Chapter Text
He’s never felt like this before. He can see the world around him, he knows he exists, but he’s not present. Imogen is there, a hand on his forearm, tears in her eyes, but her voice isn’t making sense.
Nothing has since she’s said, “I’m sorry. I’m not in love with you. I don’t think I ever was. I think it was just, like, what was expected of us? Of me? But I’ve met someone else. I’m so sorry.”
“What do you mean, you met someone else?” It’s completely shocking, that thought. Someone else? They’ve been together for years. Fucking years . They’re about to graduate from university, they’re living together, they were supposed to get married, eventually, and it’s all falling apart right in front of his fucking eyes.
That’s when she started crying.
“Im– What– What’s his name? Do I know him? How long has this been going on?” He’s angry, he can’t help it. He never thought he’d be the person who shouted at his partner, but fuck . He never thought she’d be the person who broke his heart.
“It’s– it’s not a ‘he’. I’m a lesbian. I’m so sorry.” She cries harder.
What? he thinks to himself. “What?” he asks aloud.
“I didn’t know,” she says. “I promise, I didn’t know the whole time. I can move out. I’m actually, um, I’m going to move in with her. I’ll get my things this weekend.”
“How long, Imogen?” How long has everything he’s known been a lie?
She won’t meet his eyes when she says, “We’ve been seeing each other for almost a year, but I swear, we didn’t sleep together until recently. Two months ago.”
“What?” he asks again, dumbly, the word hardly coming out. His body is there, in their kitchen– his kitchen, now– but he’s floating above it, watching this scene. It hurts.
How long has it been since they’ve had sex? he wonders.
“Nick. I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
**
He cries himself to sleep that night, alone in his flat. His entire life has just gone up in smoke. After she stopped crying and he stopped dissociating, they sat together and talked. It’s the least they could do after so fucking long together. They’re friends. Or they were.
She told him how, during this last year, she’d been going through her own self-discovery journey. It took her so long to tell Nick because she wanted to be absolutely sure. And because she loves him, she’s just not in love with him. Or sexually attracted to him.
They’ve been having sex for five years, and she hadn’t enjoyed any of it? He was stupid enough to ask that question. She enjoyed it, she said. It was fine. He was nice and he tried so hard. But then she slept with a girl and realised what sex was supposed to feel like.
And that fucking hurts, too. Because the truth is; he thought this was what sex was supposed to feel like. It was never mind-blowing or world-shaking, like it is in the movies. But yeah, it was nice. It was always soft and sometimes silly, gentle and calm, and comforting. They were friends, and they loved each other, and they were each other’s firsts and onlys, so they learned what they liked together. And they stuck to that.
They never, not even when they started, tore each other’s clothes off or had to have each other. They were too mature for that. That wasn’t what sex was like in the real world, for real people. Or at least that’s what he thought. Maybe, apparently, it is. If you’re having it with the right person.
He doesn’t bother asking if she ever faked it with him, because he’s not a complete idiot. He knows the answer.
*
The next day, he does the only thing he can think of; he shows up at Charlie’s door.
They’ve been best friends since school. They almost almost were a thing, he thinks , back when he was in Year 11. Charlie was his queer awakening and his first real, honest-to-God crush, and he probably also liked Nick back. Thinking about it makes him feel something like regret, now.
It also makes him feel sorry for Imogen, that it took her this long to discover who she really was. Maybe they would have saved themselves some time.
She wanted him, though. It’s why he and Charlie never happened. Imogen wanted him, she got him, and she kept him. It was that easy.
That, and his cowardice. It was much easier for him to push down what he was feeling for Charlie. He couldn’t possibly imagine himself, rugby king, dating a boy. Not at Truham. And then, it was too late.
But they’ve been best friends since. Almost more. In the way that he’s had Imogen, he’s had Charlie, just without the sex. Charlie’s been there for him for everything, more than Imogen, really, because he’s been there for the fights with her, too. He’s heard the things Nick wasn’t able to share with his girlfriend. He’s had Nick, platonically, in his bed– drunk, sad, hungover, sick. He’s had Nick’s arms around him while cried, and his arms have held Nick, too. Charlie has always been there for him. He knows he’ll be there for him now.
“You look like shit,” Charlie says to him, with a smirk, when he opens the door.
Nick isn’t up for that, though. He’s not ready. The wound is too fresh, and he feels like he’s bleeding out, here on the doorstep. “Too soon,” he mutters, stepping inside.
Charlie gets it, immediately. “Go lay in bed. I’ll be right there.”
Charlie doesn’t know how to help Nick through a breakup, because it’s never happened, but Nick has helped Charlie through a lot of them. The routine is the same every time; physical touch. It’s Charlie’s love language.
