Chapter Text
It was the light streaming through his curtains that woke Nick. The uncharacteristic brightness for a February morning coupled with the shitty quality of beige Dunelm curtains that did shit all to block the light had Nick squinting and rolling over. He tugged the duvet further up his shoulder, but the thin material was putting up some resistance.
He yanked and twisted some more in his efforts to burrow deeper, clutching desperately to the fleeting remnants of sleep, when he let out a sigh and blinked his eyes open in defeat. It was clear he was awake now, despite his best intentions.
The sight he was met with had Nick convinced that he’d not woken up at all.
The reason the duvet wouldn’t budge was because lithe hands were clutched around it, a sloped nose and bushy eyebrows just poking over the top of the spotty cover. Those hands belonged to Charlie Spring.
“Oh, shit,” Nick whispered.
The memories came in thick and fast.
Watching a shitty indie film he couldn’t tell you the name of over a few ciders. Sticky popcorn and a tangle of legs. Waving goodbye. David Attenborough’s rumbling voice. A break of the carefully crafted barrier.
An invitation for a kiss.
The feeling of being below Charlie; the aching throb of being completely under his direction; the breathy, broken moans he’d let out as he’d rolled his hips in that sinful way. The way his pupils had completely taken over the azure of his eyes and then, later, had rolled back into his head when Nick angled his thrusts just right. How utterly ruined and sated he’d looked when Nick rolled beside him, both of their chests heaving with exertion as they came down from that high of pure endorphins, not a joint to be seen.
He’d had sex with Charlie. Not just sex, but by far the hottest and most earth-shattering sex he’d ever had.
Charlie, who was laying beside him, looking peaceful and rested, little puffs of air being pushed out of his nose and flaring his nostrils with each motion. His hand tightened on the duvet cover and Nick tensed as he shifted, but a roll away was all that came.
He’d had sex with Charlie Spring.
In memory alone, Nick’s dick was already making interested jumps, but there was something bitter attached to it too. The looming fear of Charlie blinking his eyes open, dark lashes fluttering against a pillow-creased cheek and then wincing as he made an excuse to get out.
It wasn’t anything that Nick hadn’t done before. He’d had his fair share of one-night-stands in the past two years, from people he’d met under the pulsing beat of a club to ones he’d found on his course and had to politely make conversation with about their upcoming deadlines after discarding the condom. He was well-versed in hook-up etiquette, and the crashing sense of dread that all too often followed, but this time was different.
Because this time, it was Charlie Spring he was waking up to.
The distant sound of a late morning TV show could be heard rumbling from the living room down the hallway, and Nick swallowed thickly as he slid out of bed to mute whatever it was, terrified it would rouse Charlie from his peaceful slumber.
He nearly tripped over his jeans on the way, and winced as he grabbed his t-shirt from last night that had been discarded over the potted plant his mum had gifted him at the start of this term. Charlie must have lobbed it across the room with quite some force, because it had knocked some of the soil from the spotty pot.
With the dulcet throb of the Bargain Hunt auctioneers quelled, Nick did his best not to think about the beautiful man that lay between his covers, his friend who he’d spent the last few months hoping would kiss him, put his hands all over Nick, like he had last night.
He’d ached for it; thought about it on more nights than he’d ever be willing to admit as he’d bunched his fist into his mouth and flushed red, hand below the safety of his duvet. And now he’d had it, no need to depend on his rich imagination and the memory of the weight of Charlie in his lap anymore.
But it wasn’t a sated feeling making him feel limbless now, it was the buzz of dread about what it would mean for them next.
A shower seemed like the obvious next step.
With every twist of his fingertips rubbing shampoo into his scalp, Nick’s body recounted the way Charlie had taken those same strands between his fingers and yanked. The tea tree and mint body wash he massaged into his skin only reminded him of the taste of Charlie’s tongue and the sharp nips of his teeth. The dull throbbing of his biceps reminded him of the strain of holding himself above Charlie’s body, fucking into him at the punishing pace Charlie had directed him to.
The gravitational pull of his hand to his twitching dick was one he did his best to fight, but his twenty-year-old body had plans that seemed to eclipse his brain. His quiet sigh was drowned by the running water, a grateful layer over the pulsing in his ears. It was only when the cock in his hand started to revolt against the Original Source shower gel, a tingling he wasn’t quite hoping for, that he was pulled from his sweat-slicked memories with a jolt.
A sign from the gods that he probably shouldn’t be wanking over his friend who was currently laying in his bed down the hallway, perhaps.
Nick gave up that ghost pretty quickly, and his lower half lost interest when he mulled over the prospect of Charlie waking again. An unwelcome, nagging dread curdling in his stomach instead of pooling heat. A far cry from last night.
Slotting back into bed was the thing that woke Charlie. Nick had managed to towel off his hair and silently redress in some boxers and a t-shirt, but the jostle of the bed had Charlie’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, and Nick braced.
“Morning,” he said quietly, drawing his knees up to his chest as he watched Charlie blink, adjusting to the light and roll onto his back with a sigh that floated through the air. The streams of sunlight poking around the edge of his curtains made shapes across his cheekbones, sitting on his lips in the kind of way people made artsy shots of. It made Nick’s own lips tingle.
“Morning, sunshine,” Charlie murmured. He looked all sleep-rumpled and cuter than Nick could parse for someone who’d whispered such dirty things into his ear last night. Charlie smacked his lips and stretched his hands above his head before eyeing Nick, the edges of sleep beginning to disperse. “You look much too awake for this early hour.”
“It’s just past ten,” Nick said, because he wasn’t entirely sure of what else to say.
Charlie drawing himself up and rolling his neck gave Nick a prime view of the evidence of their night together. He’d spotted some matching marks on his own neck as he glared down his reflection in the fogged up mirror; raw, red pigment littering his throat, over his collarbone. Usually, Nick was careful not to leave a mark on hook-ups, and even more careful not to get any himself. The rugby boys would have a field day when they saw the litany of bruises, and he prayed that his body would miraculously heal itself during the four days until their next training session.
