Chapter Text
Everything felt a little bit like a fever dream when Nick got back to his flat in the early hours of Sunday morning.
His body carried the edges of floatiness, despite the ten minute walk back to his flat taking well over an hour thanks to the sheer number of times Nick had been forced to stop and hold Imogen’s hair back while she was sick into a bush. Nick had felt immensely glad he was stoned and not drunk in those moments, although his Hawaiian shirt did make his head hurt a little when he later looked in the mirror. But, maybe that was less to do with the weed and more to do with the atrocity of the shirt in general.
A quick DM to Imogen on the Sunday morning to check she was still alive was met with five green-faced emojis, a feeling Nick could empathise with. She apologised for being a mess, and Nick assured her she was okay, that he’d been just as bad as she was a couple of weeks before. They spent the rest of the day exchanging texts about hangover cures and different lamp posts in Leeds that suffered as a result of their drinking, and suddenly Nick had gained a new friend. It seemed that the embarrassment of staggering through dimly lit streets with sick on her shoes had curtailed any of the blind hope Imogen held, and Nick was glad to see it.
They did end up getting the train back to Kent together later that evening, and the price they paid for their tickets was extortionate, but it was fine. Because Nick had kissed Charlie Spring. Or at least, he was pretty sure he had.
Things were a little hazy.
In fact, Nick was pretty sure he’d imagined the whole thing with Charlie, until he got a text from Imogen on the Tuesday morning asking if he’d seen Charlie’s Instagram story.
Confused, Nick flicked open the app and thumbed through the circles at the top until he found the one he was looking for: cfspring.
The gasp Nick let out had his mum asking what had given him such a surprise, but Nick couldn’t exactly explain that the reason for his shock was the fact that there was a very definite bruise on Charlie Spring’s neck that he had left there.
The story was a reshare of someone else’s, someone called Tori posting it originally.
It was a photo of Charlie and a much younger boy who had the same so-brown-it-was-almost-black hair as him, just slightly wilder and less well-manicured curls. He had one arm slung around the boy, who was half in his lap and half on the sofa while Charlie dug fingers into his ribs. The kind of photo Nick was sure siblings were supposed to take, rather than the stilted side-by-sides Nick took with David where they both looked like you could topple them with one quick prod due to the tension radiating out of their bodies. David, who’d be home in three short days with the express purpose of aggravating Nick and causing their mum to get that pinched look in her brow when they inevitably argued.
Nick would think more about that fact later, because first, he had to deal with the fact that Charlie Spring had a dappled purple mark on his throat, turning yellow around the edges, exactly where Nick’s teeth had pinched three days ago.
An excuse was made and Nick wandered up to spend a little bit longer analysing the picture, somewhere without the softly appraising look of his mother watching him flush red.
The hickey was definitely there, and whatever filter the poster had put over the photo only served to emphasise it. Nick tapped back on Imogen’s message only to find three more waiting, laden with question marks.
immy_heaney_xo
That is what I think it is, right?!
Nick??? Have I missed something??
You were the only person I saw with Charlie that night?????
Nick swallowed as he tapped out a response. He looked over it for a solid two minutes before sending it, deciding it was aloof and unassuming enough to get away with. He wasn’t sure how Charlie would want to play this, and to be honest, how he wanted to play it either.
nicknzzzz
Could be a mark on the camera or something idk
immy_heaney_xo
Nicholas middle name Nelson
That is definitely a love bite, look at the colouring of it
And I think you have something you have neglected to tell me 👀
nicknzzzz
My middle name is Luke
immy_heaney_xo
You’re middle name is deflection
nicknzzzz
If i’m going into teaching, I should probably point out that you’ve used the wrong your
immy_heaney_xo
Nick!!!!!!
A swift photo of Nellie wearing antlers Nick had taken earlier was enough of a distraction for now. Imogen’s mind might have strayed away from that mottled patch of olive skin, but Nick’s certainly didn’t. For the 24 hours that the story was visible, Nick found himself clicking back on it and holding down his thumb as though he might be able to feel the silky soft skin below it if he did so for long enough.
It had happened, and there was very tangible proof of such in the form of a marbling bruise on Charlie’s neck.
That would have to be enough for now.
Christmas came and went. David was an arse, as was expected, and the Nelson household was brimming with enough tension to sling an arrow. But he’d be gone in three days, and he’d fuck off back to London and out of Nick’s life until the next mandated family gathering. Maybe their dad might actually show up to that one.
A message just after midnight on New Years’ Eve was the thing to stop the next argument with David, a reply to his story of Nellie hiding from the fireworks in a thunder vest.
cfspring
happy new year nick x
Once again, Nick’s scrambling and near-dropping of his phone was enough for even his tipsy mother to pick up on.
“You’re very jumpy at the moment, Nicky,” she said, head cocked. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” Nick replied, entirely unconvincingly as he retrieved his phone from the floor. He sighed in relief when he turned it over and the screen was unscathed. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
Sarah pursed her lips, but her eyes went all soft and gooey like they always did when she’d had something to drink. She leant over the couch and patted his cheek, and Nick was immensely glad that David was out somewhere getting pissed so didn’t bear witness to it.
“If you say so, baby. Do you want another drink?”
“Yes please,” Nick smiled. “Thanks, Mum.”
Sarah chuckled lazily as she padded from the living room. “What are mums for, if not to get their adult children drunk?”
Nick couldn’t answer that right now, because he had something else to answer.
nicknzzzz
Happy new year, Charlie x
After that first message, there wasn’t a day that passed where Nick’s phone didn’t buzz with a DM from Charlie Spring.
It started with story replies, heart reacts to pictures of Nellie that turned into conversations about Charlie’s neverending wish for a pet, and it graduated into late-night conversations about Charlie’s mum’s disdain for all things living.
The remaining days in Kent blended into one, and David’s thankful return to London was undercut by the ease Nick felt anyway from swapping messages with Charlie. They talked about anything and everything, from film recommendations to unhinged round-ups of the year their peers had posted on Instagram. Nick’s nights became punctuated by red heart emojis and quiet huffs of laughter when Charlie would say something witty and dry. He bullied Nick for his Hawaiian shirt (as he should have) and they laughed about Imogen’s flirting efforts, however misguided.
They didn’t talk about the kiss, though.
The same was true when they returned to uni.