It takes Charlie a long time to come in, for some reason. Nick’s burrowed in bed, tucked into Charlie’s blankets, head on his pillow, breathing him in. It’s comforting, Charlie’s smell. He doesn’t smell like anything in particular, nothing Nick can place. He just smells like peace and calm. It soothes him in a way nothing does. It recharges him, refreshes him, does something to his brain chemistry when he inhales.
“I’m sorry I didn’t text,” Nick says.
“It’s okay. I heard.” Charlie climbs in next to him and pulls Nick to rest on his chest. Nick breathes there, too.
“You heard? From who?”
Charlie hesitates. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“It’s Sahar.”
Nick sits up straight. “ Your Sahar?” he asks.
“She’s not mine , but yeah. From Queer Intentions.”
“She told me it’s only been going on for a year!” Charlie’s been playing with them since secondary.
“I think it has,” Charlie says. “I believe her. But, they were friends, yeah?”
Nick lays back down. “Yeah. Best friends.”
Charlie hesitates for a second. “People get feelings for their friends all the time. Fall in love with them.” Just the sound of his voice, the way he says it like it’s a fact, makes Nick’s head turn.
“What?” he asks, tilting his head up to look at Charlie. He knows how stupid he sounds. But what the actual fuck is happening? Is Charlie saying what he thinks he’s saying?
“People fall in love with their best friends,” Charlie says again. And then he scoots himself down so their eyes connect, cups Nick’s face, and leans in so close Nick can feel his breath, his heartbeat . “And maybe they hide it, because they don’t want anyone to get hurt. Or they’re scared,” Charlie says, so quietly Nick can barely hear him. “But I know you’re lonely– you’ve been lonely, Nick. Things haven’t been good with her for a while now. I know.”
Nick is shocked silent. He’s right, of course. But Nick would never, ever have admitted that.
Charlie moves even closer, until their noses are touching and Nick has to close his eyes to stop Charlie’s face from going blurry. “I can treat you better than her,” Charlie whispers, hotly, like he believes it with every fibre of his being, and he’s trying to convince Nick to believe it, too. “When you’re ready,” Charlie continues, thumbs running over Nick’s cheekbones roughly, “I’m here.”
Nick feels his mouth open, instinctively, tipping forward to meet Charlie’s lips. He doesn’t think about it, has no idea if he’s ready , probably isn’t since his long-term relationship just ended yesterday, but his lips part and his whole body moves, trying to get closer, drawn in without thought. Their faces are so close, there is hardly any distance to cross. But Charlie’s lips don’t meet his. He opens his eyes to see that Charlie has pulled back.
“Think about it, first,” Charlie says firmly. “Because I don’t want this to be something you do and then regret. I’ve waited six years for you. I want you to want this like I do.” Charlie’s thumb moves down and traces over Nick’s bottom lip and all he can do is breathe.
His entire relationship, with both Imogen and Charlie, flashes before his eyes. Does he want this? Yes. The real question is– has he wanted this all along?
“Think about it.” Charlie leans down and kisses his forehead, lingering there. His thumb remains, though, on Nick’s open mouth, and he stares for a moment at it, while Nick stares at him staring.
Charlie seems so calm, but Nick can see how fast he’s breathing. He can only imagine the kind of bravery it must have taken for Charlie to do this today. Or the kind of restraint it must have taken for him not to have done this all along.
“Okay,” he agrees, because he wants to do this right, too. “I’ll think about it.”
**
He thinks about it all night. And all day the next day.
He dreams about it.
The day after that, Imogen comes to get her things. Nick lets her take the bed– it’s bigger than the one at Sahar’s. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want this thing with Charlie, if it becomes what he knows now that he wants it to become, anywhere near that bed, where he tried so hard to please someone who was never going to be pleased. He disassembles it, loads it into the van they brought, and then leaves. He doesn’t need to watch all the pieces of his life get disassembled, as well.
Instead, he goes to Charlie’s.
When Charlie opens the door, Nick falls into him, hugging him so tight he can hear the breath rush out of Charlie’s lungs.
“Hi,” Charlie squeaks out, surprised.
“Hi.”
*
Charlie guides him back to his room, and Nick stands there, waiting for Charlie to say something.
Charlie doesn’t. He crosses his arms and looks at Nick expectantly.
He needs to go first.
“I thought about it,” he says, right to the point.
Charlie’s mouth quirks up, but he’s looking at Nick the way he imagines a predator looks at his prey. Charlie’s never looked at him like this before.
“Yeah?” Charlie asks, taking a step closer.