“Your bed is comfortable,” Charlie said, wriggling his shoulders with a gentle sigh. “Much comfier than mine.”
“Yeah, well–” Nick shrugged with a tentative smile. It felt weird to be making small talk. “You’ll be in second year soon and can get a proper mattress then.”
Charlie nodded, prodding at the memory foam beneath him and watching as it sprung back up slowly. “Mm, it can’t come soon enough. Might have to just shack up with you ‘til then.”
The rumble of Nick’s stomach stopped any further conversation on the matter.
“Sorry,” he winced. He’d usually be so confident and happy in whipping out of bed, making a cup of tea for the person tangled in his sheets, but something about the uncertainty hanging over his and Charlie’s relationship had him questioning himself. “Do you want… do you want some breakfast?”
The moment of silence had Nick convinced he’d made a misstep, as did the way Charlie’s body tensed infinitesimally, but then the air was broken by a quiet, “What do you have in?”
“On Sundays, I usually treat myself to some pancakes,” Nick admitted with a shy smile. “Bit of a habit left over from my mum. But I think the bread’s still ok if you just want toast?”
The little tinkle of laughter Charlie gave settled Nick’s stomach. “You’re very cute, you know. Pancakes sound divine.”
Nick nodded and scuttled off into the kitchen with warmth rising to his cheeks as Charlie asked if he could use the shower. The thought that Charlie might lather himself with his body wash and learn through osmosis about Nick’s failed wank at the memory of their drunken night together was jarring. It was probably unlikely though, Nick assured himself. Probably.
It wasn’t new information that Charlie’s curls, stringy and beading with water, made Nick’s knees weak. They’d run through campus a couple of weeks ago, shielding their heads with library books in lieu of coats after an unexpected downpour interrupted their trip to the shops, and the image of dark coils plastered to ivory skin had made Nick’s heart stop. His whisking of milk, eggs and flour faltered in a similar way when Charlie entered the kitchen, a pair of Nick’s joggers and a blue hoodie pooling around him. He gave a smile that was tucked into the corner of his mouth, but it was almost shy.
“I hope it’s okay that I nicked some of your clothes,” Charlie said, arms bunching up around himself, the most self-conscious Nick had ever seen him. It tugged at Nick’s heart a little. His lips fell to a soft smile despite himself.
The material hung from his waist, consuming and heavy. Nick would bet that below it, Charlie had the cord of the joggers tied into a tight bow, based upon the width of the man’s midsection he’d been lucky enough to grasp at last night.
Charlie bit his bottom lip, looking down at the hoodie Nick was eyeing. “They’re very comfy.”
“You look very snuggly,” Nick murmured, and then snapped his jaw shut. “I, um– yeah, of course it’s fine.”
“My top was a little– sexy,” Charlie said, stepping further into the kitchen. He paused, eyes widening. “Not sexy like that. Like sex-y. Sweaty. You know what I mean.”
Nick gave a quick chuckle and hummed. “I mean– yeah. I know what you mean.”
The air wasn’t as stilted as Nick had expected; Charlie didn’t seem uncomfortable or like he wanted to get out of Nick’s space as fast as his long legs could carry him. He seemed content to perch on one of the bar stools and nuzzle into the blue cotton of Nick’s hoodie, cheek grazing his shoulder as he smiled softly.
“What kind of pancakes are you making?”
Nick looked down at the mixture he’d been swirling little figures of eight into. “I tend to just make plain ones and then slather them in syrup, to be honest. My mum makes really good banana and chocolate ones though.”
“You should get her to teach you.” Charlie’s toes wiggled on the footbar as he tapped his fingers on the counter. “I quite like the sound of that.”
It felt a little bit like they were ignoring the fact that just ten hours ago, they’d been slotted together as intimately and closely as the human body would allow. Nick had felt Charlie’s muscles pulsing around him, had kissed the breathy moans from his lips, and now they were standing in Nick’s kitchen talking about pancakes as though their worlds hadn’t completely changed last night.
But maybe Charlie’s world hadn’t changed at all.
Nick decided some honest communication was best, given the way the words felt fit to burst from him all of a sudden.
“Last night was amazing,” he started, placing the measuring jug down so that he could focus all of his attention on Charlie. He was too busy looking into the pretty shape of azure eyes and trying to decipher the meaning to properly whisk the batter to correct thickness. He swallowed. “It was…”
“It was really fucking good,” Charlie agreed, clearly just as impressed by the way they’d learned each other’s bodies as Nick was. He met Nick’s eyes with a mirthful smile, the kind that threatened to make Nick’s knees buckle. “You were good.”
Nick’s cheeks flamed, remembering all of the other ways Charlie had said as much over the past twelve hours. He rubbed at his neck and tried to still his heartbeat before responding.
“I, uh– yeah,” he cleared his throat. “It was good. I can honestly tell you that I loved every second of being with you. Like that.”
He winced. Since when had he been so awkward?
“And I just wanted to say–”
Charlie was watching him carefully as he spoke, tracking each movement of his lips. It made Nick’s stomach flare with anxiety. He really hoped that he wasn’t fucking this up. Charlie meant too much for that.
“I mean, obviously, it can be just that. A good night we had, it doesn’t have to change anything between us. But I don’t want to just like, ignore it too.” Nick rubbed a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut. It felt a little like his heart might beat out of his chest. “Am I even making sense?”
The cheeky glint dropped out of blue eyes then. They became unreadable. “What do you mean?”
“Like,” Nick sighed, trying to triangulate his words in accordance to the way Charlie’s body had curled in on itself slightly. He shifted on his feet. “It can just be a thing that we did one night while drunk. Just like the kiss when we were stoned. Nothing has to change between us.”