Seeing Charlie in the library no longer brought on the same physiological reaction from Nick it once had. It definitely made his heart flutter in his chest in a stupid way, but Charlie meant more than just hot, clever guy who would likely never give Nick the time of day now. Now, they were friends, friends who swapped texts when they didn’t see each other that day, and who sat together when they did.
At parties, they gravitated towards one another. Tara’s raised eyebrows faded into the background below Charlie’s soft giggles, and Imogen’s silent looks were secondary to his dimples.
They would sit, legs intertwined on random sofas while they talked, seamless, just like their messages. They’d talk until Nick would go to get a drink or to nip to the loo, and when he’d return, there would always be another pretty boy in his place, watching Charlie with the same doe-eyed look he expected he did himself. Nick didn’t begrudge it of him; he was gorgeous, and deserved to have all of the attention lavished upon him. So, Nick would find a different friend and carry on his evening.
That was the general theme of Nick’s interactions with Charlie; a sort of place holder until Charlie’s attention was cast elsewhere. It wasn’t like Nick was struggling for people to talk to, so he could hardly complain, but it still wasn’t the peony-cheeked girls or the first year rugby devotees that Nick wanted the attention of. It was Charlie.
And he had it, most days. He had it in the form of study sessions and lazy afternoons watching Netflix when they’d get distracted. He had it in the way Charlie would pop down to the clubhouse every few weeks with his friends to watch Nick play. Even Tao warmed up slightly to Nick, and by February, their friendship groups had merged.
Charlie Spring became just Charlie, Nick’s friend.
And if Nick’s dick twitched every now and then when he’d taste the mint of his toothpaste? Well, he’d not think too deeply about that.
Two facts underpinned their newfound friendship though: they didn’t smoke together again and they still didn’t talk about the kiss.
Not until the night Charlie and the gang came over to Nick’s flat for a movie night, at least.
Nick had been warned early doors about Tao’s approach to movies (“Your mouth should be used to chew popcorn, and it should do so quietly,” Nick had committed to memory) and Nick thought he’d done well so far. Keeping his mouth around the neck of a Rekorderlig seemed to help him keep quiet enough, as proven by the litany of glass bottles collecting on the coffee table.
He was waving everyone off, tongue still swiping the toffee coating from his teeth when Charlie stayed planted on the sofa, still swallowed by the hoodie he’d borrowed from Nick. He seemed to have a habit of doing that.
“I love toffee popcorn, but I think next time we should get salted,” Nick said, tonguing in the grooves of his teeth as he sat down. “I don’t think my teeth will ever be the same again.”
Charlie chuckled lazily, tapping the glass bottle of his cider with mindless fingertips.
“I warned you when we bought it,” Charlie said, taking a swig. “I told you it feels manky afterwards, even if it tastes good in the moment.”
“And I didn’t listen,” Nick quipped back, grabbing a loose bottle cap from the floor with an uncoordinated lean. He hadn’t drunk that much, had he? “So, there.”
“You say that as though it’s something to be celebrated. I thought we’d agreed that I know best and you should submit to my every demand, Nick.”
Nick thought that was probably more likely than Charlie thought.
“Yeah, well,” Nick shrugged. He slumped back into the sofa cushions and turned his head so that he was facing Charlie, a comfortable kind of tipsy where his bones sat snug in his body. “Next time I’ll take your advice and get regular popcorn, no matter how good the offer on toffee is.”
Charlie’s lips curved upwards as he mirrored Nick. “There’s a good boy.”
Oop. And there it was again. That undeniable sexual tension Nick did his best to ignore.
That was one thing about his friendship with Charlie that made Nick’s brain buzz: sometimes, Charlie would say things. He’d make quick comments like that, and Nick’s brain would flash to that night at his flat when he’d said something about praise, and his skin would get all prickly and tight. Especially considering the things he’d put into an incognito tab since Charlie had explained praise kinks to him.
If that wasn’t enough, Charlie would also do things, like press the warm line of his thigh against Nick’s in a pub booth, or he’d wet his lips as his gaze would flick down to Nick’s in a silence. He’d trail fingertips along Nick’s knee, like he’d seen him do to boys at parties, and Nick’s throat would feel thick with the possibility of it all.
Usually it was after a drink, when Charlie’s defences were lowered, and Nick’s too. It would make Nick’s body go hot all over, and then just when Nick would start thinking that maybe he should do something about it, close the distance, Charlie would go back to his normal, giggly self and the moment would fade.
Every now and then, it would linger, but those times were few and far between. Charlie calling Nick a good boy seemed to ricochet around Nick’s brain like the missing ping-pong ball from the Student Union, though, and he let his brain bounce around before responding.
He cleared his throat. “I, um– do you want to watch something else?”
Charlie watched him carefully, but his words were spoken with ease. “Sure. What’s on?”
Flicking through the channels was fine. They found a rerun of a Blue Planet episode, and David Attenborough’s soothing voice was enough to paper over the cracks forming in Nick’s exterior.
“Are your flatmates not coming home tonight?” Charlie asked, eyes dead set on the flurry of fish wriggling around the TV screen. His face was illuminated in tones of blue, skin glowing from the backlight and side profile worthy of every artist’s brush. His gaze flicked to Nick. “Nick?”
Remembering the question he’d been asked was more of a challenge than Nick felt it should have been. “No, um– Chris is out at his girlfriend’s and Ste has gone home for the weekend.”
Charlie nodded, and the comfortable silence lapsed again. Colourful fish blended against an even more colourful coral bed in front of them, and Nick let his eyes take in the shapes and flurry of movements that petered out into a slow wind. Everything moved in tandem with one another, each fish navigating around each other with an ease that Nick couldn’t drag his eyes away from.
“Sometimes, thinking about the ocean makes my head hurt a little,” he murmured, sinking lower into the couch. He’d have put his feet on the coffee table if it wasn’t littered with empty bottles. “Like, it’s so deep.”
Charlie chuckled lowly. “And we’ve only explored about five percent of it. Imagine how much your brain would hurt if we knew what else there was out there.”
Nick tipped his head back, letting his eyes come to rest on the blown bulb that they still needed to change on the light fixture. He’d do it in the morning, given he wasn’t hungover.
“I don’t think I’d like to know what else is out there,” Nick said after a moment. “I like living in ignorant bliss, unaware of the wonders of the world.”
