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When Charlie gets nervous, he chews gum.
This is something Nick figured out a very long time ago. Back when they were still friends, when Nick was trying desperately to paste over his attraction to Charlie with a thick layer of Platonic Admiration.
It wasn't very hard to figure out. Even back then, it was clear that Charlie was chronically nervous. Always tense and jiggly, wound up so tight that some days he reminded Nick of those little plastic chattering teeth with the eyeballs on top, the ones you get in souvenir shops.
It was easy to put two and two together. When Charlie seemed out-of-sorts, he usually smelled like some iteration of mint. Spearmint or peppermint or bubblemint. There's always a pack of gum in Charlie's pocket, and another one in the front section of his bag. Sometimes a few sticks floating around in his pencil case, too.
When gum isn't within easy reach, Charlie's solution is to bite the inside of his cheek.
Nick doesn't like this very much. He supposes it's not quite as harmful as other things Charlie could be doing to self-soothe, especially knowing Charlie's history. But it still hurts Nick's heart, a little, whenever he sees Charlie with a fretful expression, jaw clenched but moving ever-so-slightly; grinding, knowing that Charlie's probably wearing the flesh to shreds. Nick's felt the aftermath, only once, during a very intense makeout session. He'd felt the flayed, swollen weals of scar tissue with his tongue, trailing like a roadmap along the inside of Charlie's mouth. He’d found himself wondering, rather grimly, if the uneven texture counted as self harm when Charlie probably didn’t even realise he was doing it.
Nick’s still not sure of the answer.
He just knows he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the cheek thing.
It makes him feel like maybe Charlie is just, like… hard-wired to hurt himself, like the habit is so ingrained that it’s automatic; a reflex. It’s a thought that’s far too excruciating; his empathy for Charlie is far too great.
On a good day, though, Nick will admit that there is one positive in Charlie’s habit.
It’s like a little signal. Like an error message on a computer. Charlie’s own personal dialogue box.
[Error: Nervous.]
Nick sees the tiny shifting of Charlie’s jaw, and he knows.
He knows right away.
Charlie’s in freefall.
Charlie needs help.
Recently Nick’s been trying to pick up on patterns. Because the cheek thing…it’s been happening a lot.
It’s been happening a lot in one particular situation .
And Nick has been desperately trying to figure it out.
He’s tried to ask Charlie about it, outright. But Charlie clams up, every time; it’s fine, honestly Nick, I promise I’m okay.
But Nick knows that isn’t true.
The first time, it had been subtle. Blink and you’d miss it. Nick pretty much had missed it, actually, only taking note several weeks later, when he’d started trying to join the dots.
It had been right after the very first time Charlie had ever, like… touched him.
It had all happened so effortlessly it had hardly felt like a first time at all. Nick had always been told that first times were…kind of awful? Clunky and awkward. A bit gross, even.
This had been exactly none of those things.
They’d been curled up together in Nick’s bed, both in equal but mismatched states of undress; Charlie in just his pants with one of Nick’s T-shirts on top, and Nick shirtless. They’d been alternating between kissing and watching YouTube commentary videos and listening to the rhythmic patter of rain against the windows, soaking up every single moment they had together.
Jane and Julio Spring had only just lifted the “no sleepovers” rule, deciding that Charlie and Nick were “Mature and Responsible Enough”, whatever that meant. A fat lot of nothing, according to Nick, because lying there with Charlie’s bare legs latched around him and Charlie’s lips against his own made Nick think some very immature and irresponsible thoughts.
But who was he to argue with Jane and Julio Spring?
He’d spent a long stretch of time running his fingers through Charlie’s hair, enjoying the satisfied, melted ‘mm’ it kept pulling from Charlie’s throat. He’d found a particular spot on the back of Charlie’s neck that had made a little shudder erupt, and another one along Charlie’s collarbone. He’d kissed Charlie’s neck, Charlie’s jaw, and his hands had found Charlie’s hips, and then suddenly Charlie had tilted his head back, just a fraction, and whispered against Nick’s lips: “Would…would you let me touch you?”
And Nick had said yes.
And it hadn’t been clunky or awkward or gross, not even for a moment. Nick’s skin had felt like stars and television static, and Charlie had wrapped his hand around him just right , and Nick had made some extremely embarrassing noises and Charlie had shyly told him that they were actually extremely hot.
