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Nick does this thing that drives Charlie crazy.
He sometimes does it when he’s drinking a pint at the pub during their weekly friend group outing. He almost always does it with his cup of tea when they meet up at a cafe or are round one of the other’s places after work, as they often are, just relaxing together for an evening.
He will sip at the beverage, swallow it down, look at the rim of the bottle or mug and then, ugh, he parts those full, soft-looking lips and licks it. There must be a drip, Charlie thinks. Why is there always a drip? Is there something wrong with Nick’s bottom lip to leave a drip on every cup?
No, Charlie shakes his head. There’s objectively nothing wrong with Nick’s lips. He'd know. He's studied them enough from afar. They’re fucking perfectly shaped and, as far as he knows, medically and ergonomically capable of imbibing liquids just fine. And of talking and laughing and smiling just fine… Damn those lips haunt him in the night.
So why?! It’s like his best friend is out to get him somehow, to melt him one drip lick at a time with slow, innocent hotness. Charlie’s losing his mind.
Fortunately, he prepared for this tonight. When Nick messaged earlier in the week confirming he would be coming round for their usual Thursday night New Girl marathon, Charlie went online and ordered a reusable metal straw. No more drip licking outshining the chemistry between Nick Miller and Jessica Day. Charlie is done. Nick can keep his stupid perfect tongue to himself tonight and sip on a straw.
“Got you something,” Charlie tells Nick before his Vans are even off his feet.
“What is it?” Nick asks, craning his head to peer behind Charlie's back where he holds the straw.
“Here!” Charlie says, holding it out like he's that tall monkey displaying Simba on an aesthetically pleasing cartoon rock formation.
Nick's brow furrows as he accepts the gift. “Erm… thanks?” he says, evidently not expecting to be randomly gifted a single straw. Maybe Charlie didn't approach this in the best way, actually.
“Why have you got me a straw?” Nick asks and, whoops, Charlie definitely hasn't gone about this correctly. He can't exactly reply “because the way your lips press against a mug gives me goosebumps and when you lick the rim, I have to rearrange the cushions on my lap.” You don't just say that to your heterosexual best friend. So Charlie thinks on his feet.
“Jellyfish.”
“Pardon?”
“Jellyfish,” Charlie ad-libs. “You like them. I saw a thing… Disposable straws and their little tentacle things don't mix.”
“Oh,” Nick says, his face brightening. “I do love jellyfish. Thanks, Char.”
“You're welcome.”
Only later, when Nick pops his new metal straw into his milkshake “for the jellyfish,” Charlie isn't so sure he is welcome. Because it turns out seeing those sweet, plump lips moulding around a firm straw is no better than seeing that inadvertently teasing tongue licking a stripe up a glass bottle. Charlie can’t pay attention to the show while Nick sucks away beside him, not even during the popcorn machine mix-up – which is one of his favourite pieces of dialogue in the whole damn show. Fuck’s sake. Maybe next week he'll try his bestie with a sippie cup.
“Jess is super pretty,” Nick says, releasing his suction on the straw and depositing his empty cup on the coffee table. “That dark hair and those big blue eyes…” he trails off, turning to Charlie with a soft smile and his signature puppy-dog gaze.
Yes, Charlie gets it – straight Nick likes a girl. Charlie frowns and turns his gaze back to the TV, feeling Nick relax happily into the cushion beside him. If only Nick felt the same way about dark hair and blue eyes on boys. On one specific boy. On him.
☕️👅🫠
Charlie needs to sit down and reexamine his life choices. What was he thinking, agreeing to go out with Miguel and Laura tonight? He remembers being all excited to make these new friends and being deep in conversation with them about his useless degree in hieroglyphics and how his choice to study ancient languages was probably directly related to him being single into his thirties and then poof here they were. This gay bar is not that crowded, since it’s fucking Tuesday night for fuck’s sake, and so he immediately notices when Nick slides in through the front door. Charlie isn’t drunk enough to be hallucinating, right?