“Afraid of the deep, dark ocean, are we?” Charlie teased, though his smile was soft when Nick turned towards him, and Nick was shocked to find how close their faces were. It wasn’t infrequent that they’d be close, but something about the dim lighting of a seascape hitting Charlie’s cheekbones made Nick falter. It made the azure of Charlie’s eyes even prettier, more captivating. Nick was sure he’d only explored five percent of those deep blues too.
“I get what you mean,” Charlie carried on. He took one last swig, lips a shiny pink from the cider and then put his bottle aside and leant back again. “Makes me feel a little bit high when I watch shit like this.”
Nick found himself huffing a laugh. “This isn’t a feeling I’ve had while high. Bearing in mind, I’ve only been high three times, and two have been with you.”
Ah. And so the unspoken was uttered into the air.
A dangerous treading of unchartered waters. The ninety-five percent was getting a closer look, it seemed, whether Nick intended to do so or not.
Charlie seemed unfazed. “How did you manage to get high the first time, given how spectacularly you spluttered at Tara’s?”
Nick gave a wry smile at the memory. It was coated in things other than embarrassment now; minty, Charlie-laden things, like soft lips and words of praise. Nick withheld his shiver.
“Tara, Darcy and I made pot brownies a while back.”
Charlie appraised him carefully.
“And what was that like?”
“Giggly,” Nick mused, a nervous finger rubbing at the denim of his jeans. He was pretty sure they were the same jeans Charlie had perched on over a garden chair all those weeks ago. The memory felt closer now, a little less hazy than it had.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm,” Nick hummed. “A bit nonsensical. Not deep and prosaic like a David Attenborough documentary.”
Charlie nodded, cheek rubbing up against the worn leather of a cheap sofa. Nick kind of wanted to put a blanket under his cheek; he knew how soft and delicate Charlie’s skin was and hated to imagine treating it with anything less than due care. The cracked leather of a Facebook Marketplace sofa seemed at a dissonance with it.
“And what about the times we smoked?” Charlie said, voice in that soft, familiar lilt. In Nick’s peripheral vision, he watched Charlie’s knees tilt towards him. A gravitational pull that Nick felt too. “How did you feel then?”
Nick swallowed. There was much to be said about those times.
He could say that he felt as though his body was levitating; that he felt every single nerve ending in his body. He could say that when Charlie’s lips laid over his that first time, that Nick believed in some higher power for only a second. He could say that he’d felt both grounded and like he was floating, all at the same time, but that he was certain that it had more to do with Charlie’s praise than the chemicals floating through his bloodstream. Although he couldn’t be sure.
“I felt… calm,” Nick decided on saying. All the other words didn’t seem to match well enough; it was something he couldn’t quite explain. He hoped Charlie understood. “I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.”
And maybe Charlie did understand based upon the way his eyes went all soft and his head tilted. Nick wanted to shift the curl that fell in front of his eyes, and, emboldened by the catch of Charlie’s breath, he did. His fingertips trailed down Charlie’s cheek on the return to his side.
“Yeah,” Charlie said, slightly breathless even to Nick’s ears. “I felt the same way.”
Charlie’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. Lips that Nick once had slotted between his own.
“I really liked it,” Nick said, and he wasn’t talking about the high. He was testing the waters. A push and a pull, tip-toeing along a rope and seeing where the frays where, where the tension was most prominent. He hoped the rope wouldn’t split. “Was it… was it the same for you?”
Charlie hummed, but it sounded a little more like a moan if Nick’s mind pleased. And Nick’s mind did please.
“It was good.” Charlie’s voice was breathier than before, consonants tapering off at the end. Nick’s body warmed. “I loved it. You were so good for me that night. Both nights.”
That flare was back.
Nick’s eyes tracked the way Charlie’s hand went up to scratch at his neck. Deft fingertips dragged against his olive skin, and Nick’s breath trapped in his lungs when he realised where they lay. The spot just below where Nick had felt the pulsing of a strong, assured heart below his tongue. Where he’d left behind a plum-coloured bruise that they’d not spoken about since. Where Nick wanted to leave another.
“That was the best night I’ve had for a long time,” Charlie carried on. Nick watched his hand fall back to his lap, fingernails scraping across the worn leather between their legs. “Shame it was cut short.”
The allusion to what could have been made Nick’s body warm. He’d almost convinced himself it was a fantasy, a force of sheer hope clouded in a haze of bitter chemicals and spearmint tongues. He’d spent nights pondering over that near-tryst, imagining what might have happened. What would have happened, should they have made it past the threshold of Charlie’s room? Would his breath have hitched like it had outside, when Nicks’ tongue would soothe the sting of teeth at his throat? Would he have left a mark on Nick in return – would he have let Nick leave more on him, across the jut of his hip bones and firmness of his thighs?
Nick swallowed.
“It’s a shame we don’t have any weed now,” he joked weakly. Every word felt weighted. “I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”
It was quiet then. The sort of stillness you feel seeping into every crevice, like the way the sky clouds over before they burst, or the incremental gap between songs at a party. A quiet that carried the weight of promise, unspoken and full of anticipation.
“Nick?” Charlie murmured. The words hung heavily in the air until Nick looked up, brown meeting blue. Nick found an intensity in Charlie’s gaze he hadn’t seen for some time. “You know you don’t need a joint as an excuse to kiss me, right?”
“Oh,” Nick just barely breathed.
“Nick?”
“Hm?”
“That was an invitation to kiss me.”
Nick had almost forgotten what it felt like to kiss Charlie Spring. The minty undertone had been robbed from his memory by a herbal haze. The rhythm of his lips had been eclipsed by a cloud of smoke and a rush of endorphins. And yet, now, it felt all too familiar.
Without the addition of any chemicals, Nick still felt the same rush. The same heady, floaty feeling but sharper this time, like Nick was getting it in full HD rather than in pixels making up a larger picture. Nick felt high all over again, almost like the muscle memory of having his lips against Charlie’s was enough to catapult his body back into that same euphoria. But it wasn’t that. Not this time.
“Huh,” Nick huffed lightly when he came back to himself, their lips just a breath apart. His hands slid from where they’d fallen at Charlie’s neck, along to his chest. “It’s still just as good.”
Charlie’s voice was quiet. “What?”
Nick blinked his eyes open and found Charlie watching him carefully, lips parted. The fingers resting over Charlie’s heart curled into his – Nick’s – hoodie at the glaze of desire written over cerulean blue. It wasn’t just him who felt it.
“I thought it was the drugs last time,” Nick said softly, astonishment written all over his voice, “but it was you.”
