Erik checked his appearance in the mirror before he left the house. He wore a light grey single-breasted coat with a matching waistcoat, white shirt and blue bow tie with matching pocket square. His trousers were a darker shade grey. His beard and moustache were perfectly groomed, and slightly pointed, with his hair combed to the side.

He took his own hansom to Charles' house. It wasn't in the most favourable areas of London, but it suited the painter well. Compared to Erik's own address in Grosvenor Square, it was positively working class, but the clutter inside that not even Jacob the butler could fight against gave it an air of the mad genius. The furniture was frightfully old, all from Uncle Xavier who had left it all to Charles as an apology for failing his brother when they were both alive.

Erik sometimes suspected Charles kept the house in disrepair as a clear "apology not accepted", but had never dared ask.

Jacob let him in without a word, as Erik was no doubt the most frequent visitor. Though perhaps that distinction was in danger.

He almost jogged through the house to the back, where he walked through an old stone hallway, ceiling so low he had to duck, to the conservatory, its connection to the rest of the house precarious at best. The smell of paint and flowers instantly filled his nostrils, along with a gust of slightly cold air. The doors were open to the small garden, and laughter beckoned Erik outside.

Charles was seated on the old stone bench, surrounded by flowers of every shade, and a young man. William Buxton's beauty had truly been captured, Erik realised. Even if the portrait depicted him as slightly awed by some sight the viewer was not privy to, and not in this animated way he was now in life, his spirit was still there. As he laughed, and Charles smiled, pleased his joke had worked, Erik felt a cold stab of jealousy. Which was ridiculous. He always made it a point not to be jealous. Anger could be put to use. Hatred even more so. Jealousy only helped your enemies.

They looked so young – but wasn't Charles suppose to be Erik's age? He seemed to recall them attending Oxford together. Charles was wearing his usual painter's coat,(as he called it) a beige frock coat, and white shirt with a loose blue tie. William was wearing the same three piece he had on in the portrait, only no hat, and with a pink tie.

'This must be William Buxton in the flesh,' Erik said as way of drawing their attention away from each other. Charles' face fell immediately, while William lifted a curious eyebrow, eyes raking over Erik's form.

'Erik!' Charles jumped from his seat. 'You said you were going to the country.'

'Did I? I never go to the country when I say I'm going to the country, otherwise people might follow, which would defeat the purpose of going to the country. So, my being here is entirely predictable.'

'Charles, you must introduce us,' William said. His eyes were alight with such untamed curiosity Erik quite understood Charles' obsession with the lad.

'No, I really shouldn't,' Charles muttered.

'Charles thinks I will be a bad influence on you,' Erik said with a disarming smile.

'Why?'

'He believes I'll corrupt you, which is very silly since you are more like to corrupt me.'

'Ha! How would I do that?'

'By being young and beautiful, of course,' Erik said. He gestured to Charles, who was still sulking. 'Your portrait has already drawn me in. Youth and beauty are great corrupters of age and wisdom, of which I profess to have a little. In fact I feel my senses already becoming entirely devoted to you.' This caused a blush to steal across William's face. 'And as we know from the moral judges in this country, the senses can only lead to total moral corruption. Which is of course why I believe the senses are the only true road to salvation.'

'You talk like-! I don't know,' William shook his head, laughing. 'I must know your name.'

'This is Sir Erik Lehnsherr,' Charles finally introduced. 'Erik, this is William Buxton.'

'A pleasure,' Erik gave a snort bow of the head. William smiled.

'Come, William, you promised to sit for a sketch today,' Charles said, turning to go back inside.

'Can Erik stay?' William asked. 'To keep me company? You hardly talk when you work, Charles. I can't think of anything worse than sitting in silence all day.'

'Oh, I can't possibly stay,' Erik said, noting the sigh of relief in Charles' shoulders as he went inside to gather his supplies. Erik and William followed, the latter's eyes never leaving the former's person. 'I must see a man about some business.'

