"What do you think?" Angel said, opening her wardrobe with a flourish. On the backs of the double doors hung the costumes, masses of black silk and white ruffles that made Erik blink. They had a distinctly Victorian air, but artfully tattered; Angel's skirt was little more than silken rags, and Erik doubted that a real Victorian maiden would wear her corset on the outside. The male outfit was shabby enough to match, but only just.
"I think I can handle it," he said.
"You don't have to make it sound like such a hardship," Angel said, shoving him playfully. "The bathroom's through there -- go put it on, let's see how it fits." She waggled her eyebrows. "You sure me yours, I'll show you mine."
He smiled politely and retreated into the bathroom, relieved that she wasn't making some attempt at undressing him herself. It took some doing to figure out all the different layers and buttons, and at the end of it there were still a few pieces he wasn't sure what to do with, including a long cape with red lining (was he doomed to capes?) and what might have been a cravat.
"Oh, I'll help you with all that," Angel said when he stepped out of the bathroom. "But don't you carry it well! Come here, come here." She tugged him over to the mirror, but then said, "No, don't look yet, let me fix you up," and went to work on the cravat."
She had changed clothes, too, as promised, and the result was more revealing than he had expected. He caught flashes of thigh with every step, and if she sneezed, she was going to cause a scandal. Someone else, perhaps, could have carried it off gracefully, but Angel just looked like a stripper. He tried not to cringe noticeably away, and then wondered at his own negative reaction. Angel was an attractive woman, and as an adult at least, his sexual experiences had, in fact, been mostly with women. He would have expected to be experiencing at least an aesthetic enjoyment of Angel, but he wasn't.
It was two things, he decided. First, while Angel was attractive, she was not at all his type; he preferred women who were quiet, elegant, striking, witty. Like Magda. Never mind that you apparently like your men little and cute, that's not relevant here. Second, when he looked at Angel, he had a hard time dissociating the woman before him from the little girl he remembered -- a bossy little loudmouth for whom he had felt only a distant annoyance.
No, there was another reason, trumping all others. She wasn't Charles. He had dated many women who were not Charles, of course, but only when Charles was far away, lost to him, a painful memory he tried not to prod at. With Charles here... no one else could truly capture his attention.
"There!" Angel stepped back, grinning, and presented Erik with his reflection.
Erik was surprised to see that he cut a rather dashing figure. The red-pinstripe waistcoat emphasized all the right places, and the cape lent him a wholly undeserved drama that, like the long lacy cuffs, felt both ridiculous and secretly exciting. Despite himself, Erik grinned.
"Oh, I almost forgot." Angel pressed a walking-stick into his hand, and stood on tiptoe to drop a top hat onto his head.
"Is that really necessary?"
"Yes," Angel firmly. "Now try that smile again. You look like Jack the Ripper. Excellent! Now let's look at this fit -- the waistcoat is perfect -- well, maybe a tuck there -- and yep, yep, the trousers are too short, let me measure..." She dropped to her knees, skirts and all, and whipped out a tiny tape-measure.
"So, um," Erik said, looking awkwardly down at the top of her head, "how did you end up teaching here? You must be the youngest member of the faculty."
"I sure am! Professor Shaw got me in. When my Quidditch career tanked--"
"Quidditch career?" Erik blurted.
"Oh, that's right, it was after you graduated. I was Slytherin Seeker for a few years. Couldn't make it in the big time, though." She sounded resigned. "Professor Shaw had been having some problems with the flying instructor here, anyway, said he wanted someone he could trust to follow orders, so... It was win-win."
FILL: The Better Men (18c/30ish)
"What do you think?" Angel said, opening her wardrobe with a flourish. On the backs of the double doors hung the costumes, masses of black silk and white ruffles that made Erik blink. They had a distinctly Victorian air, but artfully tattered; Angel's skirt was little more than silken rags, and Erik doubted that a real Victorian maiden would wear her corset on the outside. The male outfit was shabby enough to match, but only just.
"I think I can handle it," he said.
"You don't have to make it sound like such a hardship," Angel said, shoving him playfully. "The bathroom's through there -- go put it on, let's see how it fits." She waggled her eyebrows. "You sure me yours, I'll show you mine."
He smiled politely and retreated into the bathroom, relieved that she wasn't making some attempt at undressing him herself. It took some doing to figure out all the different layers and buttons, and at the end of it there were still a few pieces he wasn't sure what to do with, including a long cape with red lining (was he doomed to capes?) and what might have been a cravat.
"Oh, I'll help you with all that," Angel said when he stepped out of the bathroom. "But don't you carry it well! Come here, come here." She tugged him over to the mirror, but then said, "No, don't look yet, let me fix you up," and went to work on the cravat."
She had changed clothes, too, as promised, and the result was more revealing than he had expected. He caught flashes of thigh with every step, and if she sneezed, she was going to cause a scandal. Someone else, perhaps, could have carried it off gracefully, but Angel just looked like a stripper. He tried not to cringe noticeably away, and then wondered at his own negative reaction. Angel was an attractive woman, and as an adult at least, his sexual experiences had, in fact, been mostly with women. He would have expected to be experiencing at least an aesthetic enjoyment of Angel, but he wasn't.
It was two things, he decided. First, while Angel was attractive, she was not at all his type; he preferred women who were quiet, elegant, striking, witty. Like Magda. Never mind that you apparently like your men little and cute, that's not relevant here. Second, when he looked at Angel, he had a hard time dissociating the woman before him from the little girl he remembered -- a bossy little loudmouth for whom he had felt only a distant annoyance.
No, there was another reason, trumping all others. She wasn't Charles. He had dated many women who were not Charles, of course, but only when Charles was far away, lost to him, a painful memory he tried not to prod at. With Charles here... no one else could truly capture his attention.
"There!" Angel stepped back, grinning, and presented Erik with his reflection.
Erik was surprised to see that he cut a rather dashing figure. The red-pinstripe waistcoat emphasized all the right places, and the cape lent him a wholly undeserved drama that, like the long lacy cuffs, felt both ridiculous and secretly exciting. Despite himself, Erik grinned.
"Oh, I almost forgot." Angel pressed a walking-stick into his hand, and stood on tiptoe to drop a top hat onto his head.
"Is that really necessary?"
"Yes," Angel firmly. "Now try that smile again. You look like Jack the Ripper. Excellent! Now let's look at this fit -- the waistcoat is perfect -- well, maybe a tuck there -- and yep, yep, the trousers are too short, let me measure..." She dropped to her knees, skirts and all, and whipped out a tiny tape-measure.
"So, um," Erik said, looking awkwardly down at the top of her head, "how did you end up teaching here? You must be the youngest member of the faculty."
"I sure am! Professor Shaw got me in. When my Quidditch career tanked--"
"Quidditch career?" Erik blurted.
"Oh, that's right, it was after you graduated. I was Slytherin Seeker for a few years. Couldn't make it in the big time, though." She sounded resigned. "Professor Shaw had been having some problems with the flying instructor here, anyway, said he wanted someone he could trust to follow orders, so... It was win-win."