Title: Wager
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Length: 450 words
Content notes: no warnings apply
Author's note: part of my noir AU series, Patterns of Light
Summary: "I have a wager for you," Shaw says.



“This is our best chance of getting you into Shaw's house,” MacTaggert had said. “It'll look like a coincidence - most people have no idea he owns the place.”

MacTaggert was right: the casino's a good location for a supposedly accidental meeting. Charles drinks, and flirts with the croupiers, and watches the gamblers crowded around the roulette wheel or the poker table or handing over wads of cash in exchange for piles of coloured chips. He plays a hand or two of Twenty-One, then strolls around the floor again, trying not to look as if he's waiting for the summons he knows is going to come sooner or later.

“Charles! This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“Sebastian,” Charles says, turning to greet him. The name feels strange in his mouth but he can hardly say Mr Shaw after what passed between them last time.

“I had no idea you were a gambler,” Shaw says.

“It's one of my hobbies,” Charles says airily.

“If you think like that, you're not a real gambler.”

“Not at card games or roulette, perhaps,” Charles says. “But I enjoy a wager, if the stakes are high enough to be interesting.”

“Champagne,” Shaw says, beckoning a passing waiter.

“Yes sir, right away, sir,” the waiter gabbles, and is gone in the blink of an eye.

“This place is one of my hobbies,” Shaw says, affectedly casual.

Charles tries to look suitably surprised and impressed - but not too impressed for the image he's trying to project.

The waiter reappears, more quickly than Charles would have thought possible, and pours two glasses of champagne. A good vintage: Charles wonders if it's from Shaw's private store. It seems unlikely he'd be wasting wine of this quality on the casino's clientele, not if he wants the books to balance.

“I have a wager for you,” Shaw says. “If you have the nerve for it.”

Charles feels cold in the pit of his stomach. “Try me,” he says, with his best cheeky grin.

“I bet that if you come and stay in my house for a week, you won't want to leave,” Shaw says.

It's perfect; it's horrific. Charles swallows hard.

“What do I get if you lose?”

“Whatever you like,” Shaw says. It's obvious he thinks it's irrelevant, that he's bound to win anyway.

“The keys to your kingdom, then,” Charles says, trying hard not to think of Bluebeard. “And what do you get if you win?”

“The pleasure of your company, of course,” Shaw says, and raises his glass. “You could throw in your PR services if you're feeling modest, but it's really not necessary.”

“Splendid,” Charles says. His mouth is dry. “When would you like to begin?”