'Please stay,' William said. He turned to Charles. 'Tell him to stay, Charles. Otherwise I won't sit for you.'

'Stay, Erik,' Charles said. 'Stay or the day will be wasted.'

'I can not think of a better way to waste a day than to speak with new friends.' William smiled at this and went to sit as directed by Charles. Erik lay on the divan he usually occupied.

'Your portrait,' Erik said, gesturing to the enormous thing propped up against the inner wall of the conservatory. 'It's magnificent. Charles has truly captured your beauty.'

'It's very well done, yes,' William agreed. 'Though I can't quite believe it.'

'That is just what Charles said would happen. Your beauty is unbelievable.'

'That's not what I-' William shook his head, blushing.

'Sit still, would you Will?' Charles said. His charcoal raced across the sketch book.

'Don't deny your beauty, William,' Erik said. 'It's wasted otherwise. Well, not on us, we get to enjoy it either way. I meant for you. The world belongs to the young and beautiful, but only if they admit to it in time. Only the truly shallow deny beauty.'

'Stop filling him with nonsense, Erik,' Charles said. 'Though I'm certain William is too clever to fall into your witty paradoxes. He's going to be an engineer, aren't you Will?'

'Yes- well, I hope.'

'A tragedy,' Erik lamented. 'You will be filled with education, which is the true nonsense. It's far too serious – the whole age is. The modern gentleman spends far too much time ordering all this know-how in his mind, and forgets that nonsense is the way of the world. All true intellectuals deal in nonsense. Seriousness makes wrinkles, something you should avoid at all costs.'

'I like to think I'm avoiding becoming an intellectual by becoming an engineer,' William said, intriguing Erik. He wasn't used to getting a decent answer after his rambles. 'As an engineer I'll be doing things, building things. I want to help change the world.'

'The world is always changing,' Erik said. 'Which is why people always stay the same.' He rose, taking out a cigarette and holding out the case to William.

'William,' Charles said as the lad took one. Erik fished for a match, found none, then looked to Charles, who rolled his eyes and produced a box from his jacket. Erik lit his cigarette, then William's, as he spoke.

'But I do admire you for your goals,' he said. 'Maybe you can make something useful that is also beautiful. Modernity seems entirely boring to me, surpassed only by the tediousness of the past.'

'You're incorrigible!' William laughed, coughing slightly.

'I do try,' Erik said dryly. Charles gave him a look as Erik returned to his seat, but he ignored it. He was intrigued to say the least. William was all innocence and excitement, a stark contrast to Charles' serious search for truth and beauty. What was the point of finding truth and beauty if all you did was weep at it? But perhaps William would change this aspect in Charles. The thought was not entirely pleasant. Charles needed to have more fun, Erik had often said so, made him do so in fact, but maybe William would lead him out into the world with his boundless enthusiasm. Change the world, indeed.

Charles didn't need changing, Erik decided. Who else would listen to his nonsense with the proper indifference? Besides, Erik would corrupt William long before he had the chance. William would soon see exactly what all that youth and beauty could do for him. He would guide him gently of course. He shouldn't be shocked or he'd be disillusioned and go in search for truth with Charles. No, he had to see the world as it was, and understand it would be used to his full advantage with very little effort on his part.

William smiled and asked about some relation of Erik's. Apparently he was a specimen of Aunt Agatha's.

'This room is too hot today, Charles,' Erik said after a good hour of sitting unbearably still.

'The doors are open,' Charles said.

'Exactly. I say we go to the club for some cold drinks, something with strawberries.'

'You know I hate going to your club.'

'William, do you want to go? We could catch a show tonight as well. Make a whole evening of it.'

'That sounds wonderful!' William said. 'Will you come Charles? Please?'

'No, I want to finish the background,' he said, gesturing to the portrait. 'You go if you must.'

'Not to worry. I'll take good care of him.' Erik rose and William mirrored the movement. He said his goodbyes. 'Come, my hansom is outside.' They left Charles to his paints.

