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They never turned off the fairy lights.
Charlie stares up at them – flushed and a little dazed – as Nick dozes on his chest. They give everything a warm and cosy glow that Charlie has never really appreciated, until tonight. There’s never been a moment to, really. They’ve never had cause to turn off all the other lights and just be together, well into the night. There’s always a curfew or homework or something else calling one of them away.
But school is over – for now – and their parents have relaxed – sort of – so there’s nothing pulling them apart.
And so, Charlie stares at the lights and feels out the smoothness of Nick’s skin with the pad of his thumb.
He traces the digit across Nick’s shoulder and then down his arm; a curve of muscle that is relaxed and at peace – for once. He’s not folding his arms across his chest in worry, or guarding a ball as he forces his body across a rugby pitch. They’ve seen one another asleep before, of course, but this feels different. Nick’s entire body is sinking into the mattress next to Charlie, while his arm drapes across Charlie’s chest. This is better than any sleepover with their friends, or shy nights in a Paris hotel. No one’s going to walk in on them, or overhear them. It’s just them. Alone, at last.
Carefully, Charlie slips the hand that isn’t cradling Nick’s heavy body under the covers and runs a fingertip down his boyfriend’s forearm, over his wrist and along each knuckle – trip, trip, tripping over the ridges until he can slip his finger down between Nick’s and curl it against his palm. Even in his sleep, Nick’s hand seeks out Charlie’s when he gets there, and Charlie feels his boyfriend squeeze very gently before his sighs against Charlie’s chest.
“I love you. So, so much,” Charlie whispers, as Nick shifts until his entire upper body is splayed out across Charlie’s chest. He’s heavy in the best way – like a weighted blanket – and Charlie could sink down into sleep easily, if he weren’t so determined to soak up every second.
Jane Spring may have loosened the reins this time, but Charlie is not about to bank on it happening with any great frequency.
With the way Nick is now laying, Charlie can smooth his palm down the plane of his back. He feels out the dip of Nick’s spine on his way down, until he reaches the stretchy waistband of his boxers. Shame, he thinks, that both of them were a little too self-conscious to fall asleep completely naked. He runs the tip of his finger along the elastic, letting it ping back very softly against Nick’s skin when he can no longer reach without shifting his shoulders away from the pillow. Nick snorts, very quietly, at the sensation before he shifts again; rubbing his face against Charlie’s chest and sighing in his sleep.
The first time they spent the night together – curled up in a hotel bed in Paris – both of them had been so nervous they barely slept. Nick had collapsed onto Charlie’s shoulder as soon as they sat down on the coach back home and Charlie had had to take a preemptive ibuprofen when he felt the tiredness headache creeping in the next morning.
The second time, they had both been so drunk and horny that it had been a wonder they made it under the blankets before they dissolved into giggles that had Tao yelling at them from across the garden. Charlie had been both irked and charmed to discover that Nick snores when he’s had a drink, a fact that he mocked him relentlessly for the next morning as they made their way to Jack Maddox’s talk. This hadn’t, if he’s honest with himself, helped Nick’s moping about Charlie’s crush.
Tonight, everything feels perfect. New, and a little scary, but still perfect nonetheless.
Charlie looks back up at the fairy lights and sighs along with him.
It must be past midnight by now. They left the fair when it was already dark and then there were what felt like hours of post-coital whisperings. He should sleep, except his mind is still spinning and it’s all Nick, Nick, Nick.
Nick’s hand cupping his face.
Nick, pressing open mouthed kisses against his throat.
Nick, running his hands over every inch of skin he could – scars and all – until Charlie was a quivering mess under his touch.
Nick, whispering is this okay? and do you like that? until Charlie simply whimpered and begged.
Nick, who has been so gentle since the moment Charlie leant forward – drunk, and almost teetering off of the kitchen counter on his sixteen birthday – and whispered that they could have sex. It’s never been a race, for either of them, except when Charlie has tried to outrun his own insecurities. Nick never let him, though, not really. Instead, he turned him away from the finish line and simply loved him while Charlie saved himself. Nick may have held his hand, but he never once made Charlie feel like he was something that needed rescuing from himself. He just loved every part of him – scars and all.
Charlie stretches out under the covers and runs through an old mindfulness technique Geoff taught him.
First, the toes, counting to ten and letting them rest.
Then, his legs, sinking deep into the mattress.
Next, he pictures the centre of himself, grounded by Nick. He imagines himself floating out at sea – a weightless, aimless thing – and feels the muscles in his back release what little tension is left in them.
Things are getting hazy now. He can feel sleep lapping at the edges of him and he threads his fingers through Nick’s hair and strokes. Back and forth, back and forth. If Nick wakes up in the night, Charlie wants him to feel as safe and at peace as he does now. No worries – not until tomorrow – and nothing pulling them apart.