Nick hovers near the entrance, his eyes scanning the room until they fall upon Charlie. When their sightlines connect, Nick smiles at him. And, goddammit, it’s that lopsided one his mouth does that’s so unfairly attractive that it makes Charlie want to lie down and contemplate the prevalence of straight people in an existential way.
As Nick walks towards their booth, Charlie lets himself slump towards the sticky surface of the table in an attempt to carry out this agenda. He idly wonders why Nick is in a gay bar when he’s so frustratingly not queer, then moves on to trying to remember the last time Nick actually dated anyone. That teacher at his school…? Wendy? Wanda? Whatever her name was, Charlie hates her. On principle. She wasn’t good enough for his pal Nicholas. She didn't get how lucky she was to be around him. It wasn't fair.
He vaguely hears Nick introducing himself to Charlie’s new mates from the Rainbow Community Centre volunteer board. And explaining something about Charlie texting him. Had he?
Charlie looks for his phone, fumbling at his hips until Nick helps him stand up and hands it to him along with his jacket. When Charlie nearly drops both, Nick puts the mobile into the back pocket of his skinny jeans for him and then helps him slide each arm into the coat sleeves so they can brave the cold outside together.
Charlie waves goodbye towards his new friends and leans on Nick as they walk to the carpark where Nick settles him into his Fiat Punto and buckles him in. Charlie groans into the silence as Nick walks around to his own seat. Why does he have to be so nice? And kind? And hot? Like, so hot? And clever because that seatbelt was like really impossible to click in. Have seatbelts always been that wobbly?
“Do you need the air, Charlie?”
There’s a hand on his forehead, there’s a reusable water bottle in his hands, there’s chilled refreshing liquid going down his throat. Charlie just lets it all happen.
“Is that better?”
Charlie blinks and nods. He feels the motion of the vehicle around him like a blanket. He digs out his phone and sinks back to squint at the screen, trying to make out what he’d texted earlier to wind up in this here and now.
Charlie: msss u
Nick: um hey. I miss you too? we still on for Sat?
Charlie: alwys mis u
Nick: r u ok?!
Charlie: feels good twll u
Nick: omg are you drunk?!
Charlie: we re celebraatin
Nick: lol yeah? celebrating what? who are you drunk-drinking with on a weeknight ffs?
Charlie: joined ths thing. helpingf. gay stuff. gay frendns
Nick: oh cool. but you seem pretty drunk, Charlie. you have work in the morning. need a ride home?
Charlie: pls
Nick: drop me a pin
Charlie sighs where he’s slumped in the passenger seat. See? Nice. Nick is sooooo nice. He sways to his right and stares at his best friend’s profile as it’s lit by streetlamps flickering past. The way the light catches on his lips makes Charlie want to drunk-cry. Why can't those lips be his? His to touch and kiss and nibble on? Still, Nick and his lips came to pick him up and keep him safe and help him not die in a puddle of Sourz so he should be grateful for what he's got. He is grateful.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Course,” Nick replies softly.
Charlie made Nick come get him from a gay bar on a weeknight. An early weeknight at that. Not even a Thursday. What a mess he is. He’s pathetic. Pathetic and piney and embarrassed. He curls up in the seat and accidentally lets out a slightly pitiful little hiccup.
He feels a large palm pat his knee. “You’re fine, Charlie. I don’t mind.”
Charlie dozes off to the memory of Nick’s body heat on his leg.
When he wakes up, Nick is lifting him out of the car and settling him on his feet. Charlie loops one arm over the broad shoulders and allows his friend to walk him into his building and all the way into his flat. Nick quietly tells him to change into his pajamas and then brings him more water and some paracetamol.
Finally comfortable and resting, Charlie stares blearily up at his friend, wondering how he got so lucky. Nick is standing next to his bed, looking back down at him.
That crooked smile on his face again.
Charlie is sober enough by now to know how drunk he still is but the smile…
it looks awfully fond.
🍸🌈😏
They’re hanging out at Isaac’s on a Sunday when Charlie notices, apparently for the first time, that Nick’s lips move when he’s reading. Has he always done that?! There’s no sound to it. Just small but rapid motions that had flickered in his peripheral vision and drawn him into the familiar habit of staring at his best friend.