Nick had kept his eyes squeezed shut for most of it, half afraid that the sight of Charlie’s awestruck expression and sparkling-dark eyes might completely do him in. He’d scrunched his eyes so tight he’d seen weird shapes gathering behind his closed lids; squiggles and dots and ripples of thunder.
They’d burned brightest when he came.
Phosphenes, those are called.
Charlie told him.
Nerd.
Right afterwards, in Nick’s completely boneless, brain-dead state, he’d almost forgotten to return the favour. He’d felt like a dickhead for just lying there like a great useless lump while Charlie had gently cleaned the mess off his stomach, immediately a rush of “Wait, oh my god, you haven’t–I mean, c-can I do you now? Is that, um…do you want–?”
And Charlie had bitten the inside of his cheek.
Nick’s sure of it. He’d seen the way his lips had pulled in, the way his jaw had set.
“Um…I’m actually not sure if I’m really…ready for that?”
Nick’s heart had just about plummeted into his gastrointestinal tract.
“I…oh my god, were you not…did you not want to do that? Shit, Charlie, I’m so sorry, I should have checked in more–”
“Nick, it was my idea!”
“But you’re allowed to change your mind! And if you changed your mind and–and I made you just keep going–?”
Charlie had grasped Nick’s hands in his own, fervid eyes locked onto Nick’s face. His voice had been patient and calm and heartbreakingly gentle.
“That’s not what happened. Nick, I was ready to do that. I wanted to do that. I–Nick, that was actually, um. Incredible? Best decision I’ve ever made. Honestly.”
The relief had hit Nick like an anvil.
Fuck, oh my god, thank fucking god.
Nick doesn’t think he could ever live with himself if he was ever anything like Ben.
“Nick. I was ready for this bit. But just this? If that’s okay? Like, for now?”
Of course it was okay.
Of course it was.
Charlie wasn’t ready yet, and that was completely, 100% okay.
When the same situation had played out, in almost an identical way, Nick had almost missed the cheek thing again.
Charlie had offered to jerk Nick off. Nick had gotten completely flustered and repeatedly asked if Charlie was sure. Charlie was sure. Charlie had touched Nick. Nick had offered to reciprocate. Charlie still hadn’t been ready.
Charlie had bitten the inside of his cheek.
And…there’s nothing wrong with that, but…
The thing is...Nick and Charlie had started getting physical over a month ago.
43 days, actually.
Nick's like. Not counting or anything. It feels childish to count. But within that 43 days Nick has been on the receiving end of six (6) handjobs and two (2) blowjobs.
All of which have been initiated by Charlie, and have been complete and utter perfection. All of which have Nick's vision swimming with glowing phosphenes, eyes screwed shut. Weird shapes, floaters, shimmering in and out of the dark-red void behind his lids.
Charlie has been on the receiving end of zero (0).
The only thing Charlie has received is, almost definitely, a thickened ridge of white scar along the inside of his cheek.
Nick knows that by dwelling on this, he comes across as an absolute prat.
It's not that he's trying to...to pressure Charlie or anything. That's not it. If Charlie genuinely wasn't ready, if Charlie wasn't ever ready for Nick to reciprocate...honestly, even if Charlie wasn't interested in doing anything sexy with Nick at all , that wouldn't be a deal-breaker.
Like, Nick likes orgasms, obviously.
But Nick loves Charlie Spring.
There’s absolutely no contest.
It's not a matter of Nick wanting to hurry things along. It's that, well. That Charlie's reasons for saying no keep changing. And Nick just...isn't convinced he's telling the full truth. Charlie's teeth clench around his cheek, and Nick becomes more and more convinced that not a single one of Charlie's reasons is the real one.
"I'm...still not quite ready, sorry."
"I just wanted this to be about you. Just wanted to treat you."
"I don't want you to feel like…just because one of us has gotten off, that the other one has to as well? Just, um…I dunno. Seems weirdly…heteronormative? That it only counts if you, like…finish? I don’t think sex should be like that, y’know?”
Nick isn’t in disagreement with any of this.
He just…
He doesn’t believe it.
He sees Charlie bite, and he doesn’t believe it.
Something remains unsaid.