And then Charlie was on him. Physically, back in his lap, legs bracketing Nick thighs as he pressed him into the couch cushions hard. The suddenness of it all was a shock, but not unwelcome. It certainly wasn’t how Nick expected film night to go, but he definitely wasn’t complaining as Charlie licked into his mouth, hands raking through his hair and across his back.
They’d never kissed like this before, chests pressed against each other and bodies heaving. He kissed Nick hard, swallowing down the short noise of surprise Nick gave and trailing his tongue along while he pulled him impossibly closer.
“You and that fucking pretty mouth of yours,” Charlie mumured against his mouth, words laden and slick between swipes of tongue. His eyes were heavy when he pulled back, and Nick wanted to drown in them. “You can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to want to kiss you.”
Nick’s breathing was noticeably rougher. He didn’t even care. “And what if I want you to kiss me?”
Charlie gripped his shoulders so hard that Nick was sure he was going to bruise. Although, he supposed he’d already marked up Charlie – perhaps this was his version of retribution. Nick was more than happy to take it. He’d already said he’d take anything Charlie was willing to give him.
“Are we doing this?” Charlie said, removing any ambiguity with a trailing hand that left sparks in its wake. Nick’s breath hitched and Charlie’s eyes twinkled with the question. “There’s no Tao coming to interrupt, no Imogen being sick on the front doorstep. Nothing to save you now.”
“I don’t want saving,” Nick said simply, and so Charlie kissed him again.
This kiss was fervent, insistent. It was being pushed into warming leather by rolling hips and roaming hands. He felt Charlie in his hair, a tug back to move Nick to the right angle that had a groan escaping him. He felt Charlie’s hands on his, holding them, guiding them down so that Nick’s hands slotted into the back pockets of his jeans.
There was nothing but a pure, almost carnal, need for the first few minutes. Charlie kissed across his jaw, stretching the cotton of his t-shirt aside to lave wet kisses along his shoulder. Nick felt every touch like electricity, every grind down from Charlie being met with an equally frantic up from Nick. Meeting in the middle to a crackle and a fizz. Warmth pooled in his belly, thick and viscous.
Nick was more than happy to follow Charlie’s lead, and where Charlie was leading seemed to be Nick’s bedroom judging by the way he bunched fists in Nick’s t-shirt and climbed off him, tugging him up and somehow never leaving his lips. Nick’s whole body was alight under the sensation.
Charlie had been in his room before. They’d spent evenings under the flickering lightbulb, talking through Nick’s papers and watching shitty TV on Nick’s tiny laptop screen. He knew his way there comfortably, so getting there without looking was hardly a remarkable feat. What was remarkable, however, was the way he’d managed to lose Nick’s top on the way and just barely disconnect their mouths.
He moved quickly and with expert precision, hands slotting beneath the cotton, splaying wide over Nick’s back and pushing up, like he wanted more skin, more Nick. The urgency only served to make the coil of arousal building behind Nick’s belly button burn even brighter, and by the time the back of Nick’s knees hit his bed, he was bare-chested and Charlie had fire in his eyes.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Charlie said, and Nick almost felt as though he should apologise given the tone of voice Charlie used. Sure hands pushed Nick down onto the unmade bed, and his breaths came out shaky and weak. “All splayed out for me like this.”
“Fuck, Charlie,” Nick rasped, because he could hardly say anything else with Charlie crawling up his body like that.
He could feel himself swelling embarrassingly fast in his jeans, and if Charlie was going to settle where he thought he was, Nick wouldn’t be able to hide it. He didn’t know if he wanted to. Didn’t know if he was capable of hiding anything from this man.
Charlie dipped down to kiss him messily again, one hand taking his weight beside Nick’s ear and the other sliding down his chest. Nick’s hands went to dark curls, his back, arching up into every touch and willing the hands scraping over his abs to carry on their descent. A trapped groan escaped Nick’s lips when they reached the trail of hair at his waistband.
A low chuckle brought Nick back into the room.
“So eager,” Charlie murmured silkily, and Nick didn’t need to open his eyes to see the curve of lips that awaited him. They blinked open anyway, because Nick would choose to look at Charlie any day. His face was flushed, the golden skin of his cheeks a dappled pink under the moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains in the throes of his fever-pitch passion. “So keen for me, aren’t you?”
“Says the one who had my top off before we’d even left the hall,” quipped Nick, hoping it was enough to blanket his already aching need in something more acceptable. Something less desperate. Although, maybe he didn’t need to, because Charlie looked hungry; there wasn’t another word for it. His eyes roved with fervour over Nick’s torso, along his arms, up his neck until they reached his face.
“Can you blame me?” he said thickly. “Look at you.”
Charlie’s hands were everywhere all at once, like he wanted to devour Nick, and fuck if Nick didn’t want to be devoured. The distant tingle of alcohol in his veins provided enough liquid confidence for Nick to reach up and tug Charlie down to blanket him, reconnecting their lips in a way that would sate his need for now.
Charlie manoeuvred him in whatever way he wanted. The canting of his hips pressed insistently down into Nick, their clothed erections rocking into each other almost achingly. He twisted and he pulled Nick closer, a delicious grind of bodies through fabrics Nick would rather be discarded, but it was clear who was in charge of this ship and it certainly wasn’t Nick. He relented willingly under Charlie’s wordless command, with each flat palm pushing him into the mattress, each grasping hand around the back of his neck until it became too much and Nick needed more. He’d never felt need like this before.
“I need–” Nick gasped, writhing around in a way that verged on uncomfortable through bitten-off moans. The pressure against denim was simply too much to bear. “Please, Charlie. I need–”
“Tell me,” purred Charlie, controlled in a way Nick couldn’t possibly conceive. Nick was soothed by the aching softness of his voice, the dissonance of it when compared with the sharpness of nipping teeth stark. Nick wanted Charlie in every way – hard and soft, and it seemed Charlie was prepared to give it to him.
“Jeans,” Nick choked out under the clamping of Charlie’s thighs. “I need them– I want them off. Please.”
Deft fingers were circling the button on his jeans in an instant. “Well, you only needed to ask, baby.”
Nick didn’t have time to form a response to the pet name, because then his zipper was being tugged down, and the relief was palpable. It was all happening so fast that Nick’s head was reeling, and yet it wasn’t fast enough all at the same time. The air was thick, and all that existed was Charlie.