Charlie’s head cocked, and a bead of water ran down his neck with the motion, falling from one curl as if in slow motion. “Is that what you want?”
Nick blinked. “Is that what you want?”
The laugh Charlie let out was sharp, unexpected. It wasn’t malicious though, just startling.
“I mean, I’d sort of hoped things would change,” he said, narrowing his eyes like when he would have to reread a passage in one of his fancy books to understand it. “I’m not really getting this, Nick.”
Nick decided that perhaps a bit of painful honesty was necessary, because he was quickly losing Charlie in the way that he was burrowing deeper into the neck of Nick’s hoodie. He said it as plainly as he could manage, hoping Charlie wouldn’t flee.
“I really like you, Charlie. Like, really, really like you.” Nick let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “As in more than a hook-up. More than one night of earth-shattering sex.”
Charlie’s eyes widened at that. And he opened his mouth, as if to say something but the words lodged in his throat. Nick ploughed on, holding steady to the fact that Charlie hadn’t pegged it out the door already.
“But I don’t want that to impede on our friendship, just because I had a taste of you, and I just wanted to say that it’s absolutely fine if you just want to forget about it. I can hold back. I don’t want to lose you as a friend just because–”
The rest of Nick’s words were silenced by lips swallowing them down. Nick hadn’t even noticed Charlie getting off the stool and crossing the room, too busy flapping his arms around and working out the best way to make sure Charlie knew his stance. He was almost too shocked to move his lips into the kiss, but after a long second, he managed it.
He felt the lips against his curve. “You,” Charlie murmured, “are such a dickhead.”
Nick huffed a surprised laugh, leaning forwards to chase the mintiness of Charlie’s mouth as he pulled away. Charlie must have used his mouthwash.
“You twat,” Charlie said, pulling back and thumping Nick’s chest. “You silly, silly twat.”
Nick blinked. He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. “I’m very confused,” he admitted, brow wrinkling.
Charlie grinned, shaking his head and light shining in his eyes. The vulnerability had gone, been replaced by something bright and shiny. Relief?
“You scared the fuck out of me then,” Charlie said, and his giggle was familiar and melodic as he rocked on his heels. “I nearly had a bloody heart attack then thinking I’d misread things and you didn't like me back. Twatbag.”
The words echoed in Nick’s brain again and again, despite the insult tacked on at the end. He looked down at Charlie, hope flaring in his chest, warm and safe.
“You like me?”
“What gave it away, Nick?” Charlie said with a playful roll of his eyes. His brows drew together, one finger coming to tap his lips before coming to land on Nick’s chest. “Was it the way I straddled you on the couch? The way I stole your hoodies and flirted incessantly with you for the past two months? Oh, or maybe the way I let you fuck the absolute life out of me last night, and then spooned you to sleep?”
Well. When Charlie put it like that, Nick felt a little bit thick.
“Oh,” was the only word Nick could form. His chest buzzed where Charlie’s hands lay. “Right.”
Blue eyes were filled with mirth and edged with disbelief. “You are so pretty, but you are dense as a fucking brick sometimes, Nick.”
“I didn’t know!” Nick squawked, brain trying to work around this new information. “How was I supposed to know you liked me?”
Charlie gaped at him. “I’ll refer you back to the whole fucking me thing, shall I?”
“Yeah, but–” Nick spluttered. “People who don’t even like each other shag all the time! We’re at uni, half the couples who are actually together don’t even like each other!”
“Nick,” Charlie said, exasperation dripping from his tone but fondness in his eyes. He cupped Nick’s blazing cheeks in cool hands and squeezed. “You are hopeless.”
Warmth radiated through his chest. “And yet apparently you like me anyway.”
Charlie lifted to his toes.
“Apparently so,” he said against Nick’s lips.
They kissed like that for a while, chests pressed together, smiling into each other’s mouths in the quiet of the February morning light. The pancake mix lay abandoned on the side in favour of swapping kisses between laughter, soft and unhurried. Free of smoke and toxins and alcohol; just Nick and Charlie, in their purest form.
“We should probably go on a date or something,” Charlie mused, letting his arms fall from where they’d found a home at Nick’s neck. He hopped up on the counter, making grabby hands until Nick slotted between his legs. “At least put up the pretence that we’re doing this the proper, respectable way.”
Nick’s hand settled around his waist, slipping under the weight of his stolen hoodie, and he tilted his head. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhm,” Charlie nodded sagely. He hummed and hooked his legs behind Nick’s back. “I bet you’ll take me somewhere achingly romantic. You’re gonna be a sappy boyfriend, I think.”
Nick took the bait, brain buzzing at Charlie’s easy words of promise. “And what makes you think that?”
“Well, the fact that you couldn’t put your dick in me until you’d kissed me, for one.” Charlie smirked when Nick’s face warmed, and he pulled him closer until Nick’s nose nuzzled against the bruises at his neck, hot cheeks against cool skin. “I think it’s gonna be candlelight and rose petals, the whole lot.”
“And what if it is?” Nick murmured, pressing chaste kisses over every mark.
“As long as you fuck me like you did last night fterwards, I’ll let you be the sappiest twat ever,” Charlie said easily. He hooked a finger under Nick’s chin and tilted it up so their eyes met, brown against blue. “Sound like a deal, baby?”
Nick laughed as he closed the gap. “Definitely.”
It kept going like that, until Charlie’s fingers found ground in Nick’s hair, and soft kisses became heated licks and nips. Nick’s top didn’t find a home in his mum’s poor amaryllis this time, but instead landed over the kitchen tap as he sank to his knees and did things to Charlie that Nick could never admit to his flatmates.
Safe to say, breakfast soon became brunch.
It was the same, but different.
Third year was tough. Much tougher than second. It gave Nick a kick up the arse, and the April deadlines closing in were obnoxiously loud in their approach.
