Chapter 14
Charlie feels like he's floating. No, scratch that—he is floating. He must be, because there's no other explanation for the sheer weightlessness in his chest, the grin tugging at his lips, or the warmth radiating from Nick Nelson's hand clasped in his own. He’s walking the streets back to his place, the cool night air brushing against his cheeks, but all he can think about is the way Nick’s thumb is lazily stroking over his knuckles.
How is this his life? How did he, Charlie Spring, the man who once thought he'd never be good enough, end up here, with him?
The alcohol in his system feels like it’s evaporating, sobering him with every step, not because of the walk or the cool night air, but because of Nick. Because of this moment. Because of the fact that Nick Nelson—his son’s ridiculously hot teacher, the man who ignored him for days, the man who just kissed him senseless in a photo booth—is holding his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Charlie swallows hard, glancing over at Nick, who’s walking beside him with that same damn lopsided smile that makes Charlie's knees weak. Nick looks so relaxed, so at ease, his button-up slightly wrinkled from their earlier escapades, his hair tousled in a way that screams I’ve been kissed by Charlie Spring. And God, Charlie can’t believe that’s real—that he’s the one who caused that.
His heart feels like it might burst. It’s too much, but it’s also everything he’s ever wanted. Nick’s presence beside him feels like home, like safety, like a second chance he never thought he deserved. Charlie’s grip tightens on Nick’s hand, like he’s afraid this might all disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.
“This is insane,” Charlie mutters, more to himself than anything.
Nick glances at him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “What is?”
Charlie shakes his head, letting out a soft laugh. “This. You. Me. This whole night. It just... it doesn’t feel real.”
Nick stops walking, tugging Charlie gently to a halt. He turns to face him, their joined hands swinging slightly between them. “It’s real,” Nick says, his voice soft but firm, his brown eyes locking onto Charlie’s. “I’m here. We’re here.”
Charlie feels his breath hitch. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it’s hard when Nick is looking at him like that—like he’s the only thing in the world that matters.
“Okay,” Charlie whispers, a small, wobbly smile tugging at his lips.
Nick smiles back, leaning in to press a quick, chaste kiss to Charlie’s temple. “Come on,” he says, his voice teasing as he tugs Charlie forward again.
As they walk, Charlie glances over at Nick, his thoughts swirling. He can’t help but feel the need to ask, to be sure, because while this night feels like a dream to him, it’s not just about him. He bites his lip before finally working up the nerve to speak.
“Nick,” Charlie starts hesitantly, his voice soft, “are you… are you okay with this?”
Nick looks at him, confusion flickering across his face. “With what?”
Charlie fumbles, his free hand gesturing vaguely between them. “With… this. I mean, you came here tonight to, you know, get wasted and forget things, and I’ve just—”
“Ravished me?” Nick interrupts, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
Charlie feels his face heat up instantly, his steps faltering as he sputters, “Yeah! That! I mean—well, not just that—but—ugh.” He covers his face with his free hand, groaning. “You know what I mean.”
Nick chuckles, the sound warm and rich and so very Nick. “Charlie,” he says, stopping again to face him fully, “I’m more than okay with this. With you.”
“But—” Charlie starts, only for Nick to gently place a hand on his cheek, tilting his head up so their eyes meet.
“No buts,” Nick says firmly, his thumb brushing softly against Charlie’s cheekbone. “Yeah, I came here tonight to forget, but if forgetting led me to this—to you—then I wouldn’t change a thing. Not one second of it.”
Charlie stares at him, his breath catching in his throat. “You’re sure?” he whispers, his voice almost trembling.
Nick’s grin softens, turning into something gentler, something that makes Charlie’s chest ache in the best way. “I’m more sure about this than I’ve been about anything in a long time.”
They walk hand in hand the rest of the way, their arms swinging gently between them as if the world isn’t spinning, as if this isn’t the most surreal moment of Charlie’s life. He glances at Nick every so often, his heart doing a little flip each time he catches Nick smiling softly to himself. He feels like he’s floating, grounded only by the solid warmth of Nick’s hand in his.
When they finally make it to Charlie’s house, Charlie pauses on the porch, the keys clutched in his hand. He turns to Nick with a sheepish grin, his cheeks already starting to redden. “Okay, um, I’m just going to apologize now for all the toys you’re about to see. I swear, they’re everywhere. I pick them up, and two seconds later, it’s like a tornado hit. So, yeah. Sorry in advance.”
Nick tilts his head, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “No sorries. I don’t like sorries.”
Charlie blinks, caught off guard. “You don’t like sorries?”
Nick shakes his head, his grin widening. “Nope. I’ve never liked them. Especially not from you. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Charlie.”
“But—” Charlie starts, and Nick cuts him off, nudging him playfully with his shoulder.
“And besides,” Nick continues, “you’re a parent. You’ve got a four-year-old running around. I’d be more concerned if you didn’t have toys scattered everywhere. It’d be weirdly suspicious, honestly.”
Charlie huffs out a laugh, his nerves easing slightly. “You’re too good at this, you know,” he mutters as he turns the key in the lock.
Nick raises an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Too good at what?”
Charlie looks at him, his gaze lingering for just a moment too long. “Making me feel like I’m not constantly screwing everything up.”
Charlie doesn’t know exactly what makes him say that, but he does. The thought creeps in like it always does, uninvited and suffocating. He stands just inside the doorway, looking at the toys scattered across the floor—Remy’s train set half-built, a small dinosaur plush leaning against the couch—and the familiar heaviness settles over him.
He’s a screw-up, right? He’s always been a screw-up. Ben made sure to drill that into his head over and over again during their years together. Every argument, every passive-aggressive comment, every sneer—it all left marks, invisible scars he still carries. Ben didn’t just criticize him; he convinced Charlie he deserved it. That every mistake, every misstep, was proof that he wasn’t good enough.
Charlie tries not to think about those years too often, but sometimes it’s impossible. Like now, when he can’t shake the feeling that he’s still failing, that he’s still somehow messing everything up. It doesn’t matter how much he loves Remy, how much effort he pours into being a good dad. There’s always this nagging voice in the back of his mind, whispering that it’s not enough. That he’s not enough.
And God, wasn’t Ben right in some ways? He wasn’t cut out for marriage. He wasn’t cut out for love. He let Ben walk all over him for years, let him take everything from him until there was nothing left. He even tried to take Remy—his Remy—when he didn’t even want the boy in the first place. And Charlie had let himself believe, for a terrifying moment, that Ben might win. That he might lose the one good thing he’d ever had.
Now here he is, years later, still doubting himself. Still feeling like he’s holding it all together with duct tape and hope. And then there’s Nick.
Nick, who makes him laugh without trying, who looks at him like he’s not broken, like he’s not some irreparable mess. Nick, who’s been ignoring him lately, and Charlie can’t help but wonder if it’s because Nick’s finally realized what a disaster he is. Because why else would someone like Nick—someone kind and warm and whole—pull away from someone like Charlie?