“I want it, Charlie, but it’s new. It’s–I’ve never done this.”
“Done what?” Charlie asks, still walking slowly over to him. Charlie knows. He knows everything about Nick.
“Any of this,” Nick says. He’s had a total of one relationship. He’s never broken up with anyone, started something new after a breakup, dealt with messy emotions and reminders of a life he used to have, tried to get over someone who broke his heart, had to build his confidence back from the ground up.
He’s never kissed his best friend.
He’s never fucked a guy.
“Any of this,” he reiterates.
“It’s okay,” Charlie says. Now he’s standing right in front of Nick, in his space. “I have.”
Nick’s stomach flips and his heart pounds. Show me how , he wants to say. “I want you,” he says instead.
Charlie takes the last step and backs Nick right up against his bed. Nick’s mouth opens, again. He’s not sure why he keeps doing that. Maybe it’s because he wants Charlie’s thumb there. Or because he’s having trouble dragging in enough oxygen.
“You want me? ” Charlie asks, before bringing his hand up to cup Nick’s face. “Or you want sex?”
“You,” Nick says, immediately. “I want you, Charlie.”
Charlie scans his face, his eyes, before finally dropping his thumb back down to Nick’s bottom lip. “Okay.”
And then finally, finally , Charlie kisses him. His thumb slides over, and his mouth meets Nick’s, and they both sigh into it. Nick’s arms shoot up to wrap around Charlie, gripping the fabric of his shirt and holding tight, so he doesn’t slip away. So this doesn’t disappear.
Charlie’s hand moves up, around to grip the back of Nick’s head and pull him down further so he meets Charlie where he stands, instead of on his tiptoes.
Charlie’s other hand drifts down to his belt.
“I haven’t–” Nick starts, but that’s not true. He has .
Charlie’s hand moves away, to trace up his stomach instead. Up, up, over his chest and back up to join the other at Nick’s neck.
“I didn’t mean for you to stop,” Nick manages to say, between kisses.
“I’m not going to do anything you don’t ask for,” Charlie says, once again firm.
It calms Nick. “Thank you,” he says. “It’s just– it’s probably going to take me some time to get used to this.”
Charlie nods. “Would you like me to touch you, Nick? Because I’ve been dying to touch you. I can make you feel so good, baby.” Charlie has moved to his neck, peppering kisses and licks and bites, teeth and tongue, and Nick has to sit down.
“Yes,” he gasps out, scooting back on the bed and opening his arms so Charlie can join. “Please, touch me.”
“With my hands or with my mouth.” Charlie is breathing right by his ear, fast and hot.
But Nick panics for a moment at the question. Imogen hated using her mouth. He worries he’s bad at it. Or it’s not good. Or there’s something wrong with his dick, and he’s not good. He wants to use his mouth, put it all over Charlie’s body, anywhere he’d let him. He’s just not sure, though, about having it done to himself.
“Hands.”
Charlie doesn’t question him. He finds Nick’s belt, again, and unbuckles it one-handed. Nick wonders how many belt buckles Charlie has undone over the years, and is hit with instant regret. If only he hadn’t been so scared, could he have been the only one? Could he have had Charlie all to himself?
Charlie’s unzipping his jeans now, widening them, putting a hand down, in between the denim and the cotton of his boxers. “You want it,” Charlie says. It’s not a question. Charlie’s telling him he wants it, feeling how he wants it. He wants it more than he’s wanted anything in a long time.
“I do,” he agrees.
Charlie touches him, over his pants, and it’s an art. He hasn’t been touched like this since he and Imogen started having penetrative sex. Years. It’s been years since he’s been fully clothed and taken apart.
He realises, though, as it goes on, that he’s never been taken apart. Not like this.
He knows his mouth is open, again, head back, eyes shut, body tense. Charlie’s mouth is on his neck, his leg is thrown over Nick’s, holding him down while he writhes. His hand that’s not in Nick’s pants is at his mouth, thumb there on his lip again, and Nick’s never been touched in so many places at once before.
This is not just a handjob to get him off. It’s full-body arousal. It’s all his senses being flooded with input. It’s someone who loves him wanting to make him feel good.
With a rush, he realises: It’s what sex should be.
“Oh my God, Nick,” Charlie gasps, voice rough. “You’re so good.”
“Touch me,” Nick pleads.
Charlie’s hand moves back up his shaft, over the cloth, then up further until it hooks into the elastic of his boxers, before beginning to move back down again.
Nick groans, and Charlie’s thumb curls further into his mouth, over his lip, his teeth, to rest on his tongue. Mindlessly, he sucks it.
“Do you like this?” Charlie asks, not rhetorically. He’s wondering; does Nick like this? Does Nick like the way he’s touching him?