Charlie glances around. Their host is puttering in his kitchen, preparing for dinner. It’s just the two of them relaxing in his front room with books Isaac had shoved in their hands when they’d arrived, telling them he'd picked the stories specially for them. They’d settled happily into the overstuffed furniture and chatted for a while before each cracking open their volume and enjoying the quiet together.
Charlie’d lost himself in the thriller his friend provided until Nick’s movements had pulled him out of the story. He looks back at the blonde, always eager to drink in his handsome face and the stretch of his broad frame. Nick’s in his usual weekend hoodie and joggers and he shouldn’t be quite so attractive when he’s rumpled and casual like this… but he is.
Charlie likes him in his smart button-downs and chinos too, when they meet up after work. And he’d almost died seeing Nick in a dark blue suit at Tao and Elle’s wedding last summer. He just really likes looking at Nick. In any season, in any outfit. He tries not to daydream about seeing him out of his fits anymore but the longing is still there, simmering under their friendship. He’s gotten used to living with it – and with the edge of guilt he feels about it.
Today he gives in, eyes locked on Nick’s mouth. The way the lips gently bounce off each other as the rich brown eyes flow smoothly side to side, occasionally interrupted by the rustle of a page turning. The way the words shape and reshape the angles of Nick’s lower face, the soft transition where pale flesh becomes pinker and plumper. Charlie shivers, momentarily overcome by his hidden desires.
“Cold, Charlie?” Isaac startles him, coming back into the room. Before he can answer, he’s being draped in a soft blanket that had been folded in a corner basket. He can’t exactly explain why he’d shivered when Nick gazes at him with a concerned expression so he just shrugs and hopes his friends will let him change the subject.
“Uh, thanks. This book is really great so far! How’s yours, Nick?”
Charlie catches a smirk cross Isaac’s face before they both turn to look at the blonde. Nick smiles and waves the book Isaac gave him in their direction. “Yeah, it’s good. I’m hooked!”
Charlie sees the title, Role Playing, writ large over an illustration of a white, het couple on a sofa. “Is that a romance?” He’s not being judgemental, he swears, but it’s not a genre he’s ever gotten into and he wasn’t aware Isaac had pulled Nick into so his voice sounds a little surprised.
“Yeah, they’re gamers who meet online. Looks like a classic grumpy/sunshine story so far.”
Isaac sits and pops his feet up on an ottoman. “It’s got a few surprises buried in it,” he says with a sly tilt to his head.
Charlie snorts. “And mine starts with a body getting buried in the woods so… guess we both get to dig into something, eh?” Nick and Isaac both chuckle and Charlie wiggles a little where he sits.
Nick returns to reading but Charlie finds himself distracted by their quiet friend contemplating the two of them. Isaac’s head is turning back and forth, a gentle oscillation of focus that clearly reflects some unspoken thought process. Charlie juts his jaw forward in silent inquiry on Isaac’s next pass over him but the other man just bends into a secretive smile and an apologetic shoulder lift.
“The roast should be done resting in twenty minutes, gentlemen,” Isaac murmurs. Nick hums in acknowledgement, his lips barely pausing their voiceless journey through the literary landscape that has him rapt. Charlie nods and narrows his eyes at Isaac, who just tucks himself further into his recliner and his thick tome.
Still caught on figuring out Isaac’s strange behavior, Charlie looks again at Nick’s book cover. The man in the illustration looks a lot like Nick actually, with the same hair and beard, only more reddish than blonde. Wait… Is this the same book Isaac just shared on Goodreads as decent demi representation? Maybe Charlie shouldn’t assume the couple is het based on looks… He knows better, even when he doesn’t know enough.
Charlie sighs and returns to the mystery in his hands; at least this one promises a clear answer.
📖🗣️👀
“It'll be fun,” Elle had said. “It'll be a different way to spend our weekly catch up,” she had encouraged. “You’ll be too distracted by the wildlife to feel sea sick,” she had insisted.