Charlie barely registers the soft click of the door shutting before Nick is suddenly there, filling his space, warm and steady and so incredibly close. Charlie freezes, unsure of what’s happening, unsure of what to do, and then Nick’s hands are on his cheeks.
Nick’s palms are warm, rough in a way that speaks to a life lived fully, but the touch itself is soft, gentle, careful—like Charlie is something worth holding with tenderness. And Charlie doesn’t know how to react to that, because he’s never had hands on his cheeks like this before. Hands on his cheeks have always meant something else. They’ve always been accompanied by harsh slaps, by hateful words, by a look of disgust that burned as much as the sting of skin against skin.
But this isn’t that. Nick isn’t that.
Charlie feels the lump rise in his throat before he can swallow it down. It’s too much—Nick’s closeness, the weight of his gaze, the kindness radiating from him. It’s all too much and not enough, all at once. His breath hitches as Nick’s thumbs brush softly along his cheekbones, wiping away tears Charlie didn’t even realize had fallen.
“Charlie,” Nick says softly, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, something raw. “You need to have more confidence in yourself. Like you had in that bar.”
Charlie blinks, startled by the shift in Nick’s tone, by the way he speaks like he’s holding onto something fragile but unyielding.
“It was so unbashfully you,” Nick continues, his lips tugging into the faintest of smiles. “It was so beautiful. And Charlie, we all screw up. We all make mistakes.”
Nick’s words hang in the air, and Charlie can feel the weight of them pressing against his chest. He wants to argue, wants to protest, but Nick doesn’t give him the chance.
“The reason I was at that bar,” Nick says, his voice dropping, “is because I screwed up. I didn’t do enough for someone. I wasn’t there when I should’ve been. And now... they’re gone.”
Charlie sees it then—the cracks in Nick’s armor, the hurt he tries so hard to hide. His breath catches, but Nick doesn’t stop.
“And now I’m here,” Nick says, his voice soft but steady, like he’s made peace with the storm inside of him. “But Charlie, please… stop throwing your hard work away as if it’s nothing.”
Nick’s hands hold Charlie’s face just a little tighter, like he’s afraid Charlie will slip away if he lets go. His gaze doesn’t waver, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Charlie feels seen—not just looked at, but truly seen.
“You’re incredible,” Nick says, his voice a whisper now, a quiet plea. “You’ve done so much, and you’ve fought so hard to be where you are. Don’t take that away from yourself. You deserve to see how far you’ve come.”
Charlie swallows thickly, the lump in his throat almost too much to bear. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to process the way Nick’s words cut through the fog in his mind and settle somewhere deep in his chest.
“I just…” Charlie starts, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to believe that.”
Nick leans forward, pressing his forehead against Charlie’s, his breath warm and steady. “Then let me show you” he says simply.
Charlie sighs, his shoulders dropping slightly as he huffs out a nervous laugh. "But I'm the one that's supposed to be ravishing you," he mutters, the words spilling out before he can stop them. "Not the other way around!"
Nick raises an eyebrow, a soft, amused smile spreading across his face. He tilts his head slightly, his hands still cupping Charlie's cheeks, thumbs brushing soothingly along his skin.
"Charlie," he says, his voice warm and low, "we've got all night, yeah?"
Charlie blinks, his breath catching in his throat as he processes Nick's words. There's something so simple, so unhurried, about the way Nick says it-like they have all the time in the world, like there's no need to rush or worry or overthink.
"All night?" Charlie echoes, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nick nods, his smile growing just a bit wider. "Yeah, all night" he repeats, leaning in just enough that Charlie can feel the warmth of his breath. "Plenty of time for both of us to... ravish each other, yeah?"
Charlie lets out a startled laugh, his cheeks burning as the tension in his chest starts to ease. "You make it sound so casual" he says, shaking his head.
Nick grins, finally letting his hands slip from Charlie's face to rest gently on his hips instead. "That's because it is, Charlie. It's just us. No pressure, no expectations. Just... us."
For the first time in what feels like forever, Charlie feels the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen. "Just us," he repeats softly, the words feeling right as they settle on his tongue.
Nick nods, his warm smile never fading, and before Charlie can fully process what’s happening, Nick leans in and presses the softest, most fleeting peck against his lips. It’s not rushed or demanding—it’s gentle, grounding, and utterly Nick.
Charlie blinks, his breath hitching as his heart skips a beat. He hadn’t expected that, not at all. He feels his cheeks heat up as he stares at Nick, who’s now standing there looking all casual, like he didn’t just make Charlie’s brain short-circuit.
“So,” Nick says, his voice light and teasing as he raises an eyebrow. “House tour? Maybe a drink of water?"
Charlie blinks again, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water before he manages to stammer, “Uh, yeah, um, yeah, water. Sure. And, uh, house tour. Right. I can… do that.”
Nick chuckles, reaching out to take Charlie’s hand in his. “Lead the way, then,” he says, giving Charlie’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
Charlie shakes his head with a small laugh, bending down to scoop up a few scattered toys and tossing them into the bin in the corner. He glances back at Nick, his voice a little shy as he says, "Uh, living room. Obviously. Though, at this point, it’s more of Remy’s playroom." He gestures at the bin, which is already half-full. "Toys everywhere. Sorry about the mess. Yeah, uh… You’re thirsty, right? I’ve got drinks. Not just water, if you want something else."
Nick tilts his head thoughtfully. "Hmm… tea? If that’s not too much trouble?"
Charlie’s smile grows a little as he nods. "Yeah, I can make some tea." He moves toward the kitchen, pulling down a kettle and filling it with water. He’s focused on setting it on the stove and rummaging through the cabinet for tea bags when he hears Nick hum softly behind him.
"Hi" Nick murmurs, and Charlie hums in acknowledgment, reaching for the mugs.
He doesn’t hear Nick move, but suddenly, there’s warmth at his back. Before he can turn, he feels Nick’s lips press gently against the side of his neck. Charlie lets out an involuntary squeak, nearly dropping the mugs in his hands as a shiver runs down his spine.
"Nick!" he exclaims, his voice coming out higher than he intended.
Nick just chuckles, his breath warm against Charlie’s skin. "What? You looked like you could use a distraction," he says, his tone light and teasing.
Charlie’s cheeks burn as he sets the mugs down on the counter, trying to compose himself. "I’m trying to make tea, not… whatever you’re doing," he says, his voice a little wobbly but not unkind.
Nick pulls back slightly but stays close, his hands resting on Charlie’s hips. "Tea and a little affection aren’t mutually exclusive," he quips, leaning in just enough to brush his nose against Charlie’s ear.
Charlie feels the warmth of Nick's hands on his hips, the soft brush of lips on his neck, and it feels... different. Not wrong, but unfamiliar in a way that tugs at his chest. His voice comes out without much thought, light but with an undertone of awe, "You’re being very... domestic."
The words hang in the air, and he realizes too late that they might’ve struck a nerve. Nick’s hands slip away from his waist, the warmth disappearing as quickly as it had come. Nick steps back, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression suddenly unsure. "Sorry, sorry," he mutters, his voice tinged with something Charlie can’t quite place. "I, uh… I didn’t mean to… People… People call me clingy sometimes, so, yeah. Sorry if that was… too much."