Nick still avoided writing his essays like the plague, and would much more often be found with a bottle of Sourz in hand in someone’s mangy kitchen than with his laptop out. His weekends were still filled with booze and parties and rugby matches; weekdays still littered by red heart emoji-ed texts and dry quips. The same, but different.
He was at a party tonight, this one back in Kent.
It was Imogen’s twenty-first, and she was hosting it in her older brother’s wildly expensive mansion; balloons covering every inch of the hall ceiling as you walked in and banners of her glowing grin on every wall. It just so happened that Nick’s mum was away for the weekend, so he’d left the house with a spring in his step, already feeling a bit loose from drinking with Tara and Darcy in the comfort of his childhood home. The others would be joining them later, and Nick, for one, could not wait.
It was in the garden that he found him.
“Aren’t you warm?”
Charlie looked up from where he was curled on the step, curls tousling in the light breeze and glorious under the spring sunshine. He was layered in a fine-knit jumper, denim jacket thrown over the top and his usual ripped skinnies.
“Never warm enough when you’re gone.”
Nick smiled. “Scoot up.”
The smile that Charlie gave as he did so was blazing. He leant into Nick’s body heat immediately, curls spilling over a broad shoulder.
“It’s April, it should be warmer than this now,” he muttered, sharp cheek rubbing against the pattern of Nick’s shirt. “Do you think Imogen would lend me a scarf?”
“I’ll keep you close, don’t worry,” Nick assured him, closing his arms around his boyfriend of over a year. “I should also point out that it’s less breezy inside, babe.”
“Well, yeah, but I think the helium from the five thousand balloons would cause some kind of catastrophe when I lit my joint.”
“Stoner.”
Charlie tutted. “Shut up, knobhead.”
Most of their conversations went a little bit like this these days. A term of endearment quickly followed by a meaningless insult, generally with a quick peck tagged on the end too. This time was no different.
“Wanna join me?” Charlie asked as he pulled away, a cylinder of tightly wrapped brown materialising from within a tangle of curls. His bushy eyebrows lifted in a waggle. “I’ll even let you George Ezra it.”
Nick chuckled. “Maybe later. I should probably at least see my friends before I attach to you like a limpet.”
“They’ll understand,” Charlie insisted, all wide-eyes and innocence. “They’re very understanding people.”
“They are.” Nick dropped a quick kiss to his lips. “Give me two hours and I’m all yours. Promise.”
Charlie rolled his eyes affectionately. “People pleaser.”
It was almost two hours, to the minute, later that Charlie reappeared.
Nick was talking to some of Imogen’s friends, people he knew vaguely from previous parties but who’s names escaped him. Imogen had popped over and was leading the conversation, red lipstick and pointy nails flailing with her gesticulating hands as she told the group about the salmon blinis her mum had made for the party. Her eyes caught on something over Nick’s shoulder and went wide before softening, a smirk settling into her lips.
“I think someone wants you,” she said with a little wink. “Go to your man, Nick. I’ll catch you later.”
Somehow, Nick didn’t think that was likely.
Charlie was there, leaning against a doorframe all sultry-looking and sexy in a denim jacket Nick knew would smell of tobacco and minty lip balm. The sight already had Nick licking his lips in anticipation.
“Having a good night?” Charlie asked, eyes a little on the glossy side.
Nick nodded. “Better now that you’re with me, though.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Charlie murmured, looking up through dark lashes as he lifted to press a kiss to Nick’s lips. “Wanna come outside?”
He took Charlie’s hand. “Lead the way.”
It wasn’t often that they smoked.
Just every now and then, when the deadlines were drawing closer and Charlie had forced Nick’s head into a book for a solid few hours on the promise of kisses (or a blowjob, if Nick was particularly stressed). Sharing a spliff was an easy way to pass a few hours, whether that be at a party or in one of their flats in front of a nature documentary. Occasionally, it would also lead to stoned sex, which had quickly become one of Nick’s many favourite things involving Charlie Spring. Although Nick supposed that list knew no bounds, if he came to think about it.
They found a few chairs scattered at the edge of the paving slabs, manicured grass tickling the edges of Nick’s ankles as he reclined back and opened his arms. Charlie slotted in accordingly, all soft weight over his thighs and an even softer smile.
“Hi,” Nick murmured, hands finding a slender waist beneath the jacket.
Charlie hummed. “Hi.”
He looked beautiful under the dipping sun, the days beginning to stretch out longer, just like the shiny curls that Charlie would insist on getting cut soon. He always rolled his eyes when Nick would plead with him to leave it long, revelling in the way the longer coils felt beneath his fingers as they drifted off to sleep, but Nick noticed he was leaving it longer between trims now. The knowledge sat snugly in his chest as he nosed into them.
“I don’t want to get too high,” Nick warned gently. “I’ve got plans for you when we get in.”
Charlie’s shoulders shook gently with laughter and he cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve got plans for me?”
Nick huffed an indignant breath. “Maybe I have.”
“Or maybe you’ll be a good boy and do what I tell you,” Charlie replied breezily, holding Nick’s eyes as he slotted the glass tip between the seam of his lips. Nick felt his stomach ripple and Charlie’s lips curved around the joint. “That’s what I thought.”
Nick was wordless as he watched Charlie flick at the unreliable lighter, thumb pushing down and spinning the wheel until it sparked and the weakest flame emitted from the top. He’d bought Charlie new ones, pretty ones with patterns on and even a fancy engraved one for Christmas, but Charlie still insisted on using this one; old and battered. He might pretend not to be sappy, but every time Nick watched Charlie light up with that shitty little zippo, the one from the first party at Tara’s over a year ago, Nick saw him for exactly what he was.
A cloud of white smoke was released into the air. Charlie tilted his head back so it drifted upwards, exposing healing pigment littering just below his collarbone where Nick had taken the skin between his teeth at some point last week during a particularly good night. They were all particularly good, in all fairness.
“Ready?” Charlie asked, eyes dropping back to meet Nick’s. He smiled at Nick’s responsive nod, and lifted a hand to rest over his cheek. “You know what to do by now, baby.”