Nick drives himself crazy trying to figure out what it might be. He spends hours trying to solve Charlie like a riddle, turns over possibility after possibility in his head. He lies awake at night and finds himself zoning out in class. He writes lists, in his journal and in the notes app on his phone. His browser history is full of unanswered questions and trawls through r/relationships.
The first possible answer is the one most easily dismissed.
This is that Charlie might be asexual.
Nick’s talked to Issac a bit about it. He’d been pretty clueless about most things LGBT, before Charlie, and he’d been determined that upon coming to understand his own sexuality, that he also needed to understand others. He wanted to learn, to absorb every little bit of insight anyone was willing to afford him. He wanted to know about his own community. And, more importantly than that, about the people most important to Charlie.
“It’s not about just not getting off,” Issac had said, so frankly that Nick had found himself immediately blushing. “Well, I s’pose it is for some people. But it doesn’t necessarily mean that an ace person would never have a wank, or even a shag. It just means they don’t experience a sexual attraction towards people. And aromantic sort of works that same kind of way. It doesn’t mean you’re some sort of…emotionless robot, and I think that’s what a lot of people assume.”
Charlie’s definitely not aromantic. Obviously.
But he could be asexual, Nick supposes.
Except he’s not.
Nick just… knows.
He’s seen it; felt it in Charlie’s wide-eyed, longing gazes, his flushed cheeks and trembling fingers. Even all the way back when they hardly knew each other. There was always something, some distant echo of want in the way Charlie looked at Nick.
Although it often feels completely undeserved, Charlie is attracted to Nick. He’s attracted to Nick in that way. Nick is sure.
Option Number Two is one that kind of makes Nick’s skin crawl and his stomach tie itself in fucking knots.
Charlie is sex repulsed. Because of Ben.
Perhaps because of the kiss in the music block. Or perhaps from all the horrible things Ben used to tell Charlie, about how he’s gross and pitiful and nobody would ever be attracted to him.
Or perhaps something else.
Some other thing, something that Charlie’s never even told Nick about. Some secret shadow in Charlie’s past with a name so horrific that Charlie doesn’t even want to say it out loud.
The first time Nick had considered this as a possibility, he’d almost thrown up. He’d tried to push the thought back, to tamp it down, but that’d just made it stick, adhere itself to the forefront of Nick’s mind, gluey and viscous, stubborn as black mold. It’d become one of the worst intrusive thoughts Nick had ever experienced, and it’d taken days for it to completely dissipate.
But it had dissipated. Eventually.
Back on that day in the music block, Nick had remembered looking at Charlie’s terrified, teary face and had been positive that there was no way he’d ever want to talk about it. About what had happened.
Nick had been wrong.
Charlie had opened up almost immediately. Like he’d been desperate to tell someone, to get it all off his chest. A long string of messages, 17 of them altogether, running Nick through every last little detail.
And now…
Now they were a hell of a lot closer than they were when Charlie was fourteen.
Charlie would tell Nick. He’d tell Nick if something else had happened. If something about sex was giving him the ick, he’d talk about it.
Which leads Nick to the most gut-wrenching possibility of all.
That it’s Nick.
That Nick is the ick.
That Charlie is interested in sex, he’s very interested in sex.
He just doesn’t want to have sex with Nick.
Maybe it’s because Nick’s inexperienced. Maybe too…blokey? Maybe Charlie had been lying and Nick’s noises had in fact been extremely embarrassing and had completely turned him off the whole ordeal?
Maybe the problem is him.
Nick has no real way of knowing for sure. But he is going to find out, whether Charlie likes it or not.
Nick chooses his timing carefully. He knows that Charlie will do just about anything to get out of having an uncomfortable conversation. Honestly, Nick sort of knows the feeling. He’s a little afraid of what might result of talking about this; a little afraid of what he might come to find out.
It happens at Nick’s place. Nick’s mum has gone to one of those canvas and Cabernet nights with an old friend from university, meaning she’ll probably get tipsy and be gone for hours, so they have the place to themselves for a while.
Charlie does not taste like peppermint gum, which pacifies Nick’s barely-restrained terror, just a bit. Charlie tastes like a warm sky and sparkling water; like heat and sizzling chemistry, and Charlie is Not Nervous.
Not gum-nervous. Not today.
That’s good.