Soft fingertips drew a line up to where Nick’s skin disappeared below the fabric of snug material doing little to conceal his aching hardness and then paused. Nick’s whole body felt alight, an electric current running below his skin. He could see his own cock twitching below the fabric, and so could Charlie.
He did his best to bite back a groan, but the way Charlie was looking at him from under thick, dark eyelashes coupled with the sensation of cool hands running across the skin of his hips made any effort redundant. Charlie smiled.
“These too?” he asked, fingers creeping below the elastic of Nick’s underwear, and Nick could only whine a please that seemed to satisfy Charlie. The slap of his unmistakably hard length against his stomach should have been embarrassing really, but Charlie was looking at him, all kiss-bruised and spit-slicked, and Nick couldn’t find it within himself to care.
“So hard and wet for me, Nick,” Charlie said, words dripping with a desire that Nick felt buzzing through the air like a current. He shivered.
It was only when his clothes were abandoned somewhere across the room that Nick realised that he was completely exposed, not a sliver of fabric in sight, while Charlie was fully clothed. And he found he liked it.
“Tell me what you like,” implored Charlie, a fresh wave of assiduity visible in the way he watched Nick now. Nick wanted to make him lose that curated skin of control, get him as affected and needing as Nick was himself. He wanted to wreck Charlie’s hair as much as he knew his own was, drag fingers across his skin until he found the parts of his body that made Charlie’s eyes roll back. He wanted to impress him. “What do you need, Nick?”
Nick discovered that candour was easy under that weighted gaze.
“I want to ruin you like you do me.”
Charlie laughed, throwing his head back so that the elegant column of his neck was exposed. He pulled Nick’s hoodie over his head, t-shirt staying on underneath, but Nick didn’t mind one bit. He had an expanse of new skin to worship now, when Charlie would let him.
“And how do you propose doing that?” Charlie asked, chin coming down in a challenging stare as he discarded the hoodie on the floor with a measured drop. “How exactly are you going to ruin me?”
Nick’s mouth was dry as he watched Charlie climb onto the bed next to him. “I’ll do anything you want me to, Charlie.”
“Mm, I bet you will,” Charlie said, a smile playing at his lips that was quickly bitten away. He smoothed a cool hand against the heat of Nick’s chest, travelling up until it hooked over his shoulder and tugged, until Nick was over him. A new place to be, and not one Nick had expected. He wondered how many people saw this side of Charlie; if it was just for him. “Just like that first night.”
And then they were kissing again, thick and fast, a tangle of tongues and pressing hips. The hands at Nick’s waist controlled his motions, pushing down so that Nick’s cock pressed against the roughness of Charlie’s denim in an agonising way, providing friction but little relief. Nick whimpered in frustration, but Charlie hadn’t told him he could touch himself, so he just gripped the bedsheets by Charlie’s ear harder.
Charlie smiled into Nick’s panting breaths, still far too collected, and Nick took the opportunity to trail kisses down, over and across olive skin. The slamming Nick could taste over the pulsepoint of Charlie’s neck and the hardness pressing up into his thigh was at least proof Nick was having some effect on him. Nick craved more than the quiet moans and gasps though.
“Your jeans,” Nick breathed into warm skin, following where Charlie’s hand in his hair guided him. “Can they come off?”
Twisting his body underneath him, Charlie gave a responsive yes in the unbuckling of his belt and lifting of his hips. Once another layer was gone, Nick had only a moment to admire the firmness of muscle exposed where Charlie’s t-shirt rode up in the motion before he was back being pulled over him, wet heat between their mouths taking precedence.
“I want to keep my top on though,” he whispered, almost defensively, against Nick’s lips. Nick pondered on the tone, but not for too long, because Charlie’s hips bucked up to meet his and any hope for words was gone.
Nick nodded and bit back a whimper. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
“You can touch me underneath it though, if you want,” Charlie said. And Nick did want.
Nick was pleased to find Charlie became more vocal with each item of clothing he discarded, his hips rolling frantically to meet Nick’s, cocks rubbing against each other as their pants melded into one another. The thin fabric of Charlie’s boxer briefs gained a dark patch where Nick’s precome bled into the material, melting into Charlie’s own, his stomach tensing with the desire for more, for Charlie. It was intoxicating, and addictive, and it was Charlie.
“How can I make you feel good?” Nick pleaded. “Tell me and I’ll do it. Let me do it.”
“I want–” Charlie’s hands gripped Nick’s shoulders, a gasp finding its way from his lips that shot through Nick’s core like fire. He was beginning to lose control. “I’m clean. Want you inside me.”
And fuck, if Nick didn’t want that too. His resounding whimper said as much.
“God, Charlie, yes,” Nick groaned, and he didn’t even care how desperate he sounded. The pulsing warmth and the heat building in his stomach was too intense to think about anything but getting Charlie out of his boxers after a silent question. Nick slotted his hands down the sides of the material, taking his chance to smooth hands over the creamy skin of sharp hips and scrape nails down the path, eliciting a choked gasp from Charlie.
He’d have preferred to look, to watch Charlie’s cock spring out of the confines of his underwear, but Charlie seemed insistent on biting and licking at Nick’s neck, along his shoulder as he did so. Nick had done this a few times over the last few years, less so recently, and yet no one had ever reduced him to the whimpering mess like Charlie had him. He eased back, desperate to at least take Charlie’s form in a little before they went any further. He was going to hold on to this moment as much as Charlie would allow him.
“Fuck,” Nick breathed. Charlie’s cock, wet and pearling at the slit, lay against his stomach between them. His t-shirt bunched up around his chest, narrow waist exposed and stomach tensing with each heavy breath he’d let out. Nick sat up, drawing Charlie’s knee up to press a kiss to. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Shut up,” Charlie said instantly, although his cheeks gained a pink glow. He threw his arms over his face, hiding the warmth of his face in the crook of his elbow. “You’re the one with the praise kink, not me.”
Nick’s face was the one to heat then, and Charlie’s broke into a grin, emerging from below his crooked arm.
“Oh, you thought I’d forgotten about that?” he murmured, dark curls kneading into the rumpled duvet cover beneath them cockily. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, glistening pink and gorgeous, just like his cock.
“I know you didn’t,” Nick said, hoping his voice carried the air of confidence he was attempting to project as he marvelled at how Charlie’s body looked with the moonlight hitting him just so, elevating every sharp jut and defined angle of his form. His gaze flicked up to meet Charlie’s, heated and heavy. “You’ve been teasing me for months.”