Charlie blinks, turning to face Nick fully, his heart sinking at the look on Nick’s face. He sees it now—the guardedness, the weight of something unsaid. Nick’s always carried himself with a quiet confidence, but this? This vulnerability? It’s startling.
"Hey," Charlie says softly, reaching out to grab Nick’s wrist before he can pull away further. "Nick, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t complaining or… or saying it was too much."
Nick hesitates, his eyes flicking to Charlie’s hand on his wrist, then back up to Charlie’s face. "You sure? Because I don’t… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything."
Charlie shakes his head, his grip tightening just slightly. "You didn’t. I promise. I just… I’ve never really had this before, you know? Someone being this kind, this… close. It’s just… new to me." His voice wavers for a moment, but he pushes through, meeting Nick’s gaze. "I like it."
Charlie feels the tension between them dissolve as he gently pulls Nick back toward him, his hands finding their place at Nick’s waist again. He smiles softly, his heart warming at the way Nick lets out a quiet hum, leaning into the touch.
Nick’s head tilts slightly, his lips quirking up into a shy smile as he murmurs, “Oh, I’m… I’m glad you like it, then.” His voice is softer now, quieter, almost hesitant as if he’s still not sure whether this is allowed, whether he’s allowed. “You… you deserve it.”
The words land heavily in Charlie’s chest, making his breath hitch just slightly. For a moment, he forgets to respond, caught in the weight of what Nick has just said. It’s not just the words themselves, but the way Nick says them—with conviction, with care, like it’s something he’s been holding in and finally letting out.
Charlie’s smile widens, his cheeks warming. "You really mean that?"
Nick nods, his gaze meeting Charlie’s. "Yeah, I do. You’ve been through so much, Charlie. I see it… the way you are with Remy, how much love you have to give. You deserve someone to take care of you, too."
Charlie doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s been so long since anyone’s said something like that to him, since anyone has seen him like this—broken but still standing, trying to give everything he has to his son and to the world, even when it feels like it’s too much.
Instead of speaking, he lets his actions do the talking. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Nick’s cheek, lingering there for just a moment before pulling back to meet Nick’s gaze. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "You don’t know how much that means to me."
The kettle hums softly in the background, filling the kitchen with a gentle warmth as they stand side by side. The silence between them isn’t awkward—it’s comforting, like an unspoken understanding that neither of them needs to fill the space with words. Nick stays close, his shoulder brushing against Charlie’s, swaying them gently from side to side like they’re caught in a quiet dance. Every now and then, Nick leans in to press a featherlight kiss to the side of Charlie’s neck, his lips warm against Charlie’s skin.
Charlie can’t help but smile at the affection, his chest swelling with a contentment he hasn’t felt in years. It’s such a small thing, these tender kisses and the warmth of Nick’s presence, but it feels monumental. Like a piece of himself that had been missing is starting to slot back into place.
He lets the comfort of his home and the steady rhythm of Nick’s presence sober him up a little, grounding him as he listens to the soft whir of the kettle and the occasional quiet hum Nick lets out. It’s peaceful. It’s safe. And it’s entirely new.
But then he feels Nick’s hand brush against his, and he can’t help himself. Grinning softly, he takes Nick’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. The gesture is small, but it feels intimate, and it gives him just enough courage to say, “You’ve distracted me from the rest of the house tour.”
Nick pulls back slightly, his expression sheepish but amused. “Oh, have I now?” he teases, though there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
Charlie raises a brow, his grin widening. “Yes, you have, now come on."
Charlie leads Nick through the house, his fingers gripping Nick's hand tightly, a tether grounding him as much as it’s guiding. “Okay, so,” he says, nodding toward the hallway ahead. “That’s the guest bathroom, well, technically Remy’s too, but—yeah.” His words feel rushed, almost tumbling over each other, but Nick hums softly in acknowledgment, which helps Charlie relax just a fraction.
“And this,” Charlie says as he stops in front of another door, pushing it open wide, “is Remy’s room. Don’t judge the mess, okay? I told him to pick up earlier, but then Tori and Michael showed up, and you know how kids get…”
Charlie trails off as he steps aside to let Nick look in. The room feels like the perfect reflection of Remy—full of life, color, and joy. The dinosaur-and-star wallpaper makes Charlie smile every time he sees it, and the overflowing bins of toys remind him just how much he spoils his son. Books are crammed into the little bookshelf, and stuffed animals are scattered across the bed. It’s chaos, but it’s their chaos.
Nick surveys the room and smiles warmly. “Mmhm,” he hums, stepping closer to look at the bookshelf. “Remy lives like a king.”
Charlie lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not really,” he mutters. “I just… I’d rather buy things for him than for myself. He deserves it, you know?”
Nick turns, and his smile shifts—softer, almost reverent. Before Charlie can say anything else, Nick leans in and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “That’s sweet,” Nick says simply, and Charlie freezes, his face going warm as he tries to fight the blush creeping up his neck.
Clearing his throat, Charlie motions toward the hallway again. “Uh, anyway, my room’s next,” he says, practically fleeing to the next stop.
When they step inside his room, Charlie tries not to feel self-conscious about how plain it is compared to Remy’s. “Okay, so, this is mine. Not much to see, really. The bathroom’s over there,” he adds, pointing to the door on the right.
He watches as Nick looks around the room, his gaze landing briefly on the painting above the headboard—a photo Charlie took at the Grand Canyon during one of the hardest times of his life. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, instead moving on to take in the neatly arranged cologne and watches on the dresser, the rows of Converse on the shoe rack, and the photo album sitting on the nightstand.
“It’s nice,” Nick says finally, his tone gentle. Charlie feels a strange wave of pride at the simple compliment, but then Nick adds, “You weren’t kidding about putting Remy first, huh?”
Charlie shrugs, leaning against the doorframe, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “I mean… yeah. He’s my everything. As long as he’s happy, I’m happy.”
Nick turns to face him, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he steps closer, his hand brushing against Charlie’s. “You’re a great dad, Charlie,” Nick says softly. “But you’re allowed to have things too. You’re allowed to want things for yourself.”
Charlie’s breath catches, and he looks down, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Maybe,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
Charlie watches Nick open his mouth to say something, maybe to argue or insist on whatever thought was forming behind his eyes. But before Nick can get a word out, the hum of the tea kettle fills the air, breaking the moment. Charlie sighs softly, giving Nick’s hand a small squeeze before tugging him toward the kitchen.
“Come on,” Charlie says, trying to keep things light. “Tea’s ready.”
Nick follows, his hand warm in Charlie’s grip, and Charlie feels his chest flutter with something he doesn’t want to name yet. Once they reach the kitchen, Charlie lets go of Nick’s hand reluctantly and moves to grab the two mugs.
He pours the steaming tea carefully, his fingers steady despite the slight buzz still coursing through him from the drinks earlier. When he hands one of the mugs to Nick, a small laugh escapes him. “Sorry, this one’s a bit… special.”