Nick’s arms are wound around Charlie’s midsection, fists bunched in the fabric of Charlie’s T-shirt, breathing through his nose as Charlie kisses the life out of him. Charlie’s lapping his way into Nick’s mouth, and when he drags his hands down Nick’s bare chest, Nick reckons he could die happy just from this. Charlie pulls away for the briefest moment to sigh against Nick’s lips, then immediately drags him back in for another kiss, and it’s perfect, it’s all fucking perfect.
Does Nick really need to spoil the moment, this absolutely gorgeous moment, by asking a stupid horrible question in order to receive a stupid horrible answer?
Does he really have to?
Nick breaks the kiss, pulling back a bit to look Charlie properly in the eye. “Hey,” he whispers, and Charlie tries to chase down Nick’s mouth with his own, leaning into him until Nick breathes a laugh and gently places two fingers against Charlie’s lips, forming a little barricade to stop Charlie from distracting his mouth from what it needs to say.
Nick’s heart suddenly jumps; his skin prickles, and he finds himself swallowing, his throat constricting uncomfortably around nothing at all.
“I, um. I wanna…Can I touch you tonight? Please?”
Nick feels it before he sees it.
Charlie’s posture grows rigid, an odd stiffness creeping into his joints. His shoulders tighten.
Nick’s fingers are pressed against Charlie’s lips, and he feels the subtle shift of his jaw as his teeth part, then clamp down.
Hard.
Shit.
Nick fights the urge to frantically backtrack.
“I just…we’ve been–we’ve been…doing… stuff …for over a month now, and it’s…I mean, I’ve loved it. All of it, but…I feel…kind of bad? I feel bad that I’ve…that I’ve still never–”
"You don't have to--" Charlie says quickly.
"It's...Char I want to. I...I really really want to, okay? And… I understand that maybe...maybe you're not ready, and that's completely okay , I swear to you it is. I don't ever want you to think that I'm gonna be that absolute pillock that tries to pressure you. But...I just…"
Nick's vehement tone of voice trails off into something hesitant, unsure.
How the fuck are you meant to tell your boyfriend that you think he's lying about not being ready, that he's actually hiding something, without sounding like an absolute pillock?
"I just...I was wondering if maybe there was anything else on your mind? Maybe something else that's...that's bothering you, and if maybe there's some way I can help?"
Charlie swallows.
His jaw stays locked, lips pressed thin. His eyes look glassy, encased in a lens of liquid panic.
"I'm...Nick, I'm honestly fine ," he tries, weakly.
"Char," says Nick; just that, nothing else. His voice is shaky with dread, and he can't get out even one more syllable.
Nick is stunned that that's all it takes.
Just Char , and Charlie's stubborn resolve abruptly crumbles. His eyes brim with sudden tears, his jaw relaxes, and he drops his head heavily against Nick's shoulder. He's trembling a little, and his arms hang awkwardly at his sides, as though he's too afraid to put them anywhere else. Nick lets him flop against him like a rag doll, bringing up both arms to support Charlie's back, sinking his fingers into his hair.
"Hey," whispers Nick. "Hey, it's okay."
His heart pounds, and this doesn't feel very okay. It doesn't feel very okay at all.
It's going to be Possibility B. Or Possibility C. One of the horrible ones, one of the worse ones.
He feels sick.
Charlie takes in a tremulous breath, then lets it out. The exhale is warm against Nick's neck, unnaturally slow and measured. Charlie must be counting the seconds in his head, trying one of the breathing exercises he’s gotten from Geoff.
"Um...there is," he admits, his voice small. "There is something else."
Nick waits with bated breath.
"I...you're going to be grossed out."
"I won't," Nick croaks, the suspense just about suffocating him, crushing every swallow of air from his lungs. "I won't, I promise. Just...just tell me. Tell me what's going on, Char."
Charlie is silent for a very long time.
"Charlie...whatever it is, you know you can tell me. You can trust me, I--"
Nick doesn't like the frantic increase in pitch in his voice, the way it wobbles threateningly with a potential onslaught of tears. He leans back, trying to catch Charlie's gaze, only to find…
Confusion?
Charlie is staring at him with an utterly perplexed expression, his cheeks pink.
"I...Nick, that was it."
Nick's brain stalls like a car engine; coughs and then dies.
Huh?
"I'm...I'm worried that you're going to be grossed out," Charlie repeats, slowly.