Nick’s lips parted, falling to that familiar ‘o’ shape and he waited for the lips to settle over his, breathing warm air for him to take into his lungs. He could do it himself now without spluttering, so realistically, there was no need for them to do it this way other than Darcy had been right that first time: it was hot.
It was a sliver of time just for them whenever they did this, a reminder of how far they’d come in the fourteen months they’d been together, and the two months of teasing before that. A moment just for them to exist in, no matter how many other moments they stole away.
Nick smiled when Charlie’s lips didn’t leave his, closing over his top lip instead and licking along Nick’s lower one with a quick tongue.
“I don’t think that’s quite how you’re supposed to do it,” Nick murmured, but he kissed Charlie back anyway. He always would.
“You watch a few documentaries while baked and think you’re Snoop Dog,” Charlie muttered, drawing back to take another slow drag.
“I like to think of myself as more of a Martha Stewart,” Nick shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. “But sure.”
“You’ve certainly got the skills in the kitchen. You’ve mastered those banana and chocolate pancakes now, they’re nearly as good as your mum’s.” Charlie blew smoke from the corner of his mouth then dropped a kiss to Nick’s nose. “I think I’m done smoking for tonight. Unless you’re up for some stoned sex?” He smiled hopefully.
“Maybe another night,” Nick laughed. “When we’re not in my childhood bedroom with my stuffed donkey watching us again.”
A shiver rippled through Charlie’s shoulders. “God, yeah. Definitely enough weed for me.”
They stayed at the party for another few hours, drifting together and apart over the course of the night. They were clingy boyfriends, but they didn’t mind an evening apart, not when Nick knew he’d have Charlie all to himself in a few short hours. His mum would be away for three nights at a cottage down south, taking Nellie with her, and they were housesitting until she returned. There was no rush; they had all the time in the world to be together, Nick was absolutely sure of it.
Just as the night was drawing to a close, everyone having been given their respective hugs and kisses on the cheek goodbye, Charlie slumped into his arms.
“God, I’m knackered,” he mumbled, sagging under Nick’s arm.
Nick rubbed soothingly at the seam of his jacket where denim was sewn together. “I know, sweetheart. We’ll be home soon, just you and me. Ten minutes and you can lie down in bed, yeah?”
“Please.”
It had taken a little while before Charlie had shown that side of him. Usually with a quiet quip on hand all the time from constantly surveying eyes, Charlie was generally the object of most people’s attention. He laughed at all the right points and made people feel listened to, so naturally, most gravitated towards him. It took its toll though, exhausting him sometimes after a long night in the company of other people. Even though he called Nick a people pleaser, it was clear that he wasn’t the only one.
The walk home was quiet. Charlie stayed tucked against his waist, hands meeting at Nick’s side while they ambled down the street, weaving between lamp posts and wheelie bins stuck out for the next day’s bin collection. It was calm; a tranquillity only interrupted by the occasional low rumble of a passing car.
Charlie looked less tired once they’d stepped foot over the threshold. Gently, Nick took the jacket from his shoulders and hung it over the bannister, pressing soft kisses to the exposed skin of his neck as he did. Charlie let out a quiet sigh, and his body relented under the touch.
“Okay,” Charlie murmured, turning in Nick’s arms so that his hands met at the nape of his neck. He smiled up, eyes blinking slowly. “Clothes off, baby.”
Nick pulled him closer by the waist. “You look tired, Char.”
“Not tired enough not to fuck you,” Charlie insisted, but his eyes didn’t carry the same heat they usually did. “Just maybe a bit slower than normal.”
So often, Nick and Charlie had sex that was hard and fast, the foreplay lingering beforehand serving as enough build-up that the actual time their skin touched in some way was fleeting. Thanks to their youthful hormones and prompt refractory period, it wasn’t rare for them to go two, even three rounds in one night.
On one beautiful, sunny day over the summer, Charlie had managed to draw four orgasms from Nick over the course of a day in Menorca. Nick had been as good as a molten puddle for the twenty-four hours that followed, letting Charlie rub sunscreen into his skin as they lazed by the pool, too tired to even attempt to swim in case he gave into his bones and sank down below the water. It had been well worth it, they were both sure.
Sometimes the sex was softer, though. Less blazing heat, more kindling warmth. Charlie would let Nick lavish the slow attention he deserved on him; kissing every juncture of his body, stopping to drag his tongue along every crevice, nose against every hair. Nick cherished those times just as much as he did the ones that had him whimpering at Charlie’s sharp instruction.
He loved Charlie however he came, pun intended.
“We don’t have to do anything, you know.” Nick tilted his chin up with one careful finger, meeting the pools of azure that he loved to see. “We can just go to bed and I’ll snog you senseless in the morning.”
“I’m tired,” Charlie admitted with a slow nod, “but make no mistake: I am still horny as fuck.”
Nick breathed a laugh. “You do surprise me, darling.”
“Shut up.”
Charlie tilted his head to the side, in the way that he did so often, and captured Nick’s lips in a kiss. Sweet and slow. Honeyed and coated in the tang of mint. Nick smiled.
“Will you let me make you feel good, then?” he said, keen as ever to please and sagging below Charlie’s smoothing, insistent hands. “Let me do this for you. You can just relax and I’ll make it so good for you, sweetheart.”
The hum Charlie let out was low. He wasn’t a huge fan of giving up the reins, much preferring to be the one in command, alert and focused even in the moments he keened under Nick’s hands.
“Please, Char,” Nick murmured softly, and the nickname seemed to be enough to break through whatever barriers Charlie had constructed, because he nodded and let Nick lead him upstairs by the hand.
In Nick’s room, Charlie closed the door behind them, a leftover trait from stolen evenings in a shared uni flat despite having the house to themselves. He dropped his back against it, letting Nick bracket his body in a gentle kiss, unhurried and soothing. Nick hoped it did something to dull the ache he knew worked between the crevices of Charlie’s brain after nights like these.
