After that first night, Charles lived in a state of inspiration he could not have imagined before. His art sprung from his hands at every hour, and William was there, as subject, as muse, as friend, and sometimes, though more and more often, as lover.

Within a month, Charles had a new exhibition of all his work under William, except the Portrait. That would never be shown. When Charles looked at it now, however, it was with new eyes, and he almost laughed at himself for his innocent admiration of the young boy. How differently he saw the world, and William, now.

They went everywhere together, never apart for more than a day at most. To all the restaurants that would take Charles' credit, to all the plays, and occasionally even to the gambling houses, though not the ones that featured upstairs entertainment.

Always one step behind was William's father. At every turn they had to avoid him, except in the gambling houses. He would often send a boy to collect William, claiming illness. Sometimes Charles hid him upstairs, pretending he was alone. It was all tremendously fun, and childish. Charles had never enjoyed being childish before. Strange it had taken the loss of all innocence to make him realise the possibility.

Through it all, William would drag him to plays where she acted. Charles bore it as only an artist could, always promising to one day find a way to introduce them, so he could paint them and let them fall in love in his studio. He wouldn't mind so much if William had better taste.

Erik watched this fiery romance as if through the glass of Charles' studio. He had known instantly when he first saw them together after that dreadful night that they had become lovers. He watched the way Charles painted William, studying the body with an eye for later pleasure. He let them have his box at the theatre. He would have let them have his fortune, if he could be spared the spectacle. Alas, they seemed to think they were being incredibly clever and secretive, as most young lovers do. Frightfully dull, the whole affair, Erik thought.

One morning he was having breakfast with Joan for a change. She was wearing a horrid mauve dress, very fashionable, and reading the paper. She was considering becoming a suffragette, which Erik had advised against. He would much rather she simply have another affair. That usually set her straight for a good two months.

Halfway through his coffee, the butler slipped into the room and approached him, leaning slightly to deliver the news discreetly.

'Sir, there is a man here, a Mr. Buxton, who insists he is an acquaintance. Apparently he is worried about his missing son.'

Erik gave a sigh. Just what he needed, to be a buffer between Charles and scandalised relations. 'Show him to the library, I'll be there shortly.'

'Very well, Sir.' Erik could tell by his tone he did not approve of calls so early in the day, and on a Friday.

He made an excuse to Joan, who took no notice whatsoever, and joined the formidable Mr. Buxton in the library. Erik tried to remember where the Buxton fortune lay. Salt or minerals of some sort, he vaguely recalled. Awful, middle-class, new money, was the conclusion.

'Mr. Buxton, what can I do for your at this dreadfully early hour?' he asked as he entered the library. The man rose slowly from his seat, stiffer than when Erik had last seen him.

'You can help me locate my son, Sir.'

'He is not here. That is all the help I can offer, I'm afraid.'

'Then tell me where I might find your good friend Mr. Charles Xavier. For I suspect I will find my son with him.'

'I am not Mr. Xavier's keeper.'

'No, but you are practically his patron. He never goes anywhere without you.'

'He has today, and often before, I assure you.' Erik made a point not to offer the man his seat back. Mr. Buxton leaned heavily on his cane.

'Sir Erik, I am a simple man with simple goals. One of which is to make sure my son achieves more than I have. Now, even I can appreciate the folly of youth, but William is a man who must take charge of his life. Running about with a painter accomplishes nothing.'

'I doubt he agrees with you there.'

'It is not the place for a son to disagree with his father.'

'And what on earth can I do? I have no influence on either of them. They are what I call civilized bohemians. They run about as truth-seeking sensualists, but they always pay the bills. Frankly, it's distressing for a man of my convictions to be seen with them.' Mr. Buxton took no notice of Erik's comments, which proved he had not come on the off chance Erik knew where they were, but to say something particular.

'If Mr. Xavier does not relinquish the hold he has on my son-'

'What makes you think it is he who has the other in hold?'

Mr. Buxton stretched to his full height. 'My son is young, and until he met Mr. Xavier he was a good son. If Mr. Xavier does not relinquish his hold on my son I shall have to take steps.'

'Steps, in your condition?'

'This is no laughing matter, Sir, I intend to save my son, the lawful way.'

'I fail to see how the law can help you dictate who your son should socialize with.'

Mr. Buxton turned away, breaking eye contact for the first time. His voice was low. 'I fear they do far more than socialize.'

