Chapter Text
Chapter 1: A Splendid Butterfly
Erik grins at the sight of the kids trying over and over again to grab the shining golden ball that pops up through a hole in the round table. Each time they get close, the ball disappears back into the hole, only to pop up again when they back off. They're never going to get it, but he can see why they get hooked on trying when it's so teasingly close.
“The control's in the ceiling,” a dark-haired young man is explaining to a kid who can't possibly be his son – he doesn't look old enough to be the boy's father. Maybe he's a teacher, though he looks young for that as well – he must be about Erik's age.
He catches Erik's eye, and smiles at him. Erik smiles back, and sees a faint blush come up from the guy's collar to the tips of his ears. Well, hello.
“Look what I found, mom!” the kid exclaims, rushing over to hug a pretty blonde woman in a white wool coat. “He told me how it works,” he says excitedly, pointing at the young man.
“Charles! I didn't expect to see you here,” the woman says.
She's American; does that mean the guy is too? Erik would have guessed he was a Brit.
“I'm just down for the day,” Charles says. “I haven't been to the Science Museum for years and I couldn't resist it. Is this your son?”
“This is John, yes,” the woman says, watching the kid still lunging at the ball. “He doesn't give up easily.” Something in her voice suggests that she doesn't either.
“Come on, honey,” she says. “We have to go find Daddy.”
The kid protests, but you can tell he doesn't expect her to give in.
“Bye, Charles,” she says. “Have a good time.”
“You too,” Charles says. “Goodbye, Professor.”
He's a student, then. He looks the part, with his pea coat and long scarf.
Another group of children rush up and start jumping over the table, trying to grab the ball. Erik grins at Charles, who grins back.
“Hi,” Erik says.
“Hello,” Charles says.
“This is a great museum,” Erik says.
“First time here?” Charles says.
Erik nods. “First time in London.”
His stomach rumbles, embarrassingly loudly, and he looks at his watch. How did it get to be 2.30?
“Did you skip lunch too?” Charles asks.
“Just forgot to have any,” Erik says ruefully.
“Oh,” Charles says. He looks as if he's trying to make his mind up about something. Then he says “There's a Chinese place just near the Tube station, if you like Chinese food.”
“Sounds great,” Erik says. He hopes it won't be too expensive; a weekend in London is harder on the budget than he thought it would be, though the free museums are great.
“Excellent,” Charles says. “I'm ravenous.”
“I'm Erik,” Erik says, which makes Charles laugh.
“Nice to meet you, Erik.” He puts out his hand and Erik shakes it, laughing in turn at the formality. The touch lingers, feels like a promise of something more. From the look in Charles's eyes, Erik doesn't think that's just his imagination.
The Chinese place is good, and generous in its portions. Erik pushes away his almost empty plate
with a contented sigh.
He was surprised to learn that Charles comes from Westchester, N.Y.; apparently his mother's English and he spent a lot of time here visiting family when he was younger, which explains the accent.
“My first time in London, I must have been John's age,” Charles says. “They couldn't drag me out of the Natural History Museum because of the dinosaurs, and then when they finally got me into the Science Museum I wanted to take the Orrery home – it's a kind of astronomical model –”
“Yeah, I know,” Erik says. He's willing to bet he knows quite a lot more about early astronomical models than Charles, but he doesn't say so. As usual, he hasn't really said much about himself at all. Maybe next time, if there is a next time –
Charles's phone goes off, and he grimaces. “Sorry, I need to take this. Hello?”
Whoever's at the other end of the line is obviously in a state, because he says “Oh love, I'm so sorry. Look, I'll talk to them. He can't get away with this... No, don't do that – come on, darling, we can find a way to sort this out. I promise. I'll talk to them and call you back, OK? OK.”
He disconnects the call and gets his wallet out, pulls a couple of bills out of it and slaps them on the counter.
“I'm so sorry, Erik, I have to go,” he says.
“Sure,” Erik says. He's about to ask for Charles's number but Charles is out of the door before he can say anything, leaving Erik staring at the money on the counter.
*~*~*~*
Maybe it's that conversation about the Orrery at the Science Museum that prompts Erik to go to the Whipple Museum once he's finally settled in Cambridge and has unpacked his boxes. Adams's Grand Orrery in the Whipple isn't as pretty as the one Charles wanted to take home, though it shows all the known planets then, as far as Jupiter and Saturn, rather than just the Sun, Moon and Earth.
“There's a working model in the Discover gallery,” the young woman assistant says helpfully, gesturing to the door, though the museum's so small you can hardly get lost in it.
