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Summary
“You know, I’m still not convinced,” Charles says as Erik pushes him back onto the bed, wriggling up the mattress until his head is firmly propped on the small mountain of pillows he insists he needs, body lithe and comfortably naked on top of the coverlet. He looks up at Erik through his lashes like a peepshow of blue, a small coy curl to the corner of his mouth. “I mean, you’re good, darling, but I’m not convinced you’re that good. No offence.”
“None taken,” Erik says, and it’s gratifying the way Charles’ gaze drops to where he’s slowly unbuttoning his shirt, pupils dilating as he watches the widening triangle of skin exposing more and more of Erik’s chest. There’s an underlying feeling of growing arousal in the room, but he can feel it when Charles’ attention focuses, suddenly, like a prism coming into alignment. “Since I’m going to convince you otherwise.”