Pink flesh was sucked between Charlie’s teeth as he looked through his lashes at Nick, the image only serving to tighten to twisting behind Nick’s belly button. Like he was impressed. Nick lay a hand on Charlie’s knee, making idle circles that had his lashes fluttering.
“You’ve caught onto that, then?”
“Mm,” hummed Nick, and he drifted his fingertips up, over the skin of Charlie’s thighs, revelling in the way goosebumps would follow. He was having an effect on Charlie, whether or not Charlie was willing to show it in his face. “I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose.”
“Always such a good boy for me, from day one,” Charlie cooed in a low voice. Nick’s heart was in his throat as Charlie wet his lips. “Now don’t just sit there and look pretty. Lube and condoms?”
It was only then, with the heat flaring in his chest and radiating down to his toes, that it occurred to Nick just what they were about to do, and who he was about to do it with. He reached over, aching and unattended-to erection brushing almost painfully against his duvet cover as he fumbled through his bedside table, behind books dog-eared Charlie had lent him and sweets left over from when Charlie had come over to study. Charlie, who was splayed beneath him and waiting to be fucked.
His fingers shook as they found the foil wrapper and plastic bottle he was after.
“You have done this before, right?” Charlie asked, watching the quiver in Nick’s body appraisingly. It reminded him of the way Charlie would look at him when he would say something a bit thick in the library, or when he’d capitulate to someone’s request despite how it would affect him. A look of concern. Disbelief. “This isn’t new for you?”
“What? Yes,” Nick said quickly, and then he winced at how defensive it sounded and corrected his tone, “Yes, I have. Fair few times, actually. I’m just thinking– are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Charlie shifted, tugging his t-shirt back down to cover more of his skin. “I mean, are you?”
“Surer than I’ve ever been. I just wanted to check.”
“Ever the gentleman,” Charlie said dryly. “Now hurry up and fuck me.”
The noise Nick let out was one of pure surprise, but he did as he was told.
Charlie shuffled further up the bed, head falling back in a breathy laugh as Nick slotted between his thighs and dropped chaste kisses on his way down. He poured lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm them up, all too aware of how startling cold gel felt against your hole from previous, less considerate hook-ups. He ignored the pang in his chest at the thought of Charlie being just that: another hook-up.
Running his forefinger around the rim of tight muscle already had Charlie’s back arching up, his hands scrambling to find Nick’s where it lay over his knee. Nick intertwined their fingers, holding on to the quiet intimacy of it, trying to drag this moment out as much as he could. The urgent aching of his erection had quietened under the realisation that he might never get Charlie like this again, the heat and fervour of the night eclipsing their friendship. He spent a little longer working a bruise into the inner side of Charlie’s thigh as he brushed his finger over the tight ring of muscle, holding tight to Charlie’s quiet moans.
“Come on,” Charlie urged, and Nick was sure it was meant to come out as a command, undercut by the breathy whine that took over. “Are you going to finger me or– oh.”
The first press of Nick’s finger was slick, warmth and tightness welcoming him as he pushed in slowly, one knuckle at a time. The Charlie that Nick had been desperate to see – the one who had lost that calm composure – was just at the edge with that single press, squeezing at Nick’s hand with an almost painful pressure and a sinfully gasped out, “Fuck.”
“Okay?” Nick murmured, pausing his efforts to leave Charlie’s thighs dappled in pretty crimsons and plums to lift his head. Charlie just nodded tightly, chest rising and falling with the concentration of maintaining his air of complete control. Nick pushed in further, pulling back and then further in experimentally, and Charlie’s legs fell further apart.
“Keep– going,” Charlie breathed, so Nick did.
Each push and pull was met with a reducing resistance, Charlie’s body adjusting to the pressure and opening up for him with each moan he’d let out. Nick’s brain reeled at the intoxicating tightness, the thought of that slick heat around his cock and he couldn’t help but rut against the mattress where he lay untouched. He groaned, low in his throat.
“Such pretty little sounds for me, Nick,” Charlie murmured, words melting into breathy little moans that spurred Nick on. “You like making me– feel good, don’t you?”
“More than you know,” Nick smiled against the warm thigh against his cheek. “Ready for another?”
“Please.”
The second finger slipped in without much in the way of resistance at all. The heat consumed him, and Charlie’s hips twitched when Nick’s fingers brushed over that rubbery spot, his head landing on the mattress with a thud when he let out a high noise neither of them had been expecting.
“God,” Charlie keened. “You’re a little too fucking good at this.”
Nick huffed a laugh. “Sorry?”
“No sorry.” Charlie rolled his hips in rhythm with the steady push Nick gave and his fingers moved to thread through Nick’s hair. “Do that again.”
The urge to thank Charlie for letting him so this was almost overwhelming with each slide of his fingers, pressing in and spreading apart until Charlie was almost pleading for another. With the addition of more lube and a third finger, it was slick, and Nick wished desperately that he’d placed himself higher, because he wanted nothing more than to kiss those filthy noises right from Charlie’s mouth. He settled for hitching higher and licking a strip up his cock instead.
“Fuck me,” Charlie moaned, and Nick wasn’t sure whether it was an instruction or a supplication. His hips bucked and the hand in his hair tightened, tugging Nick up higher. “I’m ready, Nick, now. Now.”
Withdrawing his fingers felt like more of a loss than it should have, really, but any concern was soon abated by the deft hands ripping into a condom wrapper and rolling it over the throbbing length of Nick’s cock for him. He’d not been expecting Charlie to do it for him, and the sensation was almost overwhelming, coupled with the echoing memory of Charlie’s whines and writhing hips. The muscles of Nick’s abdomen tensed in a bid to control himself.
Charlie was on his stomach, one leg hitched to his side before Nick had a chance to kiss him. That wouldn’t do, so he dropped down, curving over and around the lines of Charlie’s body until he found his mouth, dropping one, two kisses there before holding a lingering one.
“You’re a very sappy fuck,” Charlie mumured into his mouth, and Nick couldn’t disagree. Not when it was Charlie Spring he was fucking. Charlie, his friend.
That thought was quickly washed away by the way Charlie bumped his hips up so that Nick’s erection sat flush in the cleft of his arse.
“Fuck, okay, okay,” Nick gasped, and Charlie smiled, self-satisfied. He pulled back, kissing a path down the ivory skin of his shoulder until he met the cotton of his t-shirt, before drawing up and taking a fortifying breath. “Ready?”
