Notes: My apologies to those familiar with Oscar Wilde's personal history and might feel this is in bad taste, but I felt this was the direction the story had to go in. I won't be following the events of his life exactly, but I took a few things here and there.

-:-

Charles stretched and groaned, feeling like he had slept a day and a half. The sun was streaming in through the windows. Erik's windows.

Sitting up, he looked about the room, but it was empty. His clothes from last night were gone, as were Erik's.

Charles felt a mixture of numbness and bubbling panic when he thought about last night. Every past encounter with Erik, from their first introduction at school to their trip here, was now coloured by the knowledge of last night. As he reevaluated all the instances Erik had visited at odd times in the evenings, or come to him with some problem, he started smiling.

The door opened, and Erik appeared in just trousers and a shirt, carrying clothes. He smiled when he saw Charles was up.

'Good morning,' he said.

'Good- yes, good morning,' Charles said.

'You have never looked more beautiful, my friend,' Erik said. 'I suspect it has something to do with your current location.' He leaned over and gave him a kiss - Charles ruining it by smiling too much.

'Am I to stay here all day then?'

'Careful,' Erik said. 'I've sent the servants home for the day, so we are alone and you at my mercy.' He kissed him again. 'Come, get dressed and we will go into town for breakfast.' He put Charles' clothes out on the bed. Just the sort of thing he would have worn on a day like today. Charles did as he was bid, and soon they were strolling down the road to town.

Things should have felt different; such a monumental change in outlook and prospects had to have effected the rest of the world, surely? But as Erik rambled on about some issue he liked to be clever about, the sun shone on unchanged. The sea was calm and sparkling, and Charles rightly ignored every witty thing Erik had to say. He began instead to consider the wider implications of their altered state of being. Would it be right for Erik to continue his praise and patronage of Charles' art? There had to be some moralist who condemned such a thing. It was terribly biased, after all. As for the events of last night, on such matters Charles was beyond the ramblings of moralists with little experience and too much ink in their pens.

Erik was oblivious to Charles' conundrum, and was praising something about the Italians and how they should visit Venice or Rome. Charles would be inspired by the long dead builders, and Erik could admire the beautiful living.

'I'm sure there are plenty of young artists there for you to chose from,' Charles remarked, half tongue-in-cheek.

Erik gave him a sly glance. 'I think we have established wisdom before youth, haven't we?'

'I believe you mean age before beauty.'

'If I ever did, I am certain you never believed me.'

Charles laughed. 'No, though I wonder how I put up with you.'

'Because I am your only true friend, and the world is deceitful. I, on the other hand, am an honest liar, and so can be trusted implicitly.'

'You forget that I love you,' Charles said. 'And so I'm trapped forever.'

Erik stopped, tilted his head at Charles as a mother contemplating what her child had done, then leaned down for a kiss right there on the road. They were still a way from town, and the bushes and trees obscured most of them, but Charles still felt a terrible thrill at the display. When they parted Erik looked him straight in the eyes, hands cupping his face.

'And I love you, my dear Charles. Doubt my wit, my lies and eventually my hairline, but never that.'

They continued their walk into town, and the world didn't seem as big as it had yesterday.

XXX

London. Good old, grey London. How had he ever doubted he would miss it? The rain darkened their coats and hats as they stepped from the docks into the waiting hansom. Weeks of darting about the Continent as if they were youths on their Grand Tour had left him exhausted. Charles' luggage was overflowing with art, though much of it was left behind in the homes of several old and new patrons they had encountered along the way.

The house had been made ready. Erik joined him, thereby avoiding going home.

'Why did I read so much while away?' Erik commented as he threw himself down on the sofa in the drawing room, as if he had done the exact thing only yesterday. 'I shall have nothing to do but read for days.'

'Does some business await you?' Charles asked, looking out into the garden. It was bleak, but spring might come very soon.

'Invitations, Charles,' Erik sighed. 'Endless invitations. Tedious.'

'Yes, having so many friends wish to see you again. Dreadful.'

'If you can call gossiping vultures friends.'

'Erik-'

'Let us go out.'

'Out? We've only just got in.'

'It's not warm enough in here yet. I want the familiar warmth of the club.'

'Which club?'

'The only club worth going to, Charles. We can admire the pretty flowers there together. None will bloom in your garden for some time, I think. Come now, don't look at me like that! We've been to countless clubs across Europe.'

'Exactly, I'm tired.'

'And the club will revive you. Come now. I want them all to know where we've been, and make the boys green with envy. Trust me, Charles. There best thing about going places is telling people about it afterwards.'

'You are hopeless.'

'All the more reason to give in now, and spare yourself the argument.'

'No, Erik. I... I want to take a break from that sort of thing.'