There is indeed; and standing in front of it, watching the moons spin around Saturn, is a familiar figure.
“Hello,” Erik says.
Charles looks briefly startled to see him, then delighted. “We can't go on meeting like this,” he says, laughing.
“Are you cruising the science museums of England?” Erik asks, and wants to kick himself right away. Cruising? Could you be any less subtle, Lehnsherr?
Charles goes a bit pink. “I'm on my lunch break; lectures this morning and a meeting with my dissertation supervisor this afternoon.”
“You're studying here?” Erik says, incredulous at the coincidence.
Charles produces his Cambridge University card with a flourish. “Empirical proof, my sceptical friend,” he says. “I'm here on exchange from Princeton. If it comes to that, what are you doing here?”
“I'm on exchange as well,” Erik says. “From Caltech.”
“You're kidding!” Charles says.
“Oh yeah?” He flashes his own ID card.
“How wonderful!” Charles says. “I was hoping I'd see you again but I thought it was impossible.”
You could have made it possible, Erik thinks. The disappointment of what happened last time they met is still sharp; he doesn't trust this guy.
“I'm sorry I had to run out on you like that,” Charles says. “My sister was having trouble at home and I had to make some calls.”
Erik's heart skips a beat; he'd been sure it was a boyfriend or just possibly a girlfriend Charles was talking to. My sister sounds corny, but maybe it's true, just the same.
“You must have thought I was terribly rude,” Charles says. “Will you let me buy you coffee to make up for it?”
Will he hell. “No thanks,” Erik says, feeling a twist of anger at the memory of those two £20 notes slapped on the counter in the Chinese restaurant.
Charles looks as if he's just been slapped himself.
“Oh,” he says, disappointed. “Oh, I really did piss you off, didn't I? I'm very sorry.”
He looks so sad about it that Erik's resolve crumbles.
“We can have coffee,” he says, “but I'm paying. I still have your change from last time – you gave me way too much.”
Charles is obviously about to argue, but the look on Erik's face stops him. Instead, he says “Thank you, that would be lovely.”
The guy is a charmer, there's no doubt about it. In no time at all, he's got Erik practically eating out of his hand – and that's not a helpful image at all, so Erik should just stop thinking about it right now...
“How long are you in Cambridge?” Erik asks.
“Till the summer,” Charles says, beaming. “What about you?”
“I go back mid-March,” Erik says, and Charles's face falls.
“That's a shame,” he says. “Cambridge has lots of fun things to do in May Week.”
“Oh well,” Erik says, “I'll just have to make the most of this term, won't I?” He drinks the last of his latte.
“Mm,” Charles says, brightening again. “Oh you've got some – do you mind if I – ” He swipes his thumb across Erik's top lip and says “Froth.”
What a tease, Erik thinks, as Charles licks the froth off his thumb and looks up at him from under those ridiculous eyelashes. All he needs is a t-shirt saying Fuck Me Now.
“Can I have your number?” Charles asks.
“Sure,” Erik says thickly. He clears his throat. “Thought you'd never ask.”
“I wanted to, I would have,” Charles says earnestly. “But I couldn't leave Raven like that.”
They tap their numbers into each other's phones, and then Charles looks at the time.
“Oh shit – I've got to go! My supervision's at Homerton and it's miles away.”
“OK,” Erik says.
“I'm really glad we ran into each other,” Charles says. “See you very soon, I hope.”
He grins in a way that makes Erik's insides do a sort of flip, and then grabs his bag and dashes out of the coffee shop.
Erik doesn't hear from him for a week.
Chapter 2: The Wild Thing With You
By the time Charles finally calls, Erik's so furious with him, and with himself for getting his hopes up, that he almost bites the guy's head off.
“Sorry,” Charles says. “More trouble back home. I'm trying to get my mother and stepfather to see sense about Raven's future, but he's a real throwback. I don't think he believes women should be educated at all.”
“Shit,” Erik says.
“Raven's really smart,” Charles says. “She ought to be applying to Ivy League schools, but the way my father left his money she's dependent on my stepfather till she's twenty-one. I could help her out, but she says she wants what's hers. They fight a lot,” he adds gloomily.
The troubles of the rich, Erik thinks. Even with a scholarship, he's going to be paying off his student loans for years to come...
“Your stepdad sounds like an asshole,” he says, because that's easy to say.
“God, yes,” Charles says. “If it wasn't for Raven, I'd just clear out altogether.”
Not close to his mother either, then. Sounds like one hell of a family.
He's been lucky with his own parents, he knows that. He feels bad now for having snapped at Charles. “I'm sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Charles says, and there's a warmth in his voice that makes Erik feel funny inside again. Damn it, what is it about this man?