Nick takes the mug, tilting his head in curiosity before looking down at it. His lips twitch into a grin when he sees the childish scrawl on the side—“DADA” painted in uneven letters, with a little heart underneath. The colors are slightly smudged, and the handle is a bit wonky, but it’s clear this mug was made with love.
Nick chuckles, running his thumb over the uneven paint. “It’s perfect,” he says softly, and there’s something in his tone that makes Charlie’s breath catch.
They settle at the kitchen table, the tea warming their hands and the room around them quiet save for the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Charlie glances at Nick, who’s cradling the mug in both hands, his expression thoughtful.
Charlie sighs, staring down at the tea swirling in his mug as if it holds all the answers. “When you sober up, if you decide you don’t want to be here… that’s okay,” he says quietly, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “I’d get it.”
Nick nearly chokes on his tea, lowering the mug with a clatter as his wide eyes snap to Charlie. “What? Charlie, no. What are you—”
“It’s fine,” Charlie interrupts, shrugging like it doesn’t matter, but the way he avoids Nick’s gaze tells a different story. “I mean, I get it. I’m not… well, under the makeup and these clothes, I’m not all that, you know… pretty?”
Nick sets his mug down so quickly it sloshes tea onto the table, but he doesn’t care. He leans forward, his elbows on the table as his eyes lock onto Charlie’s. “Charlie,” he says firmly, his voice laced with disbelief. “Are you actually serious right now? Pretty? Charlie, you’re fucking stunning.”
Charlie’s head snaps up at that, his cheeks turning pink. “Nick, you don’t have to say that. I know I’m not—”
“Stop,” Nick interrupts, shaking his head. “Just stop. I’m not saying it because I have to. I’m saying it because it’s true. You are so beautiful, Charlie. Like, ridiculously so. And it’s not just the makeup or the clothes or—whatever you think this is. It’s you."
The tension in Charlie’s shoulders seems to melt away, replaced by something lighter, something brighter. He lets out a shaky laugh, ducking his head to hide his smile. “Okay,” he says softly, “Okay. I’ll try to believe you.”
The tea is warm in Charlie’s hands, but it doesn’t stop the chill of doubt that creeps up his spine. He drinks slowly, savoring the silence with Nick, letting the quiet hum of the city outside fill the space between them. The clock ticks softly in the background, a rhythm to match his racing thoughts.
He swallows the last sip, setting his mug down gently. His mind races—Nick sitting here in his kitchen, drinking tea like it’s the most normal thing in the world, the man he’s been pining after for weeks. And yet, despite all the normalcy, there’s nothing normal about the way Charlie’s pulse picks up as he glances at him.
Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s standing, his hand grabbing the fabric of Nick’s shirt, pulling him close. His voice is quiet but steady, holding a mix of nerves and determination. “Sober enough?”
Nick’s breath catches, and for a moment, Charlie feels the weight of the pause, as though the entire world hinges on Nick’s answer. Nick’s hands find their way to Charlie’s hips, warm and grounding, and he laughs softly, his voice low and a little breathless. “Fuck, Char... Yeah... Sober enough.”
Charlie can’t stop the small, relieved smile that tugs at his lips. He lets himself lean in, lets the nerves wash away, and kisses Nick. His lips press softly at first, testing, but when Nick leans in, deepening the kiss, it’s like fireworks behind Charlie’s eyes. Every ounce of doubt melts away, and he feels Nick’s hands tighten on his waist, pulling him closer, grounding him.
The kiss is everything Charlie hadn’t let himself hope for—it’s warm and consuming, a connection he hadn’t thought he’d ever have again. His hands slide up, one tangling in Nick’s hair, the other gripping his shoulder, needing to feel him as close as possible. He feels Nick groan softly, the sound reverberating through him, making his knees a little weak.
Charlie doesn’t think. He can’t. It’s like his body has taken over entirely, every inch of him driven by the warmth of Nick in his hands and the way Nick’s breath hitches every time Charlie gets closer. He grabs Nick’s hand, tugging him up from the chair, and then he’s moving, his hands firm but gentle as he guides Nick back, step by step, until Nick’s back hits the wall with a soft thud.
There’s a moment where Nick looks at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, and Charlie feels bold in a way he hasn’t in years. He presses forward, capturing Nick’s mouth again, kissing him like he’s been starved for this exact thing. And maybe he has been.
Nick lets out a soft gasp against his lips when Charlie’s hands move to his neck, trailing kisses along his jaw and then to the soft, freckled skin of his neck. His mouth lingers there, his tongue flicking out just slightly, earning a quiet groan from Nick that makes Charlie shiver.
He uses his foot to nudge Nick’s legs apart, settling between them, his hips pressing firmly against Nick’s. Charlie’s hands wander, brushing up and down the fabric of Nick’s shirt, feeling the heat of him through the thin material. It’s intoxicating, the way Nick reacts, his head tilting back just slightly to give Charlie more room to work, his fingers curling into the fabric of Charlie’s crop top as if he’s trying to anchor himself.
Charlie moves his hands higher, fumbling slightly as he starts on the buttons of Nick’s shirt, his fingers trembling but determined. Nick gasps, the sound rough and breathless, and Charlie can’t help but press a kiss to his lips again, silencing whatever words Nick might’ve been about to say.
“You’re so—God, Nick,” Charlie murmurs, his voice low and filled with something close to awe. His lips trail down Nick’s neck again, brushing over the hollow of his throat as his fingers finally manage to undo a few buttons, exposing more of Nick’s skin. He doesn’t think about anything else—about tomorrow, about what this might mean—he just lets himself feel, lets himself enjoy the way Nick melts under his touch.
The moment the last button comes undone, Charlie freezes. His hands still, hovering just above Nick’s skin as the shirt falls open. His breath catches, and for a moment, all he can do is stare.
Nick’s chest is broad, his abs defined but not overly so, and there’s a soft, tantalizing happy trail leading down beneath the waistband of his jeans that he is going to spend so much time memorizing. Charlie feels like he’s on fire, the heat pooling low in his stomach as his fingers brush over the exposed skin, reverent and trembling.
“Fuck, Nick,” Charlie breathes out, his voice barely more than a whisper, laced with awe and something much deeper. His eyes flick up to meet Nick’s, and for a split second, he sees the vulnerability there, the slight flush to Nick’s cheeks that isn’t just from the alcohol.
He doesn’t hesitate. Charlie shrugs the material off Nick’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. His hands roam over Nick’s skin, fingers tracing every line, every freckle, every muscle. It’s like he’s committing it all to memory, burning it into his mind so he never forgets how this moment feels.
Then he’s surging forward, pulling Nick into a heated kiss that’s all teeth and tongues and desperation. It’s messy, and it’s perfect, and it leaves them both gasping. Nick lets out a low, breathy whine that sends a shiver straight through Charlie’s spine, and it’s enough to make him pull Nick closer, pressing their bodies together so there’s no space between them.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Charlie mutters against Nick’s lips, his hands sliding down to rest on Nick’s hips, holding him firmly in place. His fingers dig into Nick’s skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to ground them both in the moment.
