made me fall in love he did, on first sight I knew I just had to have 'im, and I wouldn't not rest until I did!"
Shaw allowed himself to be settled into a reclining position but tugged Charles down with him, tucking the boy under his arm securely. Charles looked bemused, but relented to his situation and squirmed slightly to get comfortable.
Shaw's eyes flickered to Erik's hand and he looked rather confused, eyes info using and focusing several times before he slurred, "Whatchya doin with tha there Lensherr? ...izza...izza candle..."
And with that Charles and Erik were left alone, soft snores drifting between them.
Erik found himself unable to speak, his current mental and emotional state seeming to hinder the line of communication between his brain and mouth. But Charles seemed grateful for the silence, so Erik resigned himself to it and sank to the floor beside the lounge after replacing the candelabra on the end table. The bottle of scotch lay abandoned within reach so Erik snatched it up and drank straight from the bottle. He leaned heavily against the arm of the lounger and did his best to ignore how Charles' breath fanned against his ear.
The next thing he knew he was blinking blearily against the morning sun. Since nobody had been in the frame of mind to close the curtains, it was horrifically early, especially considering the hour they'd stayed up until. Erik estimated he'd gotten no more than five hours of sleep. And oh boy waking up wasn't a graceful affair.
His head throbbed, eyes burned, the fine suit Shaw had lent him stuck to his body with dried sweat and spilled booze. His mouth was impossibly dry.
He made his way painfully to his feet, bracing himself against an intense head-rush, and surveyed the room. No water in sight, and the remains of their dinner lay cold on the table. The sight made Erik's stomach rebel with a lurch and he fought to keep it from returning everything from last night.
On the chaise Shaw and Charles slept on, the sun not yet falling over them. Erik's memories were foggy, but he recalled the way Shaw had grabbed the younger man, heedless of his struggles and anger bloomed fresh in him. Charles' shirt was unbuttoned at the top and that bruise glared dark and purple above his pale collar bone.
Now that Erik was looking, daylight revealed even more marks dotting the otherwise smooth skin of his neck and chest. They were mostly love-bites, but there were faint, half healed scratches there too. His stomach lurched from more than the brutal hangover, the sight of Shaw's arm draped over Charles, and his hand pressed against the smaller man's chest was more sickening than the after effects of the booze. He tried to calm himself, it really wasn't any of his business what went on between the two men. If Charles was being mistreated he should get help himself or leave the circus.
But all Erik's mind could do was replay the memory of Charles stroking his beloved horse as Erik clicked off the safety of the rifle. Suddenly he couldn't bare to spend another minute in the room.
Alex was just rising from his cot when Erik closed the door to their room behind him. He was hoping to grab an hour more of sleep in an actual bed, and started toward his mattress when Alex's hand shot out and slammed into his chest.
Okay so maybe the boy didn't really hit him hard enough to fall over, but Erik wasn't exactly in prime form at the moment. He blinked up incredulously, "What the-"
"Nice monkey suit," Alex snarled with so much venom that Erik's mild irritation at being pushed shattered and all he could do was gape stupidly, "I'm surprised, you've managed to assimilate yourself much faster than I would have thought possible, congratulations."
"Alex listen-"
"It's Summers to you Ivy League!"
"...Summers. It's not-"
"It's not is it? Then where are the clothes you had on when you left, eh? Ditched them for some better duds as soon as you could I bet, 'cause a negros clothes just weren't good enough were they! Too good to wear Armando's clothes to dinner with the man who murdered him, that's real nice Ivy League, real classy." He spat, not on Erik at least, but the motion still held the same wrath
Shaw had taken the clothes after Erik had changed, plucked them up between thumb and finger distastefully and whisked them away before Erik could protest. Who knows where they were now.
"You know what, get out. I can't stand to look at you, sitting on his bed you make me sick. Get the fuck out!"
Erik managed to just get all of his limbs into the hallway before the door slammed behind him. He stood, dumbstruck for a minute until Scott Summers passed by on his way out into the yard and Erik made to follow.
"You going to work in those?" The man asked skeptically, eying Erik up and down. Despite his initial negative reaction to Erik, Scott had warmed up to him as soon as he was officially employed. It seemed that unlike his brother, Scott had nothing personal against him and had just been reacting to the threat he posed to his job.
The sound of something shattering and a low bark from the Beast sounded from inside the room and Scott winced. "Ah," he said, voice filled with understanding "Gotcha. Come on then Lensherr, daylights a-wasting."