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There were a lot of things Charlie thanked the gods that his family didn’t know about him in the runup to his entire existence flashing before his eyes right now. They knew about the anxiety, the suicide attempts, the eating disorder. That was general ‘oh, this is Charlie, our second eldest’ facts that were obvious.
However, deep underneath the skin, Charlie was a lot more explorative and librated than the outside of him portrayed. Sure, it was sprinkled with a neurotic mess on top of it, but ever since he was about 12, Charlie knew he liked things that other boys didn’t. Painful things.
They assumed that some of the lines marring his thighs and arms were just continuing everpresent self-harm lines from already established cycles, his Dad’s belts going missing becoming less and less obvious till it wasn’t even thought of. Then there were the rope burns from “bullying” in HPE. The numerous tabs on his laptop that somehow disappeared when someone walked in. The biting into of an apple 5 seconds too long adjacent to him not being able to eat properly.
It was honestly quite disturbing just how much he could get away with in front of them, given the box buried under his Converse collection could get him grounded well into his 30s.
There was also that book he kept. A side operation he’d set up in his own time when he’d been admitted to Truham that not even Elle or Tao knew about. All he’d ever say about it was that it was just therapy appointments - if therapy was Hozier’s version of it and the office was a small gap in the wall of the boy’s bathroom in the Art block, £20 being the fee. Somehow, none of the rolling door of “patients” that texted him knew his voice or the felt of his hands or lips, so that helped bring the level down to something manageable. If only people really knew how many boys at Truham were actually “straight”.
The only person that knew about this, most of the surface level stuff at least, was…had been, Ben. They had been “dating” for 5 months, surely it was okay to tell him about that part of him? Looking back at it now, it hadn’t but he was young and while he wasn’t stupid, he’d been naive when it came to the boy in question, his claws turning him into a puppet long before Nick cut his strings.
Christ, Nick. Charlie had spent a lot of time atoning for that particular interest before it became more complicated and more real than he’d ever imagined it being. No person, like himself, in their right mind, had the gall to go after a boy like Nick Nelson.
Charlie, however, pardon the whole rugby lingo, took a punt and somehow, scored. Not only was Nick Nelson his best friend, but he was also considerate, sweet and completely unknowing of Charlie’s frankly obscene sexual tastes and bedroom confidence that totally did not fit the being that was Charlie fucking Spring.
Lucky for him, Nick was also another thing. A regular, run-of-the-mill, 16-year-old boy. It wasn’t like they /hadn’t/ done anything. A few touches here, a hand going somewhere it shouldn’t there. He knew he was 15 still and while no 15-year-old had any business doing anything remotely sexual, past and present actions included, he couldn’t care less.
He wanted this. He wanted Nick and deep down, he wanted so much more. He just …didn’t know how to articulate /exactly/ what he wanted from him yet.
Which is why when he had originally had come over to his now boyfriend’s house (something that made his mind sing) just to hang out and keep him company while his Mum was on a business trip, he hadn’t expected to end up facing off against Nick in a Mario Kart so heated that Nick and he managed to get into a wrestling match afterwards thanks to Nick attempting to tackle him for his controller, Charlie’s arms pulled behind his head while Nick straddled him from behind, victorious.
Well, he might have been victorious. Originally. If Charlie hadn’t let out one of the loudest moans he’d ever released and frozen them into their current state of just…existing.
Charlie’s sweating, more than normal when he’s initially starting to pleasure himself on his own time in secret or worse, going into a anxiety-riddled breakdown, the pull on his arms and shoulders familiar and sending constant sparks down his back, making him shake. He’s also mortified that his semi-hard-on, hidden by his jeans buried in the plush static of Nick’s bedroom carpet, is even a thing as they just stay there in that position for what feels like forever till Nick lets him go and he flops, rolling onto his back, flushed red and attempting to put some oxygen back in his lungs as he tries to unscramble his mind to a working state.
Nick’s staring down at him and good grief, those brown eyes are burning their way through his skin and into his organs as he lies there. It’s only when he shuffles his feet underneath to push himself back up to standing, a thousand apologies on his tongue at the ready, that Nick’s knees suddenly falter and crash into his torso, pinning him again, hands pushing his shoulders back to the ground and leaving him effectively trapped.
He /cannot/ be awake right now. This must be a dream. He’s most likely napping on Nick’s couch or in the bed or something because this is just almost too perfect. He can feel the redness staining his face and neck becoming deeper as Nick just sits out of reach of his hands or anything useful, his ability to breathe silent before Nick whispers-
“Charlie?”
“Yes.” There is no other answer. None. Nil. Just yes. Always yes.
He waits, heart beating through his skin like a drum before so many unreadable expressions pass on Nick’s face before he moves down and he’s arching up like he’s being electrocuted, their lips and even teeth smashing together. It causes a little bit of blood to appear on Charlie’s lips, but it’s gone before he has time to think about it properly.
Nick’s got his arms pinned above his head again and his face buried in his neck, but he’s not kissing it. No, Nick seemingly has gotten wind of what Charlie wants, what Charlie /needs/, because the broken moans that leave him as those perfect, usually mouthguarded teeth, sink deep into the skin there, sound foreign even to his own ears as they rock against the carpet that Charlie’s slowly becoming a part of.