Nick’s hands are everywhere, gripping at Charlie’s back, sliding under the hem of his crop top to trace patterns against the bare skin. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and Charlie doesn’t want it to stop. He can’t stop. Not when Nick is letting out these quiet, needy sounds that Charlie never wants to stop hearing. Not when this feels so raw, so real.
“You’re going to kill me, Nick Nelson,” Charlie whispers, his lips brushing against Nick’s ear as he speaks. And honestly? He thinks he’d gladly let Nick do just that.
Nick’s voice is low, almost a growl, as he whispers, “Charlie. Want you.” It’s breathless and needy, and it sends a shiver straight down Charlie’s spine.
Charlie hums in response, his lips curling into a soft smile as he presses another kiss to Nick’s jawline. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice steady despite the fire coursing through his veins. “Me too. But no rushing, yeah? Let’s take our time.”
Nick lets out a shaky breath, his hands gripping Charlie’s shoulders like he’s anchoring himself to reality. Charlie presses another kiss to Nick’s cheek, then his neck, his lips lingering as he slowly begins his descent.
He drops to his knees, his hands trailing down Nick’s sides as he goes. Nick’s chest rises and falls rapidly, his skin flushed, and Charlie can’t help but smile up at him. “Relax,” he murmurs softly, his voice warm and soothing, even as his lips move to kiss the center of Nick’s chest.
Charlie’s lips graze over the light dusting of chest hair, his kisses slow and deliberate, each one leaving a lingering warmth. He hears Nick suck in a sharp breath when his mouth brushes over one of his nipples, and Charlie smirks, doing it again just to hear the quiet gasp that escapes Nick’s lips.
He takes his time, his lips moving lower, trailing down Nick’s abs with a reverence that feels almost sacred. He kisses the defined muscles, the soft lines that guide his way, his hands roaming up and down Nick’s thighs as he does so.
And then there it is—Nick’s happy trail, the line of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans. Charlie pauses, his lips pressing gently against it, and he feels the tremor that runs through Nick’s body in response.
“Fuck, Charlie,” Nick breathes out, his voice wrecked, his hands gripping the back of Charlie’s head. Charlie hums again, pressing a few more kisses along Nick’s abdomen before looking up, his eyes locking with Nick’s.
“You’re gorgeous,” Charlie says softly, his voice filled with sincerity, his hands sliding to rest on Nick’s hips. “Every inch of you, Nick.”
Nick swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to respond, but whatever words he has seem to get lost somewhere between his mind and his mouth. Charlie doesn’t mind, though. He leans in, pressing one last kiss to the base of Nick’s abdomen before murmuring, “We’ll get there. No rushing.”
Charlie’s breath catches as his eyes drop, taking in the way Nick’s arousal is straining against his trousers. He almost lets out a coo—something about seeing Nick so undone is sending a thrill through him he’s never quite experienced before. Instead, he leans in, brushing his lips over the fabric just above where Nick’s waistband dips, pressing the gentlest kiss that feels more like a promise than a tease.
Nick shudders under the touch, his hands flexing at his sides, unsure of what to do with them. Charlie glances up, catching the way Nick’s chest heaves, the faint flush spreading up his neck, the way his lips part like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
Smirking to himself, Charlie lets his hands wander, fingers sliding up Nick’s thighs, slow and deliberate. The tension under his palms makes Charlie hum softly—Nick’s legs feel like they’re wound tight, barely holding himself together. When Charlie’s hands reach higher, cupping Nick’s ass firmly for just a second, he hears Nick let out a sharp inhale, his body jerking slightly forward in response.
It’s intoxicating, seeing Nick like this. The normally composed, careful man, unraveling piece by piece under his touch. But just as quickly as his hands find their place, Charlie pulls them back, leaving Nick gasping softly, his hips trembling.
“You’re so reactive,” Charlie murmurs, his voice soft but teasing, filled with something almost reverent. He leans forward again, this time letting his lips hover just above the fabric covering Nick’s length, before pressing another soft kiss, deliberately light.
“Charlie…” Nick’s voice is rough, his head tipping back against the wall, his breathing unsteady.
“Hmm?” Charlie hums, letting his fingers skim along the waistband of Nick’s trousers, his touch featherlight. He tilts his head up, meeting Nick’s eyes, a grin tugging at his lips. “Something you want to say, Nick?”
Nick groans softly, his head lolling to the side. “You’re killing me.”
Charlie chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Patience,” he whispers, his hands trailing back down Nick’s thighs. “Didn’t I say no rushing?”
Charlie hears the soft, desperate whine slip past Nick’s lips, the plea of "Come here" sending a jolt straight through him. There’s no way he can resist—not when Nick sounds like that, not when he’s looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world that matters.
Without hesitation, Charlie rises to his feet, allowing Nick’s hands to guide him forward into a kiss that’s fervent and all-consuming. He feels Nick’s fingers tighten on his waist, pulling him close, and before he even realizes what’s happening, Nick is walking him backward with purpose.
It’s all a blur—the heat of Nick’s lips, the way their bodies press together, the sheer intensity of it all—until Charlie feels the edge of the couch hit the back of his legs. Nick doesn’t hesitate, gently pushing him down until he’s seated, and before Charlie can catch his breath, Nick climbs onto his lap.
And there he is: Nick, shirtless, straddling him, looking like some sort of goddamn vision. His chest is flushed, his hair is slightly tousled, and his eyes—those warm, honey eyes—are filled with something that makes Charlie’s heart race.
“Nick,” Charlie manages to whisper, his voice shaky as his hands instinctively move to rest on Nick’s thighs.
Nick leans in, his lips brushing against Charlie’s ear as he murmurs, “You okay with this?”
Charlie swallows hard, nodding as he breathes out, “More than okay.”
Nick smiles, a slow, lazy grin that sends Charlie’s head spinning. Then he dips down, capturing Charlie’s lips in another searing kiss, his hands cupping Charlie’s face as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of him.
Charlie’s hands slide up, settling on Nick’s hips as he pulls him closer, letting himself get completely lost in the moment, in the feel of Nick’s warmth, in the weight of him on his lap. His heart is pounding, his mind is racing, but all he can think is this is perfect.
Charlie feels it, the soft, almost tentative grind of Nick's hips against his. It’s a subtle movement, but it’s enough to send a bolt of heat straight through him. His breath hitches as Nick’s hands find their way to the button of his jeans, nimble fingers working it loose with practiced ease.
He can’t help but melt—fucking melt—when Nick’s touch shifts, featherlight and teasing as it traces over him through the fabric. The sensation is maddening, a mix of gentleness and intention that leaves Charlie’s mind reeling and his body aching for more.
"Nick," he breathes out, barely a whisper, his voice caught somewhere between desperation and awe.
Nick leans in, his lips brushing against the corner of Charlie’s mouth as he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?” His voice is low, soft, but it carries a weight that makes Charlie’s chest tighten.
“It’s perfect,” Charlie manages, his hands tightening on Nick’s hips, holding him closer as if afraid he’ll disappear. His head falls back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on the electric warmth spreading through him.