Nick stares at him blankly, trying to process this.
Charlie…
Charlie thinks he's an ick?
At top speed, Nick shuffles through memories like a deck of cards, trying to find anything to support this concept. Has Nick done or said anything to make Charlie feel this way? Is it because of his history with Ben? Is it his eating disorder, his body dysmorphia rearing its ugly head? Charlie'd had that dream a while back, the one when he'd gotten his kit off and Nick had called him disgusting. Was it that?
Charlie appears to misinterpret Nick's silence; his cheeks darken, and he moves to sit up, to create distance between the two of them. He drops his head, his curls hiding his face.
"I know it's...it's such a problematic thing for me to say. I'm so sorry."
Charlie's voice is thick with tears.
And...okay, now Nick is really lost.
Problematic?
Charlie is the last person on the planet that Nick would ever call problematic.
"Um...sorry, what do you mean by that?" Nick asks, gently. Almost a little timid.
Charlie covers his face with both hands. His shoulders are shaking.
"It's biphobic," he chokes out.
Nick bursts out laughing.
He immediately feels terrible , because Charlie is obviously very distressed. But he can ' t help it. Not only is Nick still completely bewildered, it's the most insane thing Charlie's ever said in his life.
Biphobic?
Charlie Spring?
"Sorry--" Nick manages, trying to swallow back his laughter when Charlie shoots him a sullen look from under his wet eyelashes. "Sorry, I-- Biphobic?"
"It's…" Charlie sniffles, then rubs his palms across his face, smearing tears across his temples. "It's... god , I'm--"
"Char...I. I am... trying to understand. I'm sorry. You just...you took me by surprise, is all. And I'm just…I'm really confused."
He takes one of Charlie's hands to squeeze, and Charlie lets him. His other arm hangs limply, like he’s so wilted with self-reproach that it’s shrivelled up and died.
"I suppose…" he mumbles. "I suppose it's a bit from Ben. Things he used to say. And maybe a bit because of my...whole brain. You know. 'Not worthy', 'pathetic'...all that. But...but it's also…"
Charlie takes another deep breath.
His face is so red he looks fit to explode.
"You know how you were sort of Tara's lesbian awakening? Well. Well what if...what if I'm your straight awakening? If you can realise you're gay or...or bi from kissing someone, then why not the other way round? What if...what if when you... do something, to me…what if you're so disgusted that you realise you're not actually bi at all? "
Nick sits quietly, taking this in. Trying to acknowledge Charlie's fear, Charlie's dizzying train of thought.
It's a train that's well and truly hurtled off the track, screeching off into the distance.
"And...and I know that's--that completely dismisses your whole identity. It sounds like. Like I think you're faking being bisexual. Like...like I somehow know better than you do about who you are as a person, and that's awful! That's totally awful of me. It makes me feel like I'm being--"
"Wait, hang on."
In Nick's head, he's collecting plot holes. There's a lot of them, a million little reasons he could give to convince Charlie that he’s wrong.
But one of them stands out as the most obvious.
“If,” says Nick slowly, carefully, trying to reason with Charlie without coming across as condescending. “If that were true…well, we’ve already… done stuff. If that were true, wouldn’t I have already figured it out by now?”
Charlie goes back to hiding his face in his hands. When he speaks his voice is small and humiliated and muffled by his palms.
“Well…well, no , because. Because this way…this way you can…”
“...I can…?”
“This way you could close your eyes and pretend I’m a girl.”
And just like that, everything clicks into place.
Charlie still looks, and sounds, completely mortified by his own admission. He’s sinking into himself, face still buried under tears and hands and unruly curls, and although he can’t see it, Nick just knows that the inside of his cheek is red-raw and bleeding.
“Charlie…is that what you think I’ve been doing?”
Nick tries to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice, but it kind of slips out anyway. Charlie just shakes his head, ashamed and upset, mute with fear that maybe Nick’s about to confirm that that’s exactly what he’s been doing.
Nick doesn’t want to say this. He can already feel his cheeks on fire, primed and ready.
But he can’t have Charlie in such a state of distress for one moment longer.
“Charlie. Charlie, the reason I’ve been closing my eyes is because I’m scared that if I look at you, I’ll… finish. Like, immediately. And embarrass the absolute crap out of myself.”
