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It's hot. Too hot, Nick thinks as he lies sprawled out on Charlie's bedroom floor, feeling distinctly sweaty.
Why the hell did he choose to wear jeans today? Of all the days not to put shorts on. Even Charlie has ditched his overshirt, and that literally never happens. There’s something quite exciting about it. He's supposed to be revising, but instead Nick keeps finding himself sneaking little looks at Charlie's toned, drummers’ arms; the skin tantalisingly pale from where it's been hidden under shirts and jumpers for way too long.
It's a bit distracting, actually.
He won't lie, when Charlie said ‘come over and revise’, he'd sort of been hoping that was code for ‘come over and make out’ but no. Charlie had actually wanted to do homework.
What a nerd.
Things had started out promisingly enough with both of them lying on Charlie’s bed, legs entwined and books balanced precariously on chests. After a while though, the inevitable stickiness of the mid-summer heatwave, and Charlie’s numerous complaints about Nick being a human furnace, had forced them onto the floor.
Nick has to admit it’s marginally cooler down on the carpet. Not nearly as comfortable, though and Charlie’s flimsy gauze curtains aren’t doing a huge amount to block out the aggressive midday sun that’s streaming through, annoyingly in his eyeline. Trying to ignore all the distractions on offer, he picks his notes up again, partly using them to shield his eyes from the sunshine, and gets back to work.
He manages another ten whole minutes of his chemistry revision before he gets fed up.
Frankly, it should be illegal to do homework when the temperature is pushing thirty degrees. Maybe it is? He would google that, if he wasn’t so warm. He can’t possibly be expected to remember anything about ionic compounds when it’s this hot. With a frustrated huff, Nick haphazardly chucks his notes back up onto Charlie's bed, and officially gives up the pretence that any of this was going in anyway.
Next to him, Charlie raises an eyebrow at the sound of paper crashing into the duvet, but he doesn’t look up from the poetry anthology he’s reading for his English coursework. Bored and restless, Nick rolls onto his side, propping himself up a bit so he can read snippets of the text over Charlie's shoulder, with the added bonus of being about to sneak little looks at his boyfriend at the same time.
He loves watching Charlie read.
He loves watching Charlie do pretty much anything.
There’s a small smile on Charlie’s lips, the edges of his mouth pulling up just barely, and Nick can’t help but find it painfully cute. He’s not entirely sure if it's caused by whatever Charlie's reading, or if it’s because he knows Nick’s staring at him, but either way Nick can’t help himself. Quickly, he leans in and presses a kiss to Charlie's cheek, just a small one. A peck, really. He doesn’t want to distract Charlie from his book, honest.
Charlie rolls his eyes and laughs. A small, light, breathy laugh that's usually accompanied by “Niiiiick,” if the boy in question is pestering him whilst he’s trying to study.
Not this time though.
This time, Charlie turns and gives him that look. The one Nick knows he absolutely cannot resist. The one that makes his chest feel like it's full of butterflies and sherbet and lightning bolts.
Without dropping his book, his free hand cups Nick’s jaw and his thumb brushes over Nick’s cheek and he kisses him properly.
As he melts into it, Nick can feel Charlie’s fingers skimming over the exposed skin at the nape of his neck, tipping his lips even closer to Charlie's own. He's pretty sure that there is no way he can stop kissing Charlie even if he wanted to. Ever, probably. He’s way too far gone.
Instead, he leans into it, wanting Charlie closer. As he slides a hand across Charlie’s chest, his thumb accidentally catches in the sleeve of his grey t-shirt and brushes over the warm skin hidden underneath. Nick’s sure he can feel Charlie shiver slightly, sighing into the feather-soft touch.
This is new.
Nick half expects Charlie to pull away, worried that maybe he’s crossed an invisible line, but Charlie doesn’t. Instead, he kisses Nick harder than before, his fingertips pressing into the back of Nick’s head as their lips slant against each other again and again, hungry and wanting until they're basically just making out on the bedroom floor with zero pretence of doing homework anymore.
Or nearly zero, anyway. Charlie still has his poetry book clutched in his right hand; the pages still neatly folded back on themselves to keep his place.
Fuck the poetry book, thinks Nick.
He doesn’t care about Wordsworth or Keats or Emily Dickinson or any of those other long-dead writers who are supposed to make him understand what love feels like.
This is poetry.
Charlie Spring is poetry.
Nick is this close to ripping the book out of Charlie’s hand and chucking it across the room to join his own discarded work, when Charlie suddenly breaks their kiss, pulls back and looks Nick dead in the eye. He’s smirking slightly, taking in Nick’s mussed hair and bruised lips that are still desperately chasing one more kiss.
“Do. Your. Homework. Nick.”
He grins, as he says it, enunciating every word.
Then he rolls back over and goes back to reading his stupid anthology like nothing has happened.
Cheeky shit.
Nick lets out a frustrated groan, mushing his face into the carpet for a moment and trying to get his pulse back to something vaguely resembling normal. Difficult when you’ve just had all the air kissed from your lungs.
Once he’s vaguely returned to earth, Nick settles himself back into Charlie’s side. Scooching down, he rests his head on Charlie’s chest, even though it's probably still too hot and sticky for that. He doesn’t care. In response, Charlie silently switches his book to his left hand and wraps his right arm around Nick instead, carding his fingers through Nick’s hair, cradling him close.
With a contented sigh, Nick allows his eyes to close, just for a little bit he pretends to himself as the rhythmic sensation of Charlie’s fingers relaxes him. He can hear the gentle thud of Charlie’s heart just underneath him, still a little faster than normal. Breath still a little ragged. Nick smirks, knowing he was the cause.
“Read me one then,” he asks Charlie, without opening his eyes, snuggling in as much as he possibly can.
Above him, Charlie smiles.
And does just that.