“I was ready five minutes ago,” Charlie complained sharply, arms stretching forwards. “Fuck me, Nick. Ruin me like you promised you would.”
And Nick could hardly say no to that request.
The first press had Nick making a high-pitched sound that was definitely not his normal style. The vice of tight muscle around him; the image of beautiful, sharp-cheeked Charlie beneath him, splayed out and gasping sharply in the low light. It was almost overwhelming; Nick squeezed his eyes shut to keep from moving too suddenly.
“Fuck, Charlie–” Nick choked out, words getting lost in the thickness of his throat and the pulsing of his dick. He gripped at Charlie’s hips in a way that verged on bruising. “God. Are you– can I–”
“Move,” Charlie instructed, and when Nick blinked his eyes open, he found him looking over his shoulder, bed sheets clutched in hand in front of him as he rocked back so his hips sat flush with Nick’s. The look glossing over his eyes nearly made Nick’s knees buckle. “Please, fuck.”
It started as a slow rock, a quiet meeting of skin layered with rasping groans and pants. With each steady thrust, Nick gained confidence in his movements in the form of Charlie’s breathy moans of encouragement. He still wasn’t as desperate as Nick was, or if he was, he certainly wasn’t showing it; still relatively measured in his instructions and commands for Nick to push harder, press deeper.
Nick leant over, hand braced beside Charlie’s head as he rocked to meet that tight, warm heat, watching Charlie’s face disappear into his arms as he arched his back under Nick’s touch, seeking more. He laved kisses across the exposed skin of Charlie’s neck under his curls, whispered about how gorgeous he looked, how well Charlie was taking him. It felt innately different to every other drunken hook-up, more weight behind every murmured affection, more meaning in every thrust.
“More,” Charlie insisted, hitching his leg up higher and pressing his face deeper against the pillow as his face contorted in pleasure with each slap of skin. “Harder, Nick.”
Every time Charlie said his name, it was like an awakening; a reminder of who they were and what they were doing. It was tantalisingly close to what Nick wanted them to be, and Nick almost ached with it. The product of a friendship formed from chemicals and crisp December nights, somehow translated into the hottest, most soul-shattering sex of his life. But Nick selfishly wanted more.
“More,” Charlie said again, the sharp word muffled into the duvet. “More.”
He wanted to watch Charlie’s mouth gape, see his head lol back with each precisely aimed press of his hips. He wanted to kiss the moans from his lips and lavish him with all of the compliments he was so deserving of. He wanted to cradle him, and he wanted to wake up next to him in the morning and swap lazy kisses with him before he made him breakfast.
More didn’t mean to Nick what it meant to Charlie.
So, he’d take what he could get for now.
“Can I– you look so beautiful, so gorgeous,” Nick panted, sweat forming over his brow with the exertion of holding himself above Charlie and holding in the words he really wanted to say. “I want to see you– want to turn you over.”
Charlie’s hips stilled under him, stopping where they’d slanted back to meet Nick’s thrusts. “What?”
“You’re so– need to kiss you.”
For one short moment, Nick was terrified that Charlie was going to say no, call him out for wanting more than whatever they’d drunkenly agreed to, but then he nodded and Nick pulled out, drawing back onto his knees to let Charlie turn beneath him.
He looked nearly as wrecked as Nick felt now that he could see Charlie’s face, and Nick held tightly to that fact. Hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, lips kiss-bruised and swollen, Charlie looked the most ethereal Nick had ever seen him. His throat felt thick as Charlie met his eyes, blue darker than ever with a lust-leaden weight and cheeks flushed pink.
“You don’t know just how beautiful you are,” Nick murmured, and he dipped down to close the gap between them, grateful to find the lips that awaited him. He was definite he’d found the place he was meant to be now. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”
Charlie just blinked up at him through long lashes, still for a moment. Like he was waiting for something, or deciding. His hands tangled at the nape of Nick’s neck before he pushed him back and stripped himself of his t-shirt, then yanked him back down, all before Nick had a chance to take a breath.
“I’m supposed to be the one telling you how pretty you are,” he murmured into shared air, pulling Nick’s lower lip between his teeth until he hissed as their cocks brushed together. “Now make me come, Nick.”
Lining back up, Nick made sure he watched Charlie’s face this time. He wanted to remember every moment, assign each facial expression to a particular movement and catalogue them so that he could relive this again and again. Who knew what would happen tomorrow, but for now, they had this, and Nick was going to take every fucking precious minute of it.
“Oh, Nick,” Charlie whined, and his dark lashes fluttered against his cheek as he took Nick to the hilt again, lips parting in a gasp. “So good. So perfect for me. You feel so good.”
The heat of Charlie’s bare chest against Nick’s, the sight of him beneath him, completely exposed despite the clear raw intimacy of it, gripped Nick. He shifted down, and he swallowed down every broken moan or gasp with a kiss he’d been craving. It was everything Nick had been hoping for, and he whispered Charlie’s name again and again into the air between them, pure of smoke, only the unbidden breaths of desire and want elevating them.
A sharp thrust had their kiss dropping to just guttural groans, and Nick drew back to pull Charlie’s leg over his elbow, folding him more delicately than the filthy sounds echoing the room would call for.
“Oh my fucking God,” Charlie rasped, head throwing back and eyes rolling into the back of his head at the adjusted angle. “You’re so– fuck, baby.”
Nick felt his stomach tightening and let out a long groan. “Call me that again.”
Charlie’s eyes snapped to him, still hooded and heavy. “Baby?”
“God, please,” Nick pleaded. He was past caring now, the line between friends and whatever this was had clearly blurred, and Nick desperately wanted to hear that word on Charlie’s lips again, in that same soft lilt as the day they’d sat in a back garden sharing air. “Say it again.”
Charlie’s eyes darkened. “So good for me, baby. Taking me apart like that. Keep– keep going. Such a good boy for me, Nick. Making me — fuck — feel so g-good, aren’t you?”
Nick knew so many words, and yet none of them felt sufficient in that moment. There weren’t words, just a static building, a tight coil in his stomach threatening to unravel at any second. With each punched-out sound he’d let out, Charlie would make one to match, the silky sound of skin on skin filling the air and leaving echoes around the room. Nick’s hands gripped at the exposed skin of Charlie’s waist, his chest heaving, fingertips digging in to the most tangible connection he’d ever had with Charlie, might ever have with him again.