Well, Elle had been right about one thing alright. Charlie is distracted. But not by the ducks sticking their butts out of the water, or the heron resting on an overhead bridge, or even the angry goose that honks at them as they board their rented canal boat for the afternoon. Well, maybe a little by the goose. But after they figure out how to sail away from the goose, his attention is firmly distracted by their captain.
Charlie manages to keep abreast of the conversation about Tao’s new neighbour while Admiral Nelson’s strong arms steer them steady. He listens almost completely to Imogen's tale of finding then losing her hair straighteners, only to find them once again, while their helmsman's freckles pop out in the sunshine. Charlie even engages in madcap theories about who stole Tara’s latest delivery right off her doorstep while the gentle wind tousles at Skipper Nicker’s floppy hair.
But Charlie can't fight the biggest distraction. The one that comes in the form of a tongue. Just the tip, darting out again and again over breeze-dried lips.
What Nick needs is balm. Charlie wishes he could be the balm, that he could press his lips softly against Nick's and kiss them all better. He wishes that with all his heart. Unfortunately, straight boys don't tend to appreciate that kind of care, even the sweet ones like Nick. He'd be gentle with Charlie no doubt, let him down as easily as he's steering this boat. But Charlie's not going to find out. Instead, he brings Nick the salve he can – a bottle of water he’d nagged Nick to pack.
“Hey, cap’n,” Charlie smiles, handing the bottle to Nick.
“I think it's actually supposed to be ‘yahar matey’ but okay,” Nick smiles, accepting his Marvel bottle and flipping the lid. Charlie watches the spout hit Nick's chapped lips and sighs internally. At least he helped a bit. “Thanks, Char. I didn't realise how hot it would be today.”
“That’s not your fault. We live in England – we're programmed to expect clouds.”
“Yeah,” Nick nods, setting the bottle down and flicking that tongue out again like the world's sexiest chameleon. “I just wish I'd brought some suncream,” he frowns, touching his fingers to his lips. “I think I have lip burn.”
“I don't think lip burn is a thing, Nick,” Charlie laughs.
“It is!” Nick insists, “look!”
Nick purses his lips and invites Charlie to look, as if he weren't already and hadn't been doing so for literal years now. Charlie obliges, staring openly at Nick's pretty mouth, feeling himself flushing under Nick's watchful gaze.
“You carry lip balm, right?” Nick checks.
“Yeah,” Charlie tells him. Of course he always carries lip balm. Lip care is very important.
“Could you put some on me please?” Nick asks. “I don't want to take my hands off the wheel. We could, like, crash.”
“Oh. Well, I could but it's not a Chapstick; it's a pot you stick your finger in…” he says hesitantly.
“That's okay, your hands are clean, right?” Nick says, nodding to the alcohol gel he knows Charlie keeps on a keychain on his backpack. “Please, Charles,” he pouts.
“Okay,” Charlie tells him, sucking in a breath. His hands are clean. And his friend does need him. He full-named him and everything. So Charlie has to touch the one thing he wants most and can't have. He can manage that. It's fine. It's not going to break his heart into smithereens at all.
Charlie fishes the balm out of his pack, giving his hands one extra gel to be sure. He slicks his index finger in the cool, cherry mush and runs it along Nick's lips. They feel as warm and soft under his touch as he'd imagined, if a little sun-ragged. He isn't sure if his fingertip lingers on Nick's lower lip or if time just slows down. It could be either. It could be both.
Fortunately, James picks this moment to wander over and sling an arm over Charlie, forcing him to retract his hand. James invites him to connect to the group Spotify playlist he's building called ‘boat beats’, oblivious to the moment he broke. Charlie's pretty sure he can think of six better names for the playlist within a minute but follows nevertheless, offering a shy smile to a blushing Nick over his shoulder as he's led away.
It's only a good few minutes later when he's busy adding Chappell Roan bangers to the mix that he realises that Nick took his hands off the boat wheel to accept his drink. Charlie chances a peek over at the helm (he thinks that’s the name but he's not sure) and sees Nick still standing by the wheel, one hand on Darcy’s shoulder and the other gesticulating as they talk animatedly about mermaids together. So he's not that concerned about crashing.
