A scream crawled swiftly up Charles' throat, swallowed back only at the last moment and with considerable effort. Erik's air of casual superiority crawled across his skin like a physical thing, and here he was, the great wayward telepath, hamstrung because his lone adherent had taken the bloody day off.
It was all going to come out, he could see that now. He knew that look, that practiced easiness. But damn if he was going to give Erik the satisfaction of simply giving in.
"What a surprise that your word is utterly worthless yet again," he snapped, keenly aware of his own lack of composure as well as his inability to do much about it. He stoppered the decanter and gave it a hard shove so that it slid across the desktop. It shuddered to a stop with one crystal corner just off the edge, liquid sloshing, and pure luck that it didn't go over onto the floor.
"Make your own bloody drink. You're going to need it."
Ah, there it was. A breath of the upper hand, its dismal impetus slouching him into his desk chair, wrists laid across the arms and tumbler dangling loosely from his fingertips as he stared coolly back at Erik and arched his eyebrows.
"Here's how this is going to work," he said, each syllable perfectly crisp. "You don't get to ask me questions about myself. You forfeited that right long ago. Instead, I'm going to tell you all about you and exactly what you've been up to since you left me to die on that beach in Cuba. And then you're going to leave. Understood?"
He glanced to the decanter, and then back to Erik, waiting.
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It was all going to come out, he could see that now. He knew that look, that practiced easiness. But damn if he was going to give Erik the satisfaction of simply giving in.
"What a surprise that your word is utterly worthless yet again," he snapped, keenly aware of his own lack of composure as well as his inability to do much about it. He stoppered the decanter and gave it a hard shove so that it slid across the desktop. It shuddered to a stop with one crystal corner just off the edge, liquid sloshing, and pure luck that it didn't go over onto the floor.
"Make your own bloody drink. You're going to need it."
Ah, there it was. A breath of the upper hand, its dismal impetus slouching him into his desk chair, wrists laid across the arms and tumbler dangling loosely from his fingertips as he stared coolly back at Erik and arched his eyebrows.
"Here's how this is going to work," he said, each syllable perfectly crisp. "You don't get to ask me questions about myself. You forfeited that right long ago. Instead, I'm going to tell you all about you and exactly what you've been up to since you left me to die on that beach in Cuba. And then you're going to leave. Understood?"
He glanced to the decanter, and then back to Erik, waiting.