Erik waited for the man to say more, but the silence stretched. 'If you accuse Mr. Xavier-'

'I accuse no one.' Mr. Buxton began walking towards the door to the hallway. Erik stepped aside. 'But I will, if I must,' Buxton whispered as he passed. 'And it shall not be libel, but based on hard evidence. Tell your friend that.'

Erik did not watch him go, but went to his study, penning a letter to Charles that he needed to see him at once.

XXX

'Hello, Jacob, is Charles in?' Erik asked as the old butler opened the door. The man nodded and stepped aside, silently giving Erik permission to take the master of the house in hand. Erik strode purposefully to the study, found it empty, and preceded to the conservatory. It was starting to get far too cold to work in here. He knew Charles began working in his attic studio in the winter, as the light barely touched the back garden during those months.

He wasn't in the attic, however, but sat on his stool in front of the Portrait. He had paints and brush in hand, but the brush hung limply from his right hand as he stared at the painting.

'Charles,' Erik sighed. 'There you are. I've been sending so many messages the people of London might start to wonder if we're planning a coup d'etat.'

Charles did not move. 'Sorry, I've been busy,' he said.

'Yes, I can see that.' Erik looked critically at his friend and realised it was hopeless. Charles was so far in love with his muse he might do something ridiculous and dangerous. 'Charles, we need to talk about William. You must send him home to his father, for good.'

'What?' Charles turned on his stool. 'Are you mad? I could never do that to him. His father is cruel and stupid. William deserves to be who he wants to be.'

'He's made threats.'

Charles gave a snort. 'What sort of threats?'

'He will accuse you of leading his son astray. He will bring charges against you. He claims to have proof.'

'Proof of what?' Charles rose, his face filled with indignation.

'Of... misconduct.'

'Misconduct?'

'Of homosexuality, Charles,' Erik said. 'I do not know if he can prove it.'

'Prove it?! There's nothing to prove.' Charles turned his back on Erik and went to put away his paints. 'How can he be so ignorant? Our relationship is something... something sacred. It gives life to my art as I have never dreamed possible. William is my muse.'

'And your lover.'

'Is that jealousy I hear?' Charles faced Erik, eyes defiant.

Erik shook his head. 'What you hear is concern for a friend. Do you know last time I met William at the theatre he was quite adamant he was going to run away with that actress any day now? He hasn't even met her, Charles, and he's planning an elopement.'

'So? He's optimistic. Young and full of potential, you said. Our relationship has nothing to do with her.' Charles leaned back against his workbench, crossing his arms over his chest.

'He is gaining quite the reputation in town,' Erik warned him.

'He is getting an education,' Charles dismissed. 'He is becoming more like you, I think, only better because he is still kind and doesn't talk nonsense all day. You should be pleased.'

'Yes, I do fear he is becoming more like me, only he has the courage of my convictions.' Erik turned away, gazing out the windows to the garden, brown and grey in the autumn weather. 'I am, as you know, full of nonsense, and I talk and talk, but I never do anything. He, on the other hand, is putting my ill-advised philosophy into practice, and following it to its inevitable conclusion.'

'You are jealous of his youth.'

'His father will have you arrested!' Erik lost his temper at last, glaring at his friend. How can a man so clever be so blinded by love? Erik was glad he would never experience such a degradation of the mind.

'William will never allow that to happen, and I will never abandon him,' Charles said calmly. Erik's anger dissipated without someone to push against it, so he decided to wash his hands of the whole affair.

'I hope you and your muse will be very happy together. Just do not ask me to come rescue you when it's all gone to hell,' he growled the last word, stalking out of the room.

'Jealousy ill becomes you, Erik!' Charles cried tonelessly from behind, but he did not follow. 'You thought you could steal him away.' The words echoed down the small stone hallway. Erik went to the front door, meeting Jacob just as he pulled it open. He looked at the old butler and sighed.

'Send for me when things fall apart,' he said. Jacob nodded.

XXX

'I've just had the most wonderful idea!' William declared as he entered the conservatory. Charles was mixing paints, but stopped what he was doing to watch William's gleeful entrance, and could not help but grin at his excitement.

'Tell me,' he said.

'Let us go away together,' William said, coming over to take Charles' hands in his and guiding him over to the divan to sit. 'We can go to the Cote D'Azur, or Monaco, or Nice. Somewhere with sun and beauty. You could paint all day, and after we will spend our nights in ecstasy.' William leaned in and stole a kiss, placing small kisses along Charles' jaw, working his way to his ear, then down into the crook of his neck. 'I will lie on a bed of silk, naked, for you to paint me,' he whispered.

'I don't have the money to run away with you,' Charles said.

'But the exhibition was a sensation! You must have made buckets of money.'

