"Dignity be damned," Charles murmurs, arms circling Erik's waist and tucking his fingertips to where the fabric bunches up for a moment. He breathes in, tastes the tang of metal on his tongue and lets his smile curve up, "I care very little about it right now, Erik. In fact, all I do give a damn about is making up for lost time."

It's teasing, feather light as he leans back, hooks his fingers now in the waist of his shirt, power on the heels of his feet as though he might start dragging Erik back with him. Maybe he will. Because Charles has been careful not to pry with him in regards to their friendship - one does not press an palm into already cracked glass if they don't want to end up cut to the wrist and this sudden swoop of understanding, of need, it coils in his stomach and he takes a step back. It's small, but he tugs lightly, impish smile lighting up his face.

"You're the one guarding the castle, darling. You tell me where you want to discuss your dignity."