“What do you want tonight?” Nick asked, shucking his shoes off and pulling Charlie further into the room. “How do you want me, my love?”
Charlie sighed softly against Nick’s fingers, fluttering below his jumper, teasing the edge of denim. His eyes blinked up softly, adoration cutting through the usual sharpness.
“I wouldn’t mind a blowjob, but I’m also partial to a few fingers.”
Nick breathed a quiet laugh, working the buttons on his own shirt so that Charlie could get his hands on skin. He always liked to feel the planes of Nick’s chest in the build up, dust fingers across the ridges of his abdomen with generally a kind word to say about how gorgeous Nick was.
He lay Charlie gently on the bed with a chuckle.
“You’ve got such a way with words,” Nick murmured, a smile gracing his lips when Charlie poked his cheek in way of reprimand. “Mouth and fingers it is.”
Once his shirt was safely deposited on the floor beside the bed, Nick got to his favourite part of sex with Charlie: kissing. It was a tough call, because there was so much Nick would write home about the way he felt when their bodies connected, the sounds that Charlie would make, the flutter of his lashes when Nick would do something he liked in the specific way he liked it. But kissing was something that outranked everything else.
Kissing was something that was so achingly them, from the soft push and pull of lips, right down to the sharp nips and tugs. At times when words wouldn’t suffice, kissing felt like a whole new language, one that only they could understand. It could be soft and it could be slow, or it could be heated and heady. There was so much that could be said in a kiss that the two languages Nick knew couldn’t put into words.
This time was no different.
Unsurprisingly, Charlie still led the kisses. He changed the angle, he adjusted Nick’s head until their noses brushed just right, because he was giving up some control to Nick, just never all of it. He liked it too much for that, and so did Nick, if he was honest.
“Can you lift up for me, Char?” Nick invited, hands travelling up the smooth skin of Charlie’s abdomen, over every ridge and jut, taking the soft knit of the jumper with him as he went. Charlie let the fabric be pulled over his head, and then reconnected their lips in a swift, seamless motion. Measured as ever.
Dark lashes brushed his forehead as Nick worked along the hinge of his jaw, the sharpness meeting the plush of Nick’s lips, achingly slow and yet just slow enough. Charlie let out a sigh.
“You’re so good to me,” Charlie whispered, hand roaming up and over Nick’s back in a way that made him shiver. “Always so good to me, Nick.”
“It’s only what you deserve,” Nick murmured, because it was true.
Not long after Charlie and Nick got together, Charlie had quietly let slip that the reason he had reservations about taking his t-shirt off that first night was because he had a complicated history with his body. In the past, Charlie had ill-mouthed boys tell him he was sharp in all the wrong places, that he should eat some more meat, all manner of unkind and undeserving words for the beautiful man that lay before them. It sort of made Nick want to track down every single unworthy cunt of a man who had had the pleasure of having Charlie like that and deliver a swift kick to the balls, but Charlie would never give him any names. Probably for good reason.
After that, Nick always made sure to lavish Charlie’s stomach with the praise it had earned. The faded white lines over his tummy that Charlie tried to hide with swift, distracting rolls of his body became places Nick would spend extra time pressing kisses to, once Charlie became comfortable enough. The juts of his hip bones became spots where Nick sucked bruises to, or even pressed fingerprint-shaped ones to sometimes, if Charlie wanted it particularly rough.
Tonight was no exception in the way Nick spent time working his way down Charlie’s chest, over the peaks of his nipples, down to the trail of hair beginning just above the seam of his jeans, until Charlie was keening up under his mouth.
“Oh, Nick,” he gasped, the name thick on his tongue. “You’re perfect. This is perfect.”
The praise sat comfortably on Nick’s chest as he nuzzled his nose against the growing bulge at Charlie’s jeans. He smiled against the rough fabric when Charlie scraped fingers through his fringe, heat beginning to gather in his lower stomach. He quite liked this bit too.
“Off, Nick. Take them off me,” Charlie said, and it sounded a little less like an instruction and a little more like a plea. “Off.”
Despite Charlie’s urgent request, Nick was in no rush. He took his time in undoing the button, pulling down the zipper until Charlie was lifting his hips, letting the material be pulled from his legs along with his underwear so that his cock sprung out. Nick marvelled at it the way that he always did.
It wasn’t just the curve of his erection, or the way it was damp at the tip, waiting for Nick to take between his lips – it was everything. It was the way Charlie’s skin glowed under the moonlight cascading through the window, how ethereal he looked as he lay there, chest rising and falling as his lashes brushed against high cheeks. Nick was in awe of him now, and always.
“You’re so beautiful,” Nick said as he looked up at Charlie, watching his face scrunch up at the compliment adorably. “You are.”
“Hush,” muttered Charlie, but his cheeks gained a rosy hue that Nick loved to drop kisses to.
Nick smiled. “Just because I’m the one with the praise kink, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a compliment or two.”
“Well, there’s your one of two,” Charlie said, pulling up on his elbows so that he could look down at Nick assessingly. “One more and you’re maxed out.”
“Noted.”
Charlie gasped when Nick leant forwards to lick a strip up his cock, from the wiry hair at the base right through to the pearling slit. The twitch of it against his tongue emboldened Nick enough to take the tip in his mouth, tasting the bitter musk he’d always adored and letting it sit heavy on his tongue.
“Oh, look at you,” mused Charlie, eyes transfixed where Nick knelt at the edge of the bed. There was desire written across every ripple of blue, awe and wonderment and pure love embedded in the way he gazed down. Nick dropped his head further in response, waiting for the words that would be sure to follow. “So good for me, baby. Taking me like that.”
The soft lilt of Charlie’s voice made Nick ache. His veins sang when Charlie would say such pretty words like that, and Charlie fucking knew it too.