'Why?'

'Because we're at home. Can't we at least pretend for a few days to be upstanding Englishmen?'

'Very well. The regular club, then. They can hear all about the boring parts.'

'All right. One hour!'

They rushed out into the evening rain, going straight to Erik's old club. Things were just starting there – cards, pool, drinks – but almost at once Charles felt odd, as if the stares of the members lingered a bit too long as they passed. Erik seemed oblivious, greeting his "friends" and peers, telling them about the boring bits of Europe. It wasn't until they sat down at a table for drinks and cigars that Charles noticed the stares again. He decided not to mention it, as Erik was having far too much fun.

One hour elapsed, then two, before Erik relented and gave in to an early night.

'I thought I might surprise my wife by coming home a day late,' Erik said as they went down to the entrance hall. 'Perhaps I might borrow a guest room?'

'You need to go home, Erik,' Charles said. 'I-'

'Excuse me, Sir, are you Mr. Charles Xavier?' a servant asked. Another stood directly behind him, with their coats and hats ready.

'Uh, yes, how did you know?'

'We were told you would be in the company of Sir Erik Lehnsherr. This was left for you.'

It was a card, the name Mr. John Buxton visible in a delicate script on the front, and a hastily hand-written note on the other side.

To Mr. Xavier, sodomite.

'Sir Erik,' the servant continued. 'The management has asked you not bring this particular guest here again.'

'What?!' Erik's voice drew the attention of other members. 'Why? What does the card say? Charles?'

'A misunderstanding, only,' Charles said, tucking the card away in his jacket. He took his coat and hat from the servant, who seemed to withdraw his hands a second too quickly. Charles ignored the stares and walked out as stiff as he could manage.

He looked up and down the dark street, the rain pouring icy cold. He heard the clatter of horse hooves on the cobblestones and raised his arm when he saw it was a ready cab.

'Charles, what did the card say?'

'Nothing.' It stopped and he got in. Erik followed. They sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, Charles said: 'Libel.'

'What did you say?'

'Libel,' he said. 'It's damn libel. He doesn't have proof.'

'Give me the card.' Charles did so. Erik studied it with more seriousness than he had probably ever mustered before. He sighed. 'Toss it out the window, or better yet, burn it. Forget about it.'

'Forget about it?' Charles snatched the card back lest Erik do one of the things he suggested. 'This is evidence of libel. This man is trying to ruin my reputation. For all we know he has been spreading rumours about town the entire time we've been away.'

'Charles, do not do this.'

'Do what?'

'Challenge him. He is a mad man with a twit for a son, but he is also a business man, and business men – as vulgar as they are – never do anything that doesn't fall in their favour. A move such as this,' he gestured to the card. 'It is too bold. Too public. He must have some proof.'

'No, the letters-'

'You think William wouldn't happily show them to dear Father, so he can show him how corrupted he was by you?'

'This is... intolerable.'

'This is middle-class morals. Nothing you should concern yourself with.'

'Oh, do try not to be clever right now, Erik! My livelihood is at stake!'

'We can go straight to the sea and escape to a more civilized place at once.'

'I am not running away.'

'Suing him for libel is idiotic. You're a fool if you let this get to you. Honestly, Charles, we could go straight back where we came from – we don't even have to pack – and stay there for as long as needed.'

Charles knocked hard on the roof of the cab, and it mercifully stopped despite the noise from the rain. 'Charles,' Erik admonished as he got out. 'Charles, it's pouring down.'

'I know you hate to be in the company of fools. I can't imagine how you feel about a sodomite.'

'Stop this at once!'

Charles walked away, but Erik got out after him, taking hold of his coat. 'Let go!' The street was deserted except for them and the driver – who suddenly urged his horse on and left them there.

'Wait!' Erik called, letting go of Charles to try to hail it again. Charles walked off in the other direction. 'Oh, for-!'

Erik's long strides put him in front of Charles easily, forcing him to stop.

'Just come with me and we can forget all this.'

'Sir Erik,' Charles intoned. 'I am going home to my house in London. A house I was lucky enough to inherit. Had I not, I would be scraping by in a tiny flat somewhere far removed from your circles. Your friends buy my art to impress you, but without my good reputation that will not be enough.'

'You're selling yourself short, Charles,' Erik said. 'You've been an absolute hit on our travels!'

'I live in the real world, where a reputation actually means something. It is not a linguistic construct you can toss about in your philosophical ramblings about society. I will not allow him to destroy my livelihood!'

'But Charles,' Erik said. 'What he wrote... you do realise it isn't actually libel?'

Charles said nothing, and walked pointedly around Erik. He ignored all further calls, especially the rude ones. By the time he got home he was shivering and soaked through. If he was lucky, he might catch something.