“Would you like to meet up?” he asks, half expecting Charles to make some excuse.
“I'd love to,” Charles says fervently. “How about a walk to Grantchester? We could go to the Orchard if it's open.”
Erik's not sure why you'd go to an orchard in January, but a walk by the river would be nice.
The Orchard turns out to be a tea place, and it's just closing; but the pub is open, and it's cold enough outside to make it fun to sit by the fire. Charles introduces him to some insane hot blackcurrant drink which is not as bad as it sounds, and they talk and talk, about Charles's dissertation on science fiction, and Erik's project on the history of alchemy. Erik even tells Charles about how Janos is making him a realization of Kepler's model of the solar system, the one Kepler designed for Duke Friedrich but that never got built because the silversmiths back then couldn't cope with it.
“So this was a kind of celestial drinks cabinet?” Charles says, his eyes bright with interest.
“Yeah,” Erik says. “Different liquids for each of the planets. You'd be OK as long as you didn't get Saturn. They thought Saturn was the planet of decay, so the joke was that that one would be full of stale beer or sour wine.”
Charles grins. “You could call it the Alcoholic Solar System, or ASS for short,” he says, beaming, “and then people would say 'Have you seen Erik Lehnsherr's magnificent ASS? It's just out of this world!'”
Erik cracks up laughing in spite of himself. “God, your jokes are terrible.”
“That was one of my better ones, actually,” Charles says, looking very pleased with himself. “Though it's only half a joke really.”
“Not even half,” Erik grumbles. “Wait – what?”
“You do have a magnificent ass,” Charles says, smirking. “As far as I can judge with your clothes on.”
OK, Erik had thought Charles was flirting with him, but this has gone beyond flirting now.
“Don't start something you can't finish,” he says roughly. Heat pools in his stomach.
“I promise you,” Charles says, looking directly into his eyes, “I have every intention of finishing it.”
He puts his hand on Erik's thigh under the table and slides his fingers slowly along the inner seam of Erik's jeans. Erik nearly chokes on his blackcurrant drink.
Charles's rooms are closest, but the walk back is still torturously long. Erik's so hard it hurts, and his only consolation is that Charles is obviously in trouble as well, judging by his string of complaints about why Grantchester is so stupidly far from Cambridge. If it wasn't January and dark and starting to drizzle, he'd drag Charles into the bushes and suck him off right now.
They're practically running as they cover the last few hundred yards to Charles's staircase. They stagger up the stairs, panting and laughing, and fall through the door.
“Lock the thing, will you!” Erik says, as Charles pushes him against the door.
“Mm,” Charles agrees, kissing his throat.
Erik groans, and bites his neck in return, making him gasp.
“OK, I – ah – just, shit, that's good – right, locked now, oh god Erik –”
Nice to know Charles can't stay that coherent with Erik's hand down his jeans. His cock feels good in Erik's hand, too, hot and heavy and all the way hard, fuck, so good...
Charles trembles and bites his own fist to keep from crying out as Erik works him and works him, stroking and sliding and pulling and twisting until he makes a choked desperate noise and comes all over Erik's hand and his own stomach. He grips Erik's shoulder bruisingly tight as his knees give way.
“God,” Charles says, when he can speak again. “Oh, god, Erik. Oh wow. Oh.”
Erik laughs, out of pure happiness. He can't remember the last time he felt like this, giddy with excitement and lust and delight, high on the thrill of making someone come so hard. But it's not just someone, it's this man with his amazing deep blue eyes and his mouth, god, that mouth...
“I want to suck you off,” Charles says, with such passionate conviction that Erik nearly buckles at the knees.
Charles pushes him back towards the bed and Erik tumbles onto it, flat on his back, dizzy with surrender as Charles pulls at his clothes, unzips his jeans and tugs them down along with his boxers.
“Oh,” Charles says, saucer-eyed.
For a tense moment Erik thinks he's about to say It's too big, but that's clearly not what Charles is thinking at all. He makes a happy little noise of appreciation and runs his tongue along the length of Erik's cock from base to tip.
Erik groans as Charles presses his tongue against the underside of the head, swirling and teasing at that spot that drives him wild.
“Fuck, Charles – ”
“Maybe later,” Charles says, laughing. He sucks the tip of Erik's cock into his mouth, tugging gently at it with his lips.
“Oh god,” Erik says. “Oh god.”