He’s never raised his hips so high off of a surface willingly, only to be slammed back down without much care and instead of letting Nick lose the momentum and get too invested in the tears streaming down his face from the sheer feeling of all of that, thinking he’s done something wrong when what he’s doing is absolutely right, he begs. “Break me like a glowstick, Nelson.”
If it was talking to Nick outside of his house, he most likely would have been aghast, thinking Charlie had lost his mind and convince him otherwise, but Nick’s eyes have never been so dark as he breathes like he’s just played a match before he speaks, voice strangled. “Fuck yes.”
Charlie almost cums right then and there as Nick manhandles him, almost picking him up caveman style only to throw him on the bed and climb back on top of him, but he doesn’t get the chance to as Nick is pulling all his limbs every way to Sunday and there’s a flash of colour fluttering across his eyes before he’s too busy trying to rectify everything with his current brain activity to realise what he’s doing.
His hands are tied.
He tries to lift his head to see, but Nick’s rather blunt nails are suddenly buried in his scalp as he’s pressed hard back down into the mattress, making him wither in overwhelming pleasure, the tears returning back again as he realises the blonde is pawing at his pants, hand sat his waist just waiting for permission, which gives with another moan.
The cold air hit him harsher than he thought it would and it covered him in goosebumps, making him twist till he’s on his back again and staring at the ceiling, the pressure on his hips from being held down flowing through to his insides, the feeling becoming tighter inside his gut from most likely anticipation as he felt Nick’s hands clutching the tops of his thighs.
He could hear the other muttering under his breath, words and quiet strings of what could only be a debate with himself about what to say or do next which is just so typically Nick Nelson and while it would have been kind earlier, it made normally pleasant Charlie irate and catty as the time stretched on without anything. His dick must be purple right now with all of his and while Nick being soft is one of his best qualities, this is not the time for it.
“Nicholas Luke Nelson, if you don’t finish what you started right now-” Charlie puts on a voice that he has no doubt Nick has never heard come out of him, authoritative and snarky and he can feel Nick’s hands digging into the skin, burning making him hiss though his teeth before he continued on, unwilling to surrender. “-I’ll make sure you regret being born.”
In all honestly, Charlie would regret Nick Nelson not being born more than Nick himself, but that’s not the conversation for now as finally, /finally/, goes into action and Charlie’s legs are suddenly over his shoulders and his arse in the air as he goes to town on his lower half, Nick seemingly treating him like a girl given how fast he seemed to find and stick it in.
Charlie, having shed the anxious, pensive young boy skin he’d been wearing earlier, just lets his eyes roll into the back of his head and the world falls out of place around him as he voices his approval as Nick is making good on his wish from earlier, his throat, chest, spine, everything - it’s alight and rocking in time, making him let out a slew of half-screamed swear words and random jargon at the sensations running through him.
He’s so glad Sarah scurried off today, as much as he loves her deep down. He’s not sure his entire being would survive her walking in on her normally gentle son ruining him completely.
Speaking of which, he doesn’t know when or how Nick does it, but just as he can’t take it anymore, there’s a sudden snap and not only does his body feel like it’s jelly, but he finally shoots and the resulting stream from his body is so fast that it hits Nick’s chin somehow, sending it dripping all over them and adding to the already complicated mess.
It’s seemingly enough to knock Nick back to his senses as well as he falls forward, a wet slap following as he collapses on top of Charlie, breathless like he is, but Charlie’s really too wrecked to care about Nick’s body crushing his again like last time. Instead, he just lies there limply as Nick slides off after a while, cramped up next to him in that single bed and meeting each other’s eyes, unable to say anything. Nick’s are filled to the brim with self-loathing and worry and - “Christ, Nick, you are the loudest fucking thinker.”
Nick seemingly swallows at this fact, but he obviously sees that Charlie’s not dead, freaking out or has any malice towards him whatsoever because he follows it up with “Fuck.”
“Fuck indeed.” Charlie agrees, a tug reminding him of his bonds again and making him look up to see his hands covered in a familiar pattern. “Is this one of our school ties?”
“Oh…yeah…hold on.” Nick answers Charlie’s follow-up question by design and loosens the striped material, Charlie’s marked hands sliding easily down to suddenly wrap around him to his possible embarrassment and even more possible, joy. “Charlie?”
“Hmm?” Charlie hums sleepily, feeling quite sated given he’s never had a wank like that in the time he’s been exploring this side of himself. He hears Nick inhale, so close to saying something, but the moment changes as Nick just slides down and curls up with him like that day on the beach, holding him like he’s holding a baby, their shirts practically stuck together thanks to their closeness…and other things.
Charlie knows they’ll have to talk about this, about what happened, about the assorted, possibly dumb and even more so, hidden aspects he’s not told him about before, but he knows Nick will most likely not look at him differently. That’s just Nick. Just like here and now, in the lieu of unexpectedness, that he’s just Charlie, boyfriend of Nick Nelson, lying on his chest in the middle of autumn and alive. Somehow, more than before.
That’s all his brain can muster for now.