XXX

'What is this place?' William asked.

'My club- Well, one of my clubs,' Erik answered. The room they entered was filled with colourful tapestries and opulent furnishings, with hints of the Orient in every corner. Through the entrance area, a place people gathered on futons and sofas in candlelight, they entered the gambling hall. The ceiling rose three stories above them, square indoor balconies lining the walls all the way up, so one would glimpse the people up there and wonder what they were up to. Three giant chandeliers hung one below the other, with over thirty candles alight in each. Around them on the ground floor were tables of every game a gentleman would like to play.

It was crowded, but not too much. The ladies tending to the tables and gentlemen were all of exotic dispositions, wearing red or pink gowns with low neck lines and pinched waists. Upstairs you could find other types, all types, and the boys. The boys were at the top, but you had to know where the stairs were to find them.

William was in awe. He turned this way and that, almost tripping. One of the ladies approached him, smiling coyly, her hand brushing his beautiful curls.

'Hello, handsome,' she said. 'What would you like to play?'

'I- I don't know.'

'We'll manage, thank you,' Erik said firmly. She moved on to someone more receptive, and Erik took William firmly in hand. They played blackjack for a few rounds, William's concentration drifting to the people around him constantly, and Erik made sure he got drunk. Champagne was new to him, and the bubbles made his nose tickle.

After Erik had earned back what he had lost last time, he took William's arm and led him togethers the stairs. Not easily found unless you had been introduced to them by the Lady of the House.

They kept to the first level. The hallways were flanked by little rooms, all draped in silks so you could glimpse movement inside but no details were discernible. William had gone a little wide eyed. The ladies who strolled these hallways were less burdened by heavy clothing.

They eyed the new gentlemen like eager predators, Erik for his obvious wealth, William for his obvious beauty and innocence. Erik would chose wisely, however. None of these harpies for Charles' muse.

Katrina was her name. She was red haired and stunning, with lips you wanted to suck on all day. Erik knocked softly on her door – one of the few rooms on this level that had one. She opened it wearing nothing but a red silk robe, open to the waist, revealing a long line of marble skin between her beast.

She smiled at him, and Erik felt the familiar pull, but soon her eyes drifted to William and her gaze turned penetrating. This was something new, something to play with. She smiled kindly, took his hand, and led him inside without a word. Erik left to get a drink in one of the salons, ignoring his nagging jealousy.

XXX

'Sir, Mr Charles Xavier to see-'

'How could you!?' Charles stomped past the poor butler. Erik looked up from the Sunday paper and nodded to the butler that it was fine. As Charles started pacing, Erik neatly folded his paper.

'I do so many things you don't approve of, could you be more specific?'

'I do not have time for your idiotic wit, Erik!'

'That is harsh,' Erik said. 'Unfairly harsh.'

'Unfairly? Was it fair to take an innocent young boy-'

'Three and twenty is hardly a boy.'

'And corrupt him in the most basic yet horrendous way possible-'

'It's not like I forced him.'

'And then to have to call to pretend it's some sort of education!'

'He was an eager student, or so I was told.'

'I've always known you were a shameless narcissistic nihilist, but this is truly unprecedented. To take my friend, my muse, and turn him into you!'

'Come, Charles,' Erik said as he rose. The man finally stopped pacing. 'You are being dramatic. You know you aren't very good a being dramatic. Painters never are, unless it's the modern ones who incorporate it into their style by splashing paint all over and calling it emotion.'

'Stop your nonsense!' Charles almost stomped his foot like a child.

'Charles,' Erik said calmly. 'He is still your muse. The difference is now you get to tell a story with your paintings. The story of an education sorely needed.'

'Gah!' Charles spluttered, throwing his hands in the air. 'You're impossible. And if you have ruined him for me I shall never forgive you!' He turned and stormed out, like he had been a gust of wind blowing through.

'Well, you won't let me ruin you, so what else am I to do?' Erik said, unheard. He went back to his paper.