Charlie is still.
Nick doesn’t dare breathe.
Gradually, Charlie’s fingers part, and he peeks at Nick through the gaps. It’s so cute Nick nearly dies on the spot.
“You… what?”
“Don’t make me say it again,” Nick pleads, the flutter of a helpless laugh in his chest.
“You…why didn’t you say?”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Charlie, you look so fucking hot when you’re getting me off that I literally can’t even look at you or I’ll only last thirteen seconds’? ”
“Oh my god, shut up–”
“‘Hey, Charlie - did you know I have a perfectly normal and not-at-all-embarrassing kink? It’s eye contact. Specifically with you.’”
“I said, shut up–”
“‘Charlie, are you aware that–”
“Stop–” Charlie squeaks, giggles bubbling through, and then he’s launching himself into Nick’s arms, his cheek pressed against Nick’s neck so he can feel the heat of his blush. Nick laughs too, catching him, arms snaking around his back to hold him close.
And then they’re kissing again. It’s like they’d never stopped. Like all the discomfort and bottled-up trepidation has been poured away and it’s just them again, just Nick and Charlie.
Nick feels like a weight has been lifted, and he hopes Charlie feels the same. He’s already made up his mind not to ask any more Big Questions, not tonight. They’ve solved the mystery, cleared the air, and Nick is warm down to his bones. He’s in love and he’s being kissed and he’s surrounded by dark curls and soft skin and that is more than enough.
And then Charlie, mouth pressed into Nick’s neck, just below his ear, mumbles:
“You have to promise that you’ll say. If you’re grossed out.”
Nick freezes.
“...If I’m grossed out?”
“If you’re grossed out,” Charlie repeats firmly. “I don’t want you to be…afraid of hurting my feelings. I don’t want you to be doing something if you’ve decided you hate it.”
Nick’s breath catches.
He feels light and giddy, and he fights the urge to close his eyes against the sudden wave of nervous anticipation that sweeps through him.
“Am I…going to be doing something, then?”
Charlie replies by taking Nick by the wrist, and wordlessly guiding his hand down to rest against the fabric of his boxer briefs.
“If…if you want,” he whispers.
“Do you want to?”
And, for the first time, Charlie says:
“Yeah.”
Nick feels his soul detonate and leave his body in little fragments of shrapnel. He wants to scream, to squirm right out of his skin, and weirdly enough he almost wants to cry again. He’s overwhelmed, completely overwhelmed with the fact that he is privileged to have Charlie’s trust, right here in this moment.
It’s the most priceless thing he’s ever been given.
“You need to say, too,” Nick tells him. “If you, um. Don’t like anything? Or if you decide you want to stop. You need to tell me. Please.”
Charlie nods on a shaky exhale.
And then Nick is moving his hand.
He’s only touching him through his underwear, but it’s enough to produce a quiet gasp from Charlie, and he runs his hands down Nick’s free arm and grabs his hand, holding tight. Nick continues to palm him, wrapping fingers around him carefully, experimenting a little with pressure, and Charlie shivers. His lips find Charlie’s neck, the flushed whorl of his ear, and he plays a bit with pressure there, too, tongue and teeth and gentle suction, and Charlie makes this noise .
There’s no way Nick’s noises sound that fucking good.
Not a chance.
Charlie tilts his head back, and for a moment Nick thinks it’s to give him better access to his neck, but then realises it’s because he’s trying to say something.
Trying being the key word.
His lips part and close uselessly, and nothing comes out but empty air. Then another strangled gasp.
And oh shit, Nick’s still moving his hand.
Whoops.
He pulls away.
“Sorry,” he breathes. “You alright?”
Charlie giggles softly.
“Yeah, I’m…really good. Um. Obviously.”
His eyes dart down for a moment, and then back up to meet Nick’s, and Nick finds himself giggling, too. “Obviously,” Nick echoes, unable to wipe the grin from his face.
“You, um. Can go further than that, though. If you’d like to.”
Nick really would like to.
Obviously.