The teasing continues, Nick’s fingers exploring with just enough pressure to make Charlie squirm beneath him. It’s not rushed, not hurried—Nick’s movements are deliberate, like he’s savoring every reaction, every soft sound Charlie makes.
Charlie opens his eyes, finding Nick’s gaze already on him, dark and filled with something he can only describe as adoration. It makes him feel exposed, vulnerable in the best way possible.
“You’re driving me crazy,” Charlie murmurs, his lips curving into a shaky smile.
Nick grins, leaning down to capture Charlie’s mouth in a kiss that’s slow and consuming, a kiss that feels like it holds the promise of everything Charlie’s ever wanted but never thought he deserved.
And then it all becomes a blur of heat and fire, a wildfire Charlie can’t even begin to contain. Nick moves with a purpose, shifting off his lap and dropping to his knees. Charlie’s breath catches, his heart pounding in his chest, as Nick’s hands slide down his legs, taking his jeans with them.
Charlie feels exposed, but it’s not the kind of vulnerability he’s used to. It’s not shame or fear—it’s trust, it’s desire. And when Nick licks his palm, the sight alone sends a shockwave through Charlie, anticipation bubbling in his stomach as Nick’s hand moves purposefully.
Then it happens—Nick’s hand slips under the fabric of his underwear, and Charlie feels that first, electric touch. It’s soft, exploratory at first, before Nick’s grip becomes more confident, more deliberate. The white heat of pleasure courses through him, overwhelming and all-consuming, and Charlie lets out a sharp gasp that quickly turns into a whimper.
“Nick,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his hands gripping the couch as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
Nick doesn’t respond, not with words, but with a look—a dark, focused gaze that sends shivers racing down Charlie’s spine. His movements are steady, deliberate, and filled with care, like he’s savoring every single reaction he can draw from Charlie.
Charlie’s head falls back, his mouth parting in a broken moan as Nick’s hand works him expertly. The tension in his body builds, coiling tighter and tighter with every touch, every stroke, every flick of Nick’s wrist.
Charlie lets out a breathy laugh, his head falling back against the couch, as he pants out, “Fuck, baby, I’m supposed to be sucking you off.”
Nick glances up at him, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s okay,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I like seeing you come undone like this.”
Before Charlie can respond, Nick twists his wrist just right at the head, and Charlie’s vision blurs, the pleasure so intense it’s like a tidal wave crashing over him.
“Fuck, Nick,” Charlie chokes out, his fingers digging into the fabric of the couch as if it’s the only thing grounding him. “Nick! You’re—fuck!”
Nick’s smirk grows wider, that mischievous glint in his eyes only adding to the fire consuming Charlie. “Hmm,” Nick hums, feigning thoughtfulness, “quite the scholarly language you’ve got there.”
Charlie lets out a breathless laugh that turns into a groan, his cheeks flushed, his body trembling under Nick’s touch. “Shut up,” he mutters, though the words hold no real bite, just a mix of exasperation and adoration.
Nick chuckles, his lips quirking up as he presses a kiss to Charlie’s hipbone, his hand never faltering. “Make me.”
Charlie tries—he really, truly tries to make Nick shut up. He leans forward, aiming to capture Nick's lips in a desperate, messy kiss. His hands tangle in Nick's ginger-blond hair, tugging just enough to pull a low groan from him. But Nick, ever so infuriatingly in control, doesn't let up.
Instead, he smirks, that maddeningly smug smirk, and twists his wrist again. And again. The precise motion makes Charlie’s whole body jerk, a strangled moan spilling from his lips. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of the intoxicating friction, and Nick’s smirk only deepens as if he’s perfectly aware of the power he holds in this moment.
“Nick,” Charlie gasps, his voice cracking as pleasure rolls through him like waves. “Fuck—stop smirking like that. You’re—god, you’re impossible.”
Nick hums, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm, leaving Charlie shaking, trembling, completely at his mercy. “Impossible?” Nick teases, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “I thought I was just good at making you feel incredible.”
“Nick,” Charlie moans again, his head falling back against the couch. He’s breathless, overwhelmed, his body writhing under Nick’s touch. Every movement, every twist of Nick’s wrist, has him spiraling further and further out of control.
He wants to protest, to demand Nick stop being so smug, but all that comes out are incoherent moans and the occasional broken gasp of Nick’s name. And Nick? Nick looks far too pleased with himself, his eyes gleaming with affection and mischief as he watches Charlie unravel.
Charlie feels it—the edge, so tantalizingly close. It’s there, right at the surface, his body tightening, his breaths ragged and shallow. He’s seconds away from falling apart, from tipping over into that blinding, all-consuming release when—
Nick stops.
His hand stills completely, pulling away, and Charlie cries out, his voice cracking in desperation. “No, no, no—Nick! Don’t stop, please—” His hips jerk up instinctively, seeking the friction that’s suddenly, cruelly, been taken away from him.
But Nick only looks smug, maddeningly so, as he pulls Charlie’s underwear back into place with an infuriatingly slow motion. He leans back, his lips curving into a smirk that makes Charlie want to kiss him and yell at him all at once.
“What?” Nick asks, feigning innocence, his tone dripping with playful mischief. “Thought you were supposed to be the one sucking me off?”
He’s trembling, the denied orgasm making every nerve in his body hypersensitive, and Nick’s teasing words only make it worse.
Charlie lets out a shaky breath, his voice trembling just enough as he mutters, "That was mean."
Nick immediately frowns, his expression softening with concern as he leans in, pressing a kiss to Charlie's forehead, then to his cheek. "Char?" he murmurs, his voice tentative and laced with worry. "Shit, I’m... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—" He stops when he notices the dampness beneath his lips, his thumb brushing against Charlie’s cheek, coming away wet.
Charlie doesn’t even realize it until then, but a tear or two has slipped from his eyes, unbidden and raw. His throat tightens, the emotions welling up before he can shove them back down. He’s too exposed, too vulnerable, and yet he can’t help the memories flooding his mind. Ben would do that. Ben would tease and deny and never let him finish. It was always about Ben, Ben’s pleasure, Ben’s needs. Never his.
Nick’s face falls further, his frown deepening as he cups Charlie’s face gently. "Char?" he says again, softer this time. "Shit, I’m... I’m so sorry. I was just... I thought you’d rather finish later, like in my mouth or—" He stumbles over his words, his own guilt seeping through. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I didn’t mean to hurt you."
Charlie blinks at him, his heart racing as he processes Nick’s words. Later? There’s... more? This isn’t just about Nick finishing and being done? The concept feels foreign, almost incomprehensible.
"What?" he asks tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper. "Later?"
Nick’s brows knit together, his gaze soft as he studies Charlie’s face. "Uh... Well... Yes?" he says, his voice uncertain. "Is that... Should there not be a later? I thought—" He stops himself, clearly worried he’s said the wrong thing. "I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t want to, Char. I just thought..."
