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Nick opens the door to his room and, as he always does, places Charlie’s weekend bag on the floor beside his bed after carrying it in from the train station; the fingers on his left hand remain interlocked with his boyfriend's right.
As is customary for both of them, as soon as the bedroom door closes behind them, Charlie pounces on his boyfriend, nuzzling his face into the crook of his boyfriend's neck.
"You're getting quite scruffy, you know, Nick. Am I going to have to start limiting kisses?" He's tugging at the neck of Nick's t-shirt, seemingly eager to attack the smooth skin at the junction of Nick’s neck and shoulder, away from Nick's facial hair.
"Yes, I know, Char… but I like it." Nick leans back against the wall, enjoying Charlie's skill with lips on skin.
Nick is brought out of his reverie as Charlie pulls back, pressing his palms into Nick's shoulders. "Go and look at yourself in the mirror."
Nick looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He raises his hand to his chin and runs his fingertips over the short hairs, more than the kind of stubble Nick usually has first thing in the morning, but it isn’t quite a full-on beard yet. So yes, it's scratchy, and he probably needs to shave.
But… he doesn't dislike it. He actually thinks he looks good this way—older, but in a good way. More like the rugby captain in his third year. Maybe it could also help protect him from the cold during those early-morning practices? Alright, that last point might be a bit of an exaggeration; it's hardly enough insulation for that, but the point remains.
Charlie comes into the bathroom behind him, and Nick turns to smile at his boyfriend — these visits every two to three weeks are precious. The harsh glow of the bulb casts sharp shadows across his face, emphasising his cheekbones, dimples, and the small new gold hoop earring he got just before Nick was last in London.
God, he’s hot.
His boyfriend leans against the doorframe, his runner's figure clearly outlined by his fitted band t-shirt and slim-fit jeans. Falling asleep on FaceTime every night, even when they're apart, just isn't enough.
He turns back towards the mirror and closes his eyes as Charlie approaches from behind, gently touching and stroking the side of his face — he’ll never tire of those fingertips on his skin. “I don’t want to issue an ultimatum here, Nick, but it's quite awkward to kiss you when you're like this."
Nick turns and looks in the mirror—he’s made a decision. "I like it.”
"You do?" Charlie clings to Nick's back like a limpet, head resting on his shoulder. They lock eyes in the small bathroom mirror above the sink.
"Well, I think it makes me look…" He's trying to find the right word.
“Like a lazy bum? Your cheeks would be even softer if you ever used anything other than water and body wash on your face. Have you ever heard of moisturiser?” Charlie not so helpfully comments; yes, he’s not that much of a caveman, but he knows it’s not going to be compatible with his new facial hair.
“We can't all have an 11-step skincare routine like Imogen, you know, Char… Would you believe me if I said… what's the word… distinguished, maybe?” Nick gives him his best smirk.
"Nicholas," Charlie takes one hand off Nick’s chest and reaches for the small hairs at the back of his boyfriend’s neck in a familiar gesture that they both enjoy so much. “You will be many things to me. Golden retriever. Rugby captain extraordinaire. Hot boyfriend. Exceptionally talented…"
Okay, he really can't wait any longer.
Nick doesn't allow Charlie to utter the final label (though he can make a couple of educated guesses; his buns are rather excellent, after all) because he picks him up, fireman-style, over his shoulder. Before Nick knows it, he is eagerly pushing Charlie down onto his mattress, sinking them both into the memory foam.
“You know, before you give your final assessment of this beard, I think we need to put it through its paces in different scenarios so you can get the full experience.” He’s holding Charlie down, stroking his forearms with his thumbs, those blue-green veins highlighting the delicate skin on Charlie’s inner wrist.
"You mean… next to different areas of skin, oh, boyfriend of mine?” God, his boyfriend is so fucking smart.
Nick then sits up, straddling his boyfriend's lap. "Exactly, I mean, obviously, Char, your lips and cheeks are very soft and sensitive.” He leans forward and rubs the side of his face against Charlie’s lips, to much protestation from his boyfriend below him, who says, “Get off, Nick, you great oaf", wriggling and trying his damndest to throw Nick off his game in between giggles.
Nick bends his back. “It would be good to try this, though…” Nick returns to tending to Charlie’s neck. This time, however, he takes his time, slowly kissing along the jugular, sinking his teeth into skin that will no doubt turn purple by the time the sun rises over the city again. And now it's his turn to nuzzle into Charlie's neck, pulling back his boyfriend's t-shirt and rubbing his chin across his shoulder.
He's lying flat on top, with his shoulders to his boyfriend’s feet, and Charlie is now taking a knee and pressing it into Nick’s groin, pushing it in gently and rubbing it up and down, just how they both like it. Those familiar stars, that addictive electricity he is certain will never lose its spark, that thrill that courses through his veins.
Maybe he should take his time with this; stretch it out. Take Charlie's clothes off one item at a time, and bat his hand away if he tries to do the same to Nick. This is all about his boyfriend. Showing how much Nick's missed him in his lonely room, how much he wants to treasure and worship this angel of a man — and how much he loves him, body and soul.
But they have the whole weekend for Nick to be as soppy as fuck, right here and now. It’s all about pinning his boyfriend down and showing him why Nick is right on this matter. Just because everyone they know has described him as ‘soft’ and a ‘sap’ in an affectionate way does not mean Nicholas Nelson is not competitive and enjoys having one over on his boyfriend.
Nick shifts so he's now on one forearm. The other hand pushes up Charlie's t-shirt, exposing his chest, that flimsy jersey material, so soft from one too many washes and, as a consequence, starting to fade.
"Now, I think we need to have an experiment carried out on here…"