Erik was exhausting at the best of times. Whenever they entered a building, he located every possible exit within seconds, keeping them always to the front of his mind. He eyed everyone they sat near in diners with suspicion, waiting to see what they would do, planning how to incapacitate them if they tried anything. That no one did try anything—that none of their fellow travelers paid them half as much attention as Erik paid them—only seemed to reinforce his certainty that someone, at some point, would.
Erik was exhausting at the best of times, but since last night, he had been worse. What had been a low, constant murmur before was now a scream at a high pitch, something Charlotte couldn't ignore or become accustomed to the way she'd become accustomed to the rest.
She was not, therefore, surprised when the first words out of Erik's mouth once the door to their hotel room had shut behind them were, "You should cut it."
"It's only going to be a few more days," Charlotte said, a bit startled at the deepness of her own voice, as she had been every other time she'd heard it today. "I'm not chopping my hair off for something that will be long since over a week from now."
She'd had it pinned up today, as she usually did; the difference was that, today, she'd worn a hat to disguise it. That hadn't stopped Erik from being convinced someone would notice, that someone would look at her and see a man with hair like a woman's. It hadn't stopped him from fearing that he, who saw everything that happened and cataloged every piece of metal in every room he'd ever stepped in the moment he stepped into it, would somehow fail to protect her, when it happened.
(As if she needed protecting. As if half of his attraction to her weren't based on the strength of her gift. But as irritating as it could be, she had a hard time holding it against him, given what had happened to every other woman or girl he'd ever cared for.)
Charlotte let him stew for a minute as she set her hat on the bureau and let her hair down—a tad pointedly, but as understanding as she tried to be, she wasn't a saint. Anyway, Erik loved her hair. Even now, as strange a picture as it made...
Erik was still standing by the door when she had finished. His worry was a little lesser now, because they were alone or because they'd both been conditioned to some things, these last few weeks. During the day, when they could be seen, they were one thing; at night, when no one else could be watching, they were something else altogether.
He didn't even notice his own sexual confusion until Charlotte went to him, kissed him on the mouth, and said, "Do stop worrying, Erik, really."
Then she kissed him again.
"—What are you doing?"
"Come to bed with me." Charlotte kissed him again. She'd some stubble on her chin; when it rubbed against Erik's own stubble, it made for a very strange sensation.
"But you're," Erik said, meaning she had a flat chest and a penis and he'd been prepared to be completely celibate until she had a cleavage and a vagina once more. What a ridiculous man.
"So what? It'll be exciting."
Usually, by this point in the proceedings, Charlotte would be wet already, anticipating what was coming. Now, the part of her that had felt a bit unwieldy and awkward all day—how did men go about with so many dangling parts, anyway? Charlotte couldn't imagine doing this for long—began to respond to Erik's nearness.
Erik noticed. "Charlotte—"
"You should go down on me, and then you should fuck me silly," she said, which was precisely what she'd said on the third night of this trip, when Erik had wanted her desperately and been unwilling to make the first move (he'd then acted utterly scandalized by her forwardness, as if she wouldn't notice that it had worked). "If you like it, then maybe tomorrow night I'll fuck you."
If Erik didn't want her to notice his response to that, he really should have tried harder not to have one.