Charlie shakes his head, his mind spinning. "No, I just... I didn’t think—" He cuts himself off, his voice faltering. He looks at Nick, his eyes searching, trying to make sense of this. "There’s... more?" he asks again, the words shaky and unsure.
Nick’s frown softens, and he leans in again, pressing another kiss to Charlie’s cheek. "Of course there’s more," he says gently. "There’s whatever you want, whenever you want it. This isn’t just about me, Char. It’s about you too. I... I want to make you feel good."
Charlie’s breath catches, his chest tightening as the weight of Nick’s words settles over him. It’s so simple, and yet it feels like a revelation. His hands tremble slightly as he clutches at Nick’s shirt, his voice barely audible as he whispers, "I didn’t think..."
Nick moves gently, climbing into Charlie’s lap and settling there with such ease it feels like they’ve done this a thousand times before. His hands cradle Charlie’s face, thumbs brushing away the remnants of those tears that still cling to his cheeks. "Oh, baby," Nick murmurs, his voice soft and full of regret. "No, I’d never deny you like that. Never. Just… stop, okay? Stop thinking like that. I’m sorry."
Charlie sniffles, his hands twitching against Nick’s thighs, uncertain of where to place them. He wipes at his cheeks hurriedly, trying to push the vulnerability aside. "No, it’s… it’s my stupid head," he mutters, his voice shaky. "I just… I’m not used to this. To more."
Nick’s lips twitch into a small, sympathetic smile. He hums softly, leaning in to rest his forehead against Charlie’s. "Well, that’s just a shame then, isn’t it?" he says, his tone turning playful but still carrying the same gentleness. His hands trail down to settle on Charlie’s shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. "Because I’d love to make you come apart again and again and again… if you’d let me?"
"I…" Charlie starts, his voice breaking slightly. He swallows hard, his hands sliding up to grip Nick’s hips for stability, grounding himself in the feel of Nick’s warmth. "I’d like that."
Nick grins, his hands coming up to tangle in Charlie’s curls. "Good," he whispers, before leaning in to press a lingering kiss to Charlie’s lips, slow and deliberate, as if to prove every word he just said. "Because I plan on making sure you never doubt how much you deserve, Char. Not ever again."
Charlie melts into the kiss, his worries momentarily forgotten, replaced by the steady, overwhelming feeling of being wanted and cared for in a way he never thought possible.
Charlie lets out an involuntary squeak as he’s suddenly pulled up off the ground, Nick’s strong arms hoisting him with ease. Instinctively, his legs wrap around Nick’s waist, and his hands clutch at Nick’s shoulders. "Nick!" he exclaims, though there’s no panic in his voice—just surprise mixed with laughter.
Nick’s grin is wicked as he strides towards the bed, and Charlie can’t help but giggle as he’s unceremoniously tossed onto the mattress. He lets out a satisfied sigh as his back hits the soft surface, his laughter bubbling up again when Nick chuckles. But the laugh quickly turns into a loud curse as Nick climbs onto the bed and lands directly on a small toy train that had been left behind.
"Fucking hell," Nick groans, pulling the train out from under him with a wince, holding it up like it’s his sworn enemy.
Charlie bursts into full-blown laughter, clutching his sides as he watches Nick glare at the toy like it’s personally offended him. "Sorry, sorry!" Charlie manages between giggles, though his tone is anything but apologetic.
Nick flops onto his side beside Charlie, holding the toy train up dramatically. "These things are weapons, I swear," he grumbles, though there’s a playful lilt in his voice.
Charlie, still giggling, teases, "Aww, does the big, strong man need me to kiss it better?"
Nick immediately perks up at that, his lips pulling into a mischievous smirk. "Yes, actually," he says, without missing a beat. He puckers his lips exaggeratedly and points to them. "Right here, for starters."
Charlie rolls his eyes but leans in to press a soft, quick kiss to Nick’s lips, unable to keep the smile off his face.
"And right here," Nick adds, poking at his chest with a playful grin.
Charlie obliges, leaning down to kiss the spot Nick indicated, his laughter softening into a fond chuckle.
"And definitely right here," Nick says, his finger trailing down to poke at his happy trail, his grin turning devilish.
Charlie snorts, his cheeks flushing slightly as he shakes his head. "Oh, you’re impossible," he says, but he leans down anyway, pressing his lips to the spot, earning a pleased hum from Nick.
Charlie shifts nervously on the bed, sitting beside Nick, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He glances at Nick, his heart hammering in his chest, and finally manages to get the words out. “How do you, um... want to do this?”
Nick tilts his head, a small frown of confusion tugging at his lips. “Hmm?”
Charlie sighs, shaking his head, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness. “I just… I really…” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.
Nick notices the hesitation immediately. He reaches out, his hand gentle as he cups Charlie’s cheek, drawing his attention back. “Hey, no. None of that, okay? Charlie, come here,” he says softly, pulling Charlie into his arms.
The warmth of Nick’s embrace is grounding, and Charlie lets out a shaky breath as he leans into it.
Nick presses a kiss to the top of Charlie’s head and says, “I’m not just here to fuck, alright? I’m here because I actually like you. Like, really, really like you.”
Charlie pulls back slightly, his eyes searching Nick’s face as if he didn’t hear him right. “You… like me?” The words feel foreign on his tongue, almost as if they belong to someone else. He can’t remember the last time anyone had said they liked him, if anyone ever had. He’s not even sure Ben ever did.
Nick nods, his expression earnest. “Yes, I like you. Like… crazy, really. Crazy crazy. You’re kind of the best, alright? So please, tell me what you want. I’m not going to walk away, okay? If there’s something I’m not comfortable with or ready for, I’ll let you know. But I want you to feel safe enough to tell me.”
Charlie swallows hard, his heart thudding in his chest. “I… I really want to suck you off,” he says, his voice trembling slightly, “and then I want to fuck you.”
For a moment, there’s silence, and Charlie’s heart sinks, thinking he might have said the wrong thing. But then Nick smiles, slow and warm, his hand brushing through Charlie’s curls. “Alright,” Nick murmurs, his voice thick with affection. “We’ll do that."
Charlie blinks at Nick, his cheeks flushing as he asks, “Just like that?”
Nick shrugs, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Sure? Why not?” he says casually. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he adds, “Should I not want to have your dick in me?”
Charlie immediately shakes his head, stumbling over his words. “No! I mean—no, it’s not that, it’s just… I’ve never, I’ve only ever bottomed, so I just… This is like a first, you know? A fresh start.”
Nick’s teasing demeanor softens as he leans closer, his hands resting gently on Charlie’s thighs. “Yeah? A fresh start,” he repeats, his voice warm and steady. “Well, then I want this fresh start to be exactly what you want it to be.”
Charlie swallows hard, his chest tight with emotion as Nick continues. “If that means you fucking me into oblivion, why on earth would I be complaining?” Nick’s grin is mischievous, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes Charlie’s heart stutter.
Charlie lets out a nervous laugh, his hand running through his curls. “You make it sound so easy.”
Nick tilts his head, brushing his thumb along Charlie’s jaw. “Because it is easy, Charlie. With you? It’s easy. I want to do this with you, and I want it to be good. For both of us.”