'I have made enough to keep myself self employed and a gentleman, not to mention all that we spend on the gambling houses and restaurants,' Charles said.

'Come on, you must have some stashed away. Don't you have any work finished? Anything you put up for sale today will sell like hotcakes.'

'I haven't a single painting ready.'

'What about that one?' The Portrait stood in the middle of the room, ready to be touched by Charles' brush. He had been intending to make a slight alteration to William's eyes. They were too wide-eyed. Charles disentangled himself from William and rose, going over to the painting.

'I can never sell this, William. It's my prized possession. How can you even suggest it?'

'I'm sorry, of course you mustn't sell it,' William said, following Charles and putting his arms around him. Stealing another kiss. 'I will get some money from mother. She shan't deny me.'

'I wish you wouldn't,' Charles said. 'She has given you too much already. Your father will be very angry.'

'Then let him be angry,' William said. 'I have the courage to stand up to him, thanks to you.' Charles smiled, and let William kiss him more. Afterwards they stood gazing at the painting, William behind Charles with his arms around him.

'Strange to think I looked like that once,' William remarked.

'You still look like that,' Charles said. 'You haven't aged a day since I painted it.'

'No, I know I haven't changed physically, but there's a lack of education in the eyes I feel ashamed of today.'

'I think it is a testament to how far you have come. In fact, I shall not change a thing about it from now on. You've convinced me of it.'

'You mean I shall have to look upon my childlike wonder forever? Oh, Charles, I wish you would sell it.'

'I can't. It's the reason we are here, together. The reason for every painting I have sold since that day.'

'Ah, that is true. Let us also be together in the south of France. As soon as possible!'

XXX

Erik threw away his cards and sighed. He had lost more money in one evening than the whole two months combined. He was distracted and impatient. He was not a man accustomed to waiting. He almost gave the whole quest up when he finally spotted William coming down. He had been upstairs all night. The room was packed, so Erik had to rudely shoulder his way past the drunken gentlemen.

'William,' he called. The young man grinned at him, making a salute. He wasn't as drunk as he could be.

'Sir Erik Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you.'

'Wish that I could say the same.' William took some time to puzzle this out, so perhaps he was quite drunk.

'I've heard some disturbing news,' Erik said loudly over the sound of men cheering for some game one of them had won. A call of "champagne" went out. 'About your father.'

'My father is always disturbing me, so I'm not surprised,' William said, trying to take a gulp from his glass only to find it empty. He looked forlornly into it.

'He means to expose Charles as your seducer.'

'Ha! Yes, he threatens that every day,' William said, placing the glass on a table. It was quickly pushed off by the excited men betting on roulette. They barely heard it shatter. 'Do you know the hardships I have to go through these days? He's cut me off completely. I have to survive entirely on Charles' gratitude. A muse's work is never done.'

'Listen to me,' Erik said. 'You will go to your father, beg forgiveness, and grow up.'

William gave him a look of incredulity. 'Grow up? What have all your lessons been if not to teach me how men act?' He gestured around them at the gambling gentlemen, most of who would not acknowledge their presence here when Erik met them later in their more respectable club. 'You have showed me the world, and Charles has shown me my place in it. Atop his pedestal!'

'Charles is innocent,' Erik said.

'If he was, he is not anymore,' William smirked. Erik felt an overwhelming urge to hit the little upstart.

He breathed through his nose, gathering his response. 'He is innocent of deceit. He cares for you, genuinely, but he cannot weather this storm. You must cut off all ties and let him go.'

'Deceit? You think I do not care for him? You are utterly ignorant of how we feel about each other. Since the day we met our souls have been locked together.'

'You forget who you are talking to,' Erik said. 'Your souls are no more locked together than you are with whatever whore you've just visited.'

'How dare you,' William spat. 'What a hypocrite! After my first night here you spoke at length about the separating of emotion and pleasure.'

'It's all nonsense,' Erik said. 'Weren't you listening? Do not hurt him.'

There appeared a most disturbing glint in William's eyes. In that moment, Erik knew William's education was complete. He had become what Erik set out to make him, and he was too late in his regret. What an utter fool he had been! He had toyed with the boy like a doll, making him into the villain he pretended to be.

'You are in love with him,' William said. 'I should have realised.' He shook his head, laughing softly. 'You are a fool. A silly old man. Charles does not love you. He adores me. And we are going far away together. You might not ever see him again.'

Erik watched William glide through the crowd, not seeing the many adoring eyes that flickered to him as he went. Erik was left impotent and humiliated.