How curious.
🌞⛵️💋
Charlie’s just trying to enjoy his unagi hand roll, thank you very much. The smooth richness of the avocado, the sweet punch of the eel and sauce, the chewy seaweed wrapper, the occasional nutty burst when he crushes a sesame seed as he chews.
Okay, so maybe he let out an inappropriate moan at the first taste but does Nick have to look at him like that, with his bottom lip dented by his top teeth? Can’t two mates just have a sushi dinner at a fancy, intimate restaurant without it being a whole thing?!
Never mind that Nick had insisted that Charlie name a place to go that he’d always “really wanted to try” but never splurged on. Or that Nick had offered to pay and pick him up at his flat instead of meeting here. Or that Nick is wearing his wedding suit, sans tie, and his date cologne.
Seeing him in the doorway, Charlie had made some sort of “eep” sound and promptly spun on his heel to change out of his oldest jumper. He still feels slightly underdressed in his everyday trousers and light blue button-down but his soft gray waistcoat hugs his torso in a way he likes.
And Nick had just given him a soft smile when he reappeared and put on his dress shoes instead of his ratty Converse. So here they are now, slowly working their way through a series of small orders of things he wants to try - Nick gamely finishing whatever Charlie doesn’t end up liking.
And they’re talking and laughing and sipping the pungent, warm sake between dishes and Charlie is buzzing. Not from the rice wine. From the giddy feeling that this all might mean something even though he doesn’t know what and he’s too scared to ask.
But it feels different. Nick feels different. Attentive even more than usual, openly staring at Charlie’s features, leaning forward more often. And there’s another lip bite!
Charlie sits back against the solid wooden chair and lets himself relax under Nick’s gaze. They’ve been best friends for years. And it’s wonderful. He can be his full fussy, snarky self with Nick; he can share his insecurities and worries. Nick has lived through Charlie’s bad days and they’ve come out the other side.
And Charlie knows him back. Knows his most annoying habits and the way he will first huff in frustration when called out but then work through it and grin sheepishly later. Knows how to cheer him up when Nick feels left out and when to leave him alone for a bit. Knows what a patented Nelson hug feels like and has enjoyed hundreds of them.
If that’s what they continue to have, Charlie would be happy. He really would. A friendship like that is important, cherished. The fact that he will probably always long for more - he can accept that. But tonight… there’s a hint of longing reflecting back to him across the table.
They’re both sitting quietly now, just tracing each other’s faces with roving eyes. Charlie breathes. Lets his attention settle on those perfect lips once more. Watches them softly part around a quiet sigh. Notices when the bottom one then bends inward to be held, oh so gently, under the edge of the top two front teeth for a third time tonight.
Charlie dares to hope for more.
🍣🍶🫦
Nick is doing this thing that drives Charlie crazy.
It’s not the warmth of his palm on Charlie’s back. It’s not his breath, although Charlie’s acutely aware Nick hasn’t brushed his teeth since before his morning cup of coffee. It’s not the gentle whistling noise his nose is producing.
It’s his mouth.
His impossibly beautiful mouth.
His incredibly skillful mouth.
Nick is kissing him with it. And he's a really good kisser.
The pressure is delicious, the slides from one angle to another are seamless and every moment dances on the edge between desperate hunger and tender respect.
His lips are just as soft and warm as they were in Charlie’s dreams. His teeth nip ever so gently at the corners of Charlie’s smile as they break briefly to breathe. His tongue explores assertively and at just the right frequency.
Charlie’s in heaven. Nick’s mouth on his is heaven.
They’re wrapped around each other, stretched out on Charlie’s sofa after Nick came out to him. It should be embarrassing how quickly Charlie had bluescreened, just fixated on Nick’s lips until he’d practically fallen forward right onto Nick’s face.
Luckily Nick has been happy to smush their parts together, at least so far.
While parts of Charlie are definitely interested in more smushing, he’s in no rush. This… being finally free to properly enjoy Nick’s mouth, it’s more than enough.
It’s everything.