Charles's lips and tongue are teasing and caressing and pulling him in deeper. Erik's head is swimming and his eyes are glazed and he can't hold out much longer if Charles goes on sucking him like that, more, more... His hands are tangled in Charles's hair and pulling hard and Charles's hands are cupping his arse, pulling him in deeper into that gorgeous heat and wetness and suction till Erik can't bear it any longer and he comes and comes until there's nothing left of him any more.
He slackens his grip on Charles's hair, gasping for breath.
“Your mouth,” he says, which is about as coherent a statement as he can manage right now.
Charles wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and grins.
“Your hands,” he says, and it's mocking but also genuine. “And of course your magnificent ass,” he says, which makes Erik snort with laughter, and then they're both laughing, collapsed in a heap on Charles's single bed.
There hasn't been much laughing in bed in Erik's life – not that they're actually in bed yet. He thinks he'd like more of that. A lot more.
Charles slides up to rub his face against the corner of Erik's neck and shoulder, making a series of small contented noises. He sprawls across Erik as if he's done it all his life. Erik pushes his fingers through Charles's hair and scratches his scalp, strokes the back of his neck just below the hairline, listening to Charles's murmurs and sighs of pleasure, mmm, lovely, oh yes....
The impulse to say I love you shocks him rigid.
He is not doing that. Not here. Not with someone he's probably never going to see again once they leave Cambridge.
“I have to go,” he says, feeling the panic rise up into his throat.
Charles snuggles closer and says “Noooo.”
Erik gives him a push that's probably not as gentle as he means it to be.
“Charles. I have to go. Now.”
“Oh,” Charles says, sitting up. He looks dazed, as if he's been pulled too quickly out of sleep. “Oh, must you?”
“Yes,” Erik says.
He doesn't want to go. He wants to stay here with Charles and fall asleep with him and wake up with him and say the things it doesn't make any sense to say. But he's not going to. He's going to wash his hands and put his clothes to rights and then he's going to walk back to St John's and read about Newton till his eyes hurt. Because he's not going to hand this man his heart on a plate to break or ignore or throw away.
“I – I had a really good time,” Charles says, and there's something almost pleading in his voice.
“Me too,” Erik says, because it wouldn't be fair to pretend he didn't. That was the best sex he's had in... possibly ever, and he can't quite believe he's getting up and walking away from it.
“Thank you for today,” Charles says. He looks uncertain and a bit sad, and Erik wants to hug him and kiss him and say stupid dangerous things to him.
“I'll call you,” he says instead, and gets out of there as fast as he can.
*~*~*~*
He doesn't call, not for days. He buries himself in the college library, goes to too many lectures he doesn't remember a word of despite his copious notes, sits up late into the night reading and drawing diagrams and trying not to think of Charles.
He Skypes Janos in California and talks about anything and everything else, but Janos knows him too well.
“Who is he, Erik?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Erik lies.
“You've met someone. Fallen for someone,” Janos says. “Fuck, if I don't know the signs by now...”
Erik caves. It's a relief to talk about it – or at least it is until Janos says flatly “Call the guy.”
“Have you not been listening to a word I've said?” Erik says. “Janos, I can't do this, it's insane –”
“Erik,” Janos says wearily, “you had amazing sex with this guy. He obviously really likes you. You have, what, a month, six weeks left? You can spend it moping and hiding and worrying you're going to run into him. Or you can call him, have a good time, and figure out where you go from there.”
Erik groans. It's what he wants to do, so much it scares him. “Tell me about the model,” he says.
“Coward,” Janos says. “OK, four of the planets are now done. If you call the guy I'll make the other two. Deal?”
“Fuck off,” Erik says. “OK, deal.”
Janos's laughter comes loud and clear through his headphones.
Chapter 3: Let's Pretend This Song Won't End
“Erik!” Charles sounds so delighted that Erik feels slightly dizzy. “I was hoping you'd call. Listen, I have a spare ticket for the Magnetic Fields at the Corn Exchange tomorrow night – I thought maybe you'd like to go.”
He'd seen the posters but hadn't tried to get a ticket – the exchange rate means his budget's even tighter than he thought.
“How much is it?” he asks.
“It's on me,” Charles says. “Please. I'd like to take you.”
Erik feels warm inside; then he feels uncomfortable.
“I prefer to pay my way,” he says, a bit stiffly.
“OK,” Charles says. “But I really would like to see you tomorrow, so if you don't want to go to the concert I'll pass the tickets on to someone else and we can go for a drink instead.”
“I – the concert would be nice,” Erik says. He feels pushed into a corner, even though it's where he wants to be.
The concert is better than nice, and they go back to Erik's rooms afterwards and fall into bed as if they're starving for each other, dying for each other. This time Erik can't just get dressed and go; he's actually going to have to say something while they're still lying breathless and sweaty and mostly stuck together.