Nick leans in, pressing a tender kiss to Charlie’s forehead, then another to his cheek, the warmth of it making Charlie’s chest tighten in the best way. He can’t remember ever feeling this… liked before, maybe even loved.
Nick pulls back slightly, his voice soft but certain. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick, yeah? Take a quick shower if that’s okay.”
Charlie nods, still caught in the haze of Nick’s closeness.
Nick smiles, brushing his fingers along Charlie’s jaw. “While I do that, why don’t you get the room set up the way you want?”
Charlie blinks, tilting his head. “The way I want?”
Nick nods, his grin easy and comforting. “You know, candles, music, whatever makes you feel comfortable, okay?”
Charlie hesitates, his mind spinning with questions he can’t quite voice. “Why aren’t you… rushing this?”
Nick pauses for a moment, looking at Charlie with an expression so gentle it nearly undoes him. He shrugs lightly, his voice steady. “Why would I rush? I don’t just… I don’t sleep around, surprisingly enough.” He lets out a soft chuckle, then continues, “I mean, I feel like sex is meant to be meaningful, yeah? It’s not just about getting off; it’s about connecting, about making it good for the both of us.”
Charlie stares at him, something tight and heavy loosening in his chest. “That’s… not something I’m used to.”
Nick steps closer, cupping Charlie’s face. “Well, then get used to it, because I want this to be good for you, Charlie. For us.”
Charlie swallows hard, nodding, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll figure something out.”
Nick smiles back, brushing another kiss to Charlie’s forehead. “Good. Take your time, yeah? I’ll be right back.”
As Nick disappears into the bathroom, Charlie stands in the middle of his room, his heart pounding in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.
Charlie doesn't know where to start. He stands there in his room, his heart thudding against his ribs. Romantic? What does that even mean in this context? He's never had to set a scene, never been allowed to have this kind of intimacy on his own terms. So, he shrugs, feeling a little silly. He pulls off his crop top, leaving himself in just his underwear, and for a moment, he feels okay. Until his eyes land on his reflection in the mirror.
The scars. The faint white lines that crisscross his hips, his arms. A quiet reminder of a time when he didn’t think he’d make it this far. He stiffens, the self-consciousness sinking into his skin like a heavy weight.
Nick doesn’t know. He hasn’t told Nick. And now he doesn’t know if he can. Panic starts to creep in, and before he knows it, he’s grabbing a loose night top from his dresser and pulling it over his head. It’s oversized, soft, and safe. He sighs, his fingers tugging nervously at the hem.
Taking a breath, Charlie walks to the bathroom door, his bare feet barely making a sound on the floor. The soft spray of the shower fills the quiet, and he hesitates before knocking lightly. “Hey, Nick?”
There’s a pause, then a muffled, “Yeah?” from behind the door.
Charlie screws his eyes shut, his voice wavering. “I… I have scars. I thought you should know that.”
Silence. Just the sound of the shower water. Two seconds. Three seconds. And in those fleeting moments, Charlie’s chest tightens, panic clawing at his throat. He starts to turn away, his mind racing with ways to brush it off, to pretend he didn’t just admit something so vulnerable.
But then the door opens, and there’s Nick. Standing there, water dripping from his hair, a towel slung low around his waist, and soap suds trailing down his chest. His eyes are wide, not with judgment but something else entirely.
“Charlie,” Nick says, his voice firm but gentle, “I don’t care about that. Believe it or not, I have scars too. I think most people do.”
Charlie shakes his head, his arms crossing over his chest as if to shield himself. “No, not like… Not like that. These… I… I did them myself.”
Nick’s expression softens, his eyes glinting with something Charlie can’t quite place—understanding, maybe. He steps forward, pulling Charlie into the warm, steamy bathroom. His hands are on Charlie’s arms, grounding him, steadying him.
“Yeah?” Nick murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Well… When.... Something bad happened in college and I thought about doing the same thing. For a while, it felt like the only option. But, baby, listen to me. It’s okay. You’re okay. You don’t have to be ashamed of this, not with me.”
Charlie feels tears prick at his eyes, and he doesn’t know if it’s from relief, shame, or something in between. Nick’s grip is gentle but firm, and when Nick’s thumbs start to trace soft circles into Charlie’s arms, he lets himself exhale.
Charlie’s voice is small, almost hesitant as he whispers, “I don’t have to take my shirt off, right?”
Nick, still holding his arms, shakes his head gently, his wet hair sending droplets onto Charlie’s sleeve. “Not if you don’t want to,” Nick says, his voice warm and reassuring.
Charlie nods, feeling a little lighter but still nervous. He glances at the toilet, pointing to it awkwardly. “Can I just… sit here while you finish your shower? I don’t…” He pauses, fumbling with his words. “I don’t know how to make my bedroom romantic or whatever. I’d probably mess it up.”
Nick gives him a soft smile, his hands sliding down Charlie’s arms to hold his hands for a moment. “Yeah, of course, Char."
Nick pulls the shower curtain closed behind him, and the sound of water running fills the small bathroom. Charlie sits on the toilet lid, hands resting awkwardly on his lap, unsure of what to do with himself. It feels strangely normal, strangely light, and it hits him just how... domestic this moment is. It's not something he’s used to—this softness, this ease.
He listens to the rhythm of the water, the occasional sound of Nick humming under his breath as he showers. For once, Charlie doesn't feel rushed or panicked. He feels calm. He feels safe.
When the water shuts off, steam billows out as Nick pulls the curtain aside, his body framed in the haze. A towel is already wrapped around his waist, and droplets of water drip from his hair, running down his chest. His hair is a beautiful, soaked mess, sticking to his forehead, and his skin is still flushed from the heat of the shower.
Charlie can’t help but stare, a small smile tugging at his lips as Nick steps out and starts rubbing at his hair with another towel. It’s like something out of a dream—Nick standing there, so effortlessly himself, looking so… human and gorgeous all at once.
Nick looks up, catching Charlie’s gaze, and raises an eyebrow. "What?" he asks, a small, playful smile curving his lips.
Charlie doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands up, closing the distance between them in just a few steps. He reaches up, grabbing Nick gently by the neck and pulling him down into a kiss.
It’s instinctive, natural, like his body just knows what it wants. The kiss is soft at first, lips brushing, testing, before it deepens. Nick hums against Charlie’s mouth, his hands finding their way to Charlie’s hips, still damp from the shower.
Charlie feels Nick’s warmth, the scent of soap and steam clinging to him, and it’s intoxicating. It’s more than he thought it would be, more than he ever let himself hope for.
Nick reaches out, his fingers wrapping gently around Charlie’s hand. There’s something so simple, so grounding about the touch, and Charlie feels his breath hitch just slightly. Nick’s thumb brushes over his knuckles, a soft gesture that makes Charlie’s heart skip.
“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” Nick says, his voice low and warm, filled with a quiet tenderness that makes Charlie melt on the spot.
Charlie swallows, his cheeks heating up, and he nods without even thinking. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice soft but certain. “Let’s go to bed.”