He used one hand to cup Charlie’s balls gently, just the way he knew he liked, and dipped lower, taking more of Charlie into his mouth, relishing the breathy moans and tremble of his thighs. With each motion, Nick managed to take Charlie further into his mouth, hand covering where his lips couldn’t reach, moaning full-mouthed when Charlie would coo gentle words like good boy or so beautiful, baby.
Nick’s erection ached inside his jeans, and he found himself wishing he’d at least taken them off before setting to work on Charlie with his mouth, but the way Charlie was beginning to cant his hips was distracting enough to cope. His jeans were ungodly tight, but Charlie needed the attention more than he did, so Nick put his own urges to the side and focused on hollowing out his cheeks and flattening his tongue.
“H-hands, Nick,” Charlie stammered, as if he needed the reminder. His hips bucked. “You promised me — God — f-fingers too.”
And fuck, Nick loved it when Charlie would begin to lose control of his speech like that, stuttering over his words in the effort to get them out. He was generally the one reduced to a whimpering mess, so when the force of Charlie’s desire would show in his rasping words, Nick clutched to it tightly.
Nick pulled off the tip with a pop. He smiled. “I know, beautiful. Be patient.”
Charlie all but growled. “Getting a bit too big for your boots, are we?”
Nick bit down a laugh and pulled himself up to stand, grateful for the opportunity to release his poor, throbbing dick from the confines of his jeans. He felt infinitely better when he was free of them, cock slapping against his stomach and Charlie watching it with an interest he didn’t even pretend to conceal.
There was one hot second where Nick couldn’t find where he’d hidden the lube, slightly terrified for his life as Charlie watched him rifle through desk drawers, in the pockets of his hoodies in the wardrobes, behind packets of Paracetamol in his bedside table.
“You’re lucky you have me,” Charlie drawled, watching in amusement as he stroked lazily at his own cock. The sight made Nick falter in his search, too captivated by the sheer intimacy of watching his boyfriend pleasure himself in his absence. He made a note to ask if they could do that a bit more. “My hold-all. The pocket on the inside.”
The sigh of relief that escaped Nick’s lips was audible when his fingers closed around the plastic bottle.
“I could swear I had some here,” Nick murmured, cheeks aflame as he leant up to press a kiss to Charlie’s lips. “Thank you.”
Charlie smiled knowingly. “You took it back up to Leeds with us last time we were here, dickhead.”
“Oops.”
Dark curls dropped back to the bed, pulling Nick down with him. Over him. He looked glorious, and Nick’s heart swelled in his chest at the sight of dancing blue eyes, only for him.
“Lucky I love you really, isn’t it?”
“Very lucky indeed,” Nick agreed.
And he really thought it was.
It was lucky that they’d found each other in a quiet corner of Leeds; lucky they’d slotted so seamlessly into each other’s lives and fell so quickly into the beautiful cadence of Nick & Charlie. Nick was grateful for that every day, and made sure Charlie knew that he never forgot it.
There was a love bite just at the juncture of Charlie’s neck, where his throat met his shoulder, that Charlie didn’t like to let fade. Somewhere he could cover when necessary, but show off when the mood took him. It had been layered with so many splodges of pigment, a thick, dark purple that faded to yellow around the edges, quickly replaced again. A quiet nod to the first time they kissed, when they’d been interrupted by a very drunk Imogen, and Charlie had held tight to the bruising blotting his skin for the three weeks they hadn’t seen each other.
Guided by Charlie’s insistent hand, the ink-blot hickey was back blooming in place for another few days. A silent testament that made something carnal inside Nick flare; a visible reminder that no one else got Charlie like he did. This was just for him.
It was just for him when Charlie mewled below him at the first slicked-up touch against his rim too.
Firm hands looped around his neck pulled Nick lower, breathing meeting in the middle like the rumble of thunder resulting from hot finding cold.
“Kiss me while you do it?”
It was a question, not an instruction. And Nick would never say no to Charlie Spring.
Lips met and fell apart with a quiet, rhythmic smack as Nick pressed in, kisses interrupted by the sharp inhale Charlie gave and the quiet moan Nick did.
He always loved this bit too. The feeling of a part of him disappearing into welcoming, warm heat. Sometimes, Nick thought he might like it even more than Charlie, feeling every ridge of Charlie’s body, finding the little bundle of nerves that made him writhe and his back make the most beautiful arc above the mattress. It was a breathtaking sight, and with Charlie’s dick lying pink and glistening at his stomach, Nick’s whole body tingled.
“Feel okay?” Nick murmured, drawing back to check for discomfort etched into Charlie’s features. It was minimal when he found it, more wrapped up in a slow bliss.
“I’m still stretched from the other night, I’m ready for another.” Charlie rocked his hips on Nick’s fingers, as if to prove it. “Another, another.”
Nick knew better than to tell Charlie to be patient again.
The slip in of another finger was met with slightly more resistance. He was slow, waiting for Charlie’s body to adjust to him, working both fingers in and out a few times before curving them up. Charlie moaned, breath stuttering as he melted into Nick’s touch, face twisting into a picture Nick hoped he would never, ever forget.
Nick, ever willing to do as he was asked, kissed him through it. He licked along Charlie’s lip as he slid his fingers, found a steady rhythm, until Charlie begged for another and made blind grabs for Nick’s cock.
The first thumb over the head of Nick’s dick had him making an ungodly sound, Charlie’s name falling from his lips.
“Just there,” Charlie encouraged, the hand that wasn’t stroking Nick with a careful precision finding Nick’s cheek. “Keep g-going. Just there, baby.”
Nick couldn’t help himself. “Am I making you feel good, sweetheart?”
“So good,” Charlie choked out, lips finding his again before dropping his head down heavily on the mattress and rasping out a, “So fucking good, Nick. Always g-good with you.”