“I don't want to get involved,” he says, and feels Charles tense up.
There's a pause, and then Charles says “No, of course not.”
It's a neutral remark but there's a sting in it somehow. Erik winces.
“Look, I really like you,” he says, knowing the words couldn't be more inadequate. “And the sex is great. But I'm going back to California, and you're going back to Princeton and I – I just don't think it makes sense to get serious.”
“OK,” Charles says, a bit too quickly for Erik's liking. “But we can still have sex, right?” he asks hopefully.
Erik's only human. “Yes, we can still have sex.”
“Oh good,” Charles says, fondling him suggestively. “I'd be sorry to say goodbye to this so soon.”
“I'll make you a cast of it,” Erik says drily. “To remember me by.”
Charles snorts with laughter. “I'll remember you anyway,” he says. “But that's a very nice offer. Could your friend at Caltech make me a dildo, do you think?”
Erik's not quite sure if he's joking, but he rolls Charles over and tickles him silly anyway. By the time Charles is flushed and gasping and begging for mercy, they're both half-hard again, and it's no distance at all from there to another round of insanely good sex.
“At least you're getting your ashes hauled,” Janos says. “Does he really want that dildo? I could make it if you like.”
“No you couldn't,” Erik says firmly.
*~*~*~*
The weeks go by too quickly, full of sex with Charles and work half-done and walks and concerts and more sex. He doesn't want it to end, and the longer it goes on the more it's killing him not to say the words that keep pushing up into his throat. But he won't let them out, not here. Not even when the smell of Charles's skin makes Erik want to bottle it and wear it as a cologne for the rest of his goddamned life. Not even when the sound of Charles's heartbeat after sex becomes the rhythm of Erik's dreams.
Charles agreed so readily when he said he didn't want to get serious: he's obviously happy just having great sex as long as it lasts. And if Erik wasn't acting like a twelve-year-old girl he could be happy with that too. At least he can pretend he's OK. He can totally do that.
It's not for much longer, after all.
Week 6. Week 7. Week 8 – how the fuck did it get to be week 8 already? Why are the fucking terms so short?
Pretty soon, too soon, he's cursing all the stuff that won't go in his suitcases even after he's filled up all the boxes he's shipping back to California.
Charles sits on the edge of the bed and watches him, not smiling for once. He seems to have something on his mind.
“Fuck,” Erik says, for possibly the fiftieth time.
“Erik,” Charles says, and stops.
“What?” Erik snaps.
“Nothing,” Charles says. “Are you sure I can't help you with that?”
Erik counts to ten, because he's this close to lashing out just to stop it hurting so much. “No thanks,” he says, clenching his fists.
“I can go, if I'm in the way,” Charles says.
“Fine,” Erik says. “Whatever you want – ”
“What I want is for you not to be going away,” Charles says mournfully.
“Yeah, thanks,” Erik says. “That's a big help.”
“Look, I had an idea,” Charles says. “Why don't you go back later, stay with me in London over the vacation? My uncle's away, we could use his flat. You could work on your project during the day and we could hang out in the evenings. It'd be fun.”
It's too much.
“How am I supposed to do that, Charles?” Erik explodes. “Just – fucking how? My flight's on Saturday. I can't afford to change the ticket.”
“I – I'd be happy to pay the difference,” Charles says. He clears his throat, embarrassed. “If you wanted to stay.”
“You would – what?” He doesn't believe he's hearing this.
“I – just, I'd really like to have more time with you,” Charles says. “Doing things we like, and I thought – ”
Erik's shaking; he can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “What the fuck is this, Charles? You want to pay to keep me around so we can do things we like – what does that make me?”
“That's not what I meant,” Charles protests. He looks as if he's going to be sick.
“I can't believe you thought I'd say yes to this!” Erik rages. He feels the shame of it bleaching through him till he can hardly breathe. “I'm not your, your escort or your gigolo or your fucking charity case.”
“I never thought of you like that,” Charles says, very pale. “But I apologise if I've offended you.”
“Get out,” Erik says. He's so angry he can hardly see straight.
“Erik – ”
“Get out!” Erik yells, and lunges at him.
Charles steps backwards. He's gone even paler, if that's possible.
“OK,” he says, his voice shaking. “I'm going, you don't have to throw me out. I'm sorry it has to end like this. I won't bother you again.”
He walks out, shutting the door quietly behind him, and Erik slumps on the floor, contemplating his half-packed suitcases and the pieces of his broken heart.
He doesn't see or hear from Charles again for the next seven years.