It’s an awkward dance getting Charlie out of his underwear. They get caught around his knees, and then again at his ankles, and they both laugh the whole time as Nick tries to rid him of them. While Nick’s pushing them off and under the folds of the duvet, Charlie shyly strips off his shirt, which isn’t new exactly, but still a big deal because Charlie usually prefers to keep it on. He’s hiding under the covers, and Nick only notices it’s gone from a glimpse of bare shoulder; the continuation of long, sharp collarbone and the lovely angle it makes paired with Charlie’s neck. A soft “oh” escapes him, sounding just as awed as he feels, and Charlie meets his eyes and slowly, deliberately, peels the covers back.
And Charlie Spring is completely naked in front of Nick for the first time.
The “oh” Nick makes the second time isn’t so much awed as it is completely delirious.
God.
God, he’s beautiful.
He runs his hands slowly up Charlie’s thighs, and he’s able to see, for the first time, just how far Charlie’s blush actually spreads.
“Holy shit,” Nick croaks, unable to say very much else. “Holy shit, Charlie, oh my god.”
Charlie has gone back to hiding his eyes with his hands.
“Nick,” he whimpers. “Do something. Please.”
Nick’s not sure if Charlie’s voice is thready from arousal or embarrassment or nerves, but he does as requested, wrapping a hand around Charlie and stroking him, and it’s a million times better now that he can actually see what he’s doing. Charlie is smooth and hot and hard , a bit wet at the tip, and Nick hardly even blinks, not wanting to miss a single second of this. They introduce lube after a little while, and Charlie’s reactions to Nick’s touch go from amazing to absolutely magnificent ; he grips the duvet and moans quietly, and at one point when Nick adjusts his grip, his toes actually curl into the discarded duvet. Nick uses his free hand to run fingers through his hair, to caress his shoulders and neck and chest, to stroke along his inner thighs, learning all the places that give the best reactions, committing each one to memory. He talks to Charlie the entire time, telling him how pretty he is, how much Nick completely adores him. He’s not sure if any of it actually makes sense, or if Charlie is simply reacting to the sound of Nick’s voice.
But Nick is certain that Charlie is not afraid that Nick is finding this gross.
Right at the end, Charlie’s eyes squeeze closed. His mouth drops open as a violent tremor runs through his body like an electric current, and he comes across his stomach with a weak cry of Nick’s name.
And it’s over.
Fuck.
Nick has just given his first orgasm.
Nick has just made Charlie come.
He did that.
He cleans Charlie up, gently, giving him a pointed look when Charlie tells him that he doesn’t have to, that he can handle it himself. It’s the most loving shut up look Nick can muster, and judging by Charlie’s bashful smile, he’s pretty sure he gets it.
Finally, Nick gathers Charlie into his arms, his head resting against Nick’s shoulder. Nick yanks the duvet up over Charlie’s bare shoulder when he notices the goosebumps forming, and Charlie snuggles under it happily.
“So,” Nick murmurs, mouth pressed into Charlie’s hair. “Couldn’t help but notice something there.”
“Hm?”
“You closed your eyes, Charlie Spring. So I’m assuming that I was your straight awakening, then?”
Charlie cracks up.
“Oh my god, shut up! I was genuinely really freaked out!”
“You haven’t answered the question, Charlie–”
“Yep, guess so. Sorry, Nicholas. We’ll always have Paris.”
“You bloody cheeky–”
Nick rolls them both until he’s sitting on Charlie, who’s in hysterics now, eyes bright and with all his teeth showing.
His jaw is relaxed, and he still smells like a warm sky. Not at all like peppermint gum.
The giggles dissolve slowly, and then they’re just left looking at each other, simply soaking up the enormity of what’s just happened.
“Hey,” says Nick softly. “What are those things called again? When you see weird shapes behind your eyes.”
“Phosphenes,” Charlie replies. His gaze is gentle, his voice a little throaty.
“Yeah. Those. Little stars and galaxies and things.”
He runs his fingers through Charlie's hair.
“Sometimes I see those when my eyes are open. When I look at you.”
Charlie’s breath stutters.
“Oh my god, I love you so much it’s actually ridiculous,” he chokes out, pulling Nick down for a kiss. His hands slip into Nick’s hair, then down his neck and across his chest, and they kiss until they run out of air.
By the time they break apart, Charlie’s hands have settled against Nick’s hips.
His thumbs press into Nick’s hipbones, and he gives Nick a familiar look, eyes dark and lips parted.
“D’you wanna see some more?”
Nick’s already seeing them before he’s had a chance to answer.