“I’m– Charlie, I can’t–”
“Touch me,” Charlie pleaded, and Nick was sure he’d succeeded in his mission to ruin him, because his voice was choked and every shunt of his back against the duvet cover had him shuddering, hands clawing at Nick’s back. Eyes glossy and unfocused, Charlie was completely lost in bliss. “Make me come, baby.”
Nick’s thrusts became more erratic, the feeling raging inside of him as he gripped his hand around Charlie’s cock, stilling the bouncing between them in a sickeningly filthy way. The moment seemed to last forever and yet still escaped him as he stroked Charlie, still giving every part of himself in the way of his pulsing hips. He was gasping towards his release, holding on just enough to get Charlie there first.
Charlie’s lips parted, and Nick waited for the gasp, but instead he uttered two words, short and steady.
“Now, Nick.”
It was like being high again in that Nick felt like he was floating. Connected to his body and not at the same time; every cell vibrating, coming together in a burst of white and a thick cloud of smoke that Nick tried to grab at, hold on to in spite of it curling through his fingertips.
Charlie clenching around him was what brought him back.
He collapsed against Charlie’s body, the weight of the moment seeping into his bones, moving through his bloodstream with that same current of electricity leaving him boneless and sated.
The skin of Charlie’s neck radiated warmth, the sheen of sweat across his chest and neck mingling with Nick’s, heady and intoxicating. He breathed it in, committing it to memory. He wouldn’t let this moment escape him.
He’d never had that with someone before. Never reached his peak in tandem, the undeniable connection between them tangible enough to coordinate like that. It was too much for his brain to handle in the moment, and he settled for breathing heavily into Charlie’s neck for now rather than assigning words to whatever fucking magic had just transpired between him and the beautiful, effortless boy laying beneath him.
He rolled away reluctantly when he realised Charlie was heaving below him.
“That,” Charlie said, voice thick and sex-laden, “was the best sex I have ever had.”
Nick just about managed a weak laugh. “Same.”
A hand swatting at his chest forced him to open his eyes. “Same,” Charlie mocked. “Fuck off.”
“M’sorry,” Nick wheezed, rubbing at where Charlie’s hand had slapped against his skin. It tingled. “I’m not very good at words right now.”
“Lucky you’re good at other things then, isn’t it?”
Nick threw his head to the side, chest just about levelling out to a post-run rate. Charlie’s face was coated with a mist of sweat, glistening at the sharp cut of his cheekbones and over the slope of his nose, which Nick thought was pretty rich given that he’d done most of the work.
He found a smile beginning to stretch his lips; that post-sex smile, boneless and utterly needless. He never wanted to move, wanted to stay right here, watching Charlie’s face break out in a dimpled grin that made every part of his body buzz.
Rolling over onto his side, Nick just about worked up the energy to lift high enough to press a kiss to Charlie’s shoulder, and then his lips. Lazy and unhurried, not leading anywhere.
It was only when he brushed his hand over Charlie’s chest and found his fingers coated in stickiness that wasn’t just from sweat that he reluctantly pulled away.
“I have baby wipes in the drawer, give me a sec,” he murmured, and pressed one last kiss, chaste and saying words he never could, against the perfect arch of Charlie’s cupid bow. “Don’t move.”
This part had never really bothered Nick before. The moments after sex where you clean up, correct your clothes and laugh awkwardly together, as if you haven’t just been as close as two humans can be.
It was bothering him now, though. Because the prospect of Charlie leaving made his stomach drop, stripped him of every hum of electricity left on his skin where he’d touched Charlie’s body. It was slipping through his fingers like sand, each second that ticked by a second closer to Charlie leaving and them entering into some strange post-sex purgatory.
Nick naively hoped that Charlie thought the best sex of his life was worth keeping close.
The air was thick with musk and the dizzying scent of sex. Once the condom was tied and disposed of, Nick found the wipes and perched at the edge of the bed, where Charlie was lying on his back with his hands over his head, eyes closed and looking the most peaceful Nick had ever seen him. It was the tiredness, Nick told himself.
The cold swipe of the wipe on Charlie’s heated skin was the thing that made his eyes flutter open.
“You don’t need to do that,” Charlie murmured, pink rising to the apples of his cheeks. “Here, I’ll–”
“Let me,” Nick pleaded. “Please.”
Charlie was still for a moment, and then nodded once, letting his eyes drift back shut. His thighs were littered in an array of mottling marks, chest unblemished and beautiful all the same. Nick wondered how many people got to see Charlie like this, given his reservations about taking his shirt off earlier in the night. There was something innately intimate about the moment, and Nick held his breath, waiting for Charlie’s eyes to snap open and start searching for his clothes.
Nick thought he’d chance it.
“You can stay.” He swallowed around the heart in his throat. “If you want.”
Charlie hummed, fingers curling over his stomach where they lay. His eyes didn’t open.
“Can you find me my t-shirt?”
The weight dropping in Nick’s stomach felt like it was audible. “Of course.”
Nick treated each item of clothing he picked up with reverence, folding each one in half and placing it on the end of the bed, by Charlie’s feet. Finding and pulling on a fresh set of boxers felt like a solemn affair, a step closer to Charlie’s inevitable exit. He wondered how uncomfortable the retreat would be, if they’d kiss at the door at very least.
But when Nick turned around, he found the jeans he’d folded lying on the floor beside the bed, and Charlie, wearing his t-shirt again, curled under the duvet covers with a soft smile, cheeks resting on his clasped hands.
His breath hitched, not for the first time that night.
“I call little spoon,” Charlie said, punctuated by a yawn.
Tentatively, breathlessly, Nick climbed below the covers. He wrapped his arms around Charlie’s lean body gently, as if to check if he was an apparition of sheer hope. He was definitely there, the soft tickle of his curls against Nick’s nose proof of that fact. Charlie’s warm body vibrated below his hands as he hummed.
“And you’d better not talk in your sleep.”
“I won’t,” Nick promised, although he could make no such assurances. He’d lie awake all night, just taking in Charlie’s gentle coils of dark hair and being near him, if it meant that he’d stay.
“Good.” Charlie’s chin twisted to rest on his own shoulder and he leant back, eyes drooping as he pressed one final kiss to Nick’s lips that lingered long after, before whispering a gentle, “Goodnight, Nick.”
Nick held him close. “Goodnight, Charlie.”
And the world faded away.