Time passed. It could have been five minutes, or it could have been forever. Just like that first time they’d kissed, time seemed completely irrelevant for the duration of their connection. There was nothing but a meeting of bodies, of souls, if Nick was being pathetically poetic, and he revelled in it. Watched Charlie beginning to come apart, his lips parted and cheeks flushed the most beautiful pink. His eyes were hooded, flicking between Nick’s own and the stroking motions of his own hand on Nick’s cock, watching with a reverence as Nick’s lashes fluttered. He licked his lips salaciously, always obscenely sexy even in the most quiet, intimate moments.
His breath hitched, body tensing around Nick. Almost there.
“Do you want to come in my mouth or over my hand?” Nick asked, chasing a path across one collar bone, letting Charlie roll his hips just how he needed. “Where do you want me, Charlie?”
“Oh, God,” Charlie gasped, and Nick thought the choice might be taken out of his hands if he kept hurtling towards the edge like he was. “Fuck, fuck. Kiss me. Up here. Stay here with me.”
So Nick did. Kisses swallowed the breathy moans, the low groans. It was loving and it was tender and it was everything Nick and Charlie had grown to be.
Charlie’s muscles contracted around Nick’s fingers, which kept up their ministrations as Charlie gasped out his name, spilling into Nick’s hand. It only took a few clumsy strokes, leaning up on his knees watching Charlie’s face melt from that sharp surprise into quiet bliss, before Nick was coming too, white streaks painting Charlie’s body, blood hot in his veins.
Their breathing was heavy. It always was after orgasm, a weighted pant of hot air expelled into the room as Nick slumped down next to Charlie in a wordless recuperation. It always amazed him how Charlie managed to make his orgasm reach right down to his toes, every time. It was more than just a release with him, it was a tangible connection. A sort of high Nick almost wished he could pack into a Rizla and tuck the edges in.
“God,” Nick whispered, body thrumming as he let his eyes drift closed. “I fucking love getting to do that for you.”
“I still think you’re a little too good at that,” Charlie murmured, quiet under the barely there light of the room. He hummed lowly. “I’m so glad you were a slag before you met me.”
Nick squawked a laugh of surprise, his bodily sensations beginning to return. “I was not a slag!”
Charlie, propped up on one elbow, looked down at him with a challenging grin. “You absolutely were, baby. And good on you. You’re fucking ace in bed.”
“Hush,” Nick muttered, extending an arm to pull his boyfriend down on top of him, desperately seeking his affection despite the squish of bodily fluids between them. As far as he was concerned, showers existed for a reason, and it was also kind of sexy being smeared with the evidence of their love-making, even if Charlie did cringe at that term.
With the softest giggle, Charlie nuzzled into him, dimples out full force.
“You’re so clingy after you come, I fuckin’ love it.”
“Shut up and hold me,” Nick answered, with very little heat. Charlie did.
Nick thought he had a variety of favourite moments during sex with Charlie. They all battled in his brain for top spot, but lying here, wrapped up in each other under the quiet glow of his teenage fairy lights, Nick realised that this outshone all of it.
When he’d been up late into the night Googling bisexuality and having what could only be referred to as a proper, full-on gay crisis, Nick had never imagined that this would be his life. When he’d found himself twitching when one of the older boys’ muscles would ripple at rugby practice and felt that deep-rooted longing when he’d seen two men kissing on a train, Nick had never dreamed that this could be his life. He’d never imagined that he’d get to be a tangle of limbs with the man he loved, the one he got to wake up to most mornings despite them paying two lots of rent. His heart squeezed in his chest as he looked down at Charlie, smiling face half hidden by Nick’s chest.
His gaze flicked up and there was a question in his eyes. “What’s got you looking all sappy?”
“I just love you,” was the best that Nick could come up with.
Charlie rolled his eyes and prodded at his chest. “Gay.”
“I do,” Nick insisted. “I love you so much that I feel it with my whole body. It’s like, consuming me, but in the best way.” He shook his head, burrowing into dark curls. “The fact that I get to have you like this is insane, Char. You’re so beautiful, and witty, and clever, and every single day I’m with you, it’s like my whole body is bursting at the seams with love. I love you so much I ache with it. From that very first night, I’m pretty sure I knew.”
Charlie blinked. His face was slightly startled, and as was Nick, not expecting the sudden outpouring of emotions to overtake him in the afterglow.
“I love you,” Nick said again, because nothing felt truer.
And that was the thing that made Charlie kiss Nick again.
“For what it’s worth,” Charlie breathed into their shared air, “same.”
Nick chuckled, leaning back to catch Charlie’s eye as he stroked gently over his shoulder. “A man of few words.”
“Fuck off, I’m doing a Classics degree,” Charlie muttered, but his hot tone was undercut by the way he cupped Nick’s cheek and didn’t let go. Nick didn’t want him to, ever. “I know so many words.”
“And yet you went with same. So romantic, Char. I’d like that written down so that I don’t forget it. Same. Very deep.”
Charlie rolled his eyes but his cheeks gained some colour. Nick knew him better. Knew that he was as achingly in love as he was.
“Deep like the ocean,” Charlie said, and he trailed his finger down Nick’s chest, to the sticky parts of his own where their come had squished together and made an awful mess. He dragged a finger through it and lifted it to Nick’s lips. He smirked when Nick sucked it into his mouth without needing to be told. “Now, let's go shower, you messy boy.”
They did. And Charlie got to his knees and sucked the life out of Nick under the spray of water, and Nick lapped at Charlie’s hole like it was lifeblood itself, and when they eventually climbed back into bed, they were boneless and floaty.
“I call—"
“Little spoon,” Nick finished, arms out and waiting already. “I know.
Charlie smiled, self-satisfied. “Good boy. Goodnight, Nick.”
Dark curls tickled his chin as Nick nuzzled in closer, inhaling the mint and the inherent sweetness of Charlie’s skin. This was exactly where he was meant to be, he’d never been surer of anything.
“Goodnight, Charlie.”