He nods, frantically, so Charlie continues, dragging the skin of his cock over and over, providing his thumb for Nick to suck on, pinning him down with his leg and his skill .
“It’s like no one’s ever touched you before,” Charlie breathes, when Nick starts to shake.
No one has, not like this.
He wishes she had left him sooner. If this is what she felt with Sahar, he understands now. He can’t possibly be angry with her for wanting this.
“I can feel you fighting it, darling,” Charlie says before he sucks sharply on Nick’s neck.
He’s not trying to. He’s never felt like this, the build-up this strong, and he’s scared it’s going to rip him open.
“Relax.” Charlie slows everything down, all at once. “Wanna watch you come apart for me, Nick. I want to see you go higher for me than you’ve ever done for her.”
“Charlie.” His thighs are clenching, muscles spasming, he’s grabbing at Charlie’s arm to try to get him to move faster, yet he knows he’ll come just like this, too.
“Wanna get those pretty eyes rolling, Nick, I’ve been dreaming of fucking you for years.”
Nick whimpers. Then he cries, tears leaking and rolling down his face, unchecked. What has he been doing with his life? Why didn’t he kiss Charlie at that party, years and years ago? Why did he waste so much fucking time? Why didn’t he see how much Charlie loves him?
Charlie’s forehead touches his, and everything slows even more. “We still have time,” Charlie says to him, softly, reading his mind. “I love you, and we have so much time.”
He uses his thumb to wipe Nick’s tears, but all it does is drag saliva across his face, making him wetter. He opens his mouth again and this time it’s Charlie’s lips that find his. Charlie kisses him, and speeds up his hand, and Nick’s eyes actually do roll back as everything in him rises higher and higher.
Higher, higher, he’s fucking flying now, and Charlie changes positions so quickly and smoothly, Nick doesn’t even notice, until Charlie’s sitting on his thighs, using both hands to twist and pump, and Nick flies apart.
His hands shoot behind him to grab the headboard as he comes and comes, mouth open but silent.
This is what sex is supposed to be , he thinks again. He feels new. Healed. Remade.
And this was just a handjob.
*
After Charlie’s cleaned him up and tucked him back in and wiped his own hands, he cups Nick’s face and kisses him again, leaning down over his chest.
“Charlie,” he says, still in shock. It’s all that’s left in his mind. She is gone, and her name and image has been completely replaced. Charlie.
Charlie smiles at him, and Nick watches as he adjusts his erection in his own jeans before he lays on the bed.
“Are you okay?” Charlie asks, voice genuinely concerned, soft but sure.
“I don’t know,” Nick says honestly. Is he okay ? Probably not. It hurts, for so many more reasons now.
“Do you regret it?” It’s the first time he’s heard any doubt in Charlie’s voice.
He turns and rolls on top of Charlie, bracing himself so he isn’t putting any of his weight on him. Imogen never liked being crushed.
“Never,” he reassures him. “I wanted that. I’ve been wanting that. I just had no idea.”
Charlie smiles at him and they kiss again, Nick opening his mouth to Charlie like it’s second nature.
“You were so perfect,” Charlie sighs. “I never thought you’d react like that.”
“Like what?” Nick wants to know what it looked like from Charlie’s side.
“Like you were dying of thirst,” Charlie kisses him again, deeply, “and I was water. Like I’m what you need.”
“You are,” Nick says, suddenly realising that Charlie told him he loved him. “I’ve always needed you, Charlie. You’re my best friend. I love you. And now…”
“And now,” Charlie agrees.
They lay together for a long time, and Charlie never asks for reciprocation. Nick doesn’t know why. He tries not to take it as rejection. Charlie probably doesn’t want to push him.
Then he remembers that he didn’t ask for it.
“Charlie.” He sits up. “Can I touch you, too?”
Charlie looks at him for a long moment, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated. “Not today,” he finally says. “I wanna savour this.”
Nick’s eyes go wide.
“I don’t want to rush it. I want to make sure you want it, still. I want to make you want it.”
“I want it.” He wants it already. All of it.
“Yeah?” Charlie asks, flirtatiously. “What do you want?”
Nick says the first thing that comes to his mind. “I want to bury my face between your legs.”
Charlie’s flush deepens, but he doesn’t flinch. He brings his thumb up, once again, to Nick’s lips. Slowly, he pulls it down and Nick drops his bottom jaw with it. “Is that why you keep opening your mouth?” It comes out as a breath, a wisp of air, and Nick wouldn’t have even heard it if he wasn’t staring at Charlie’s lips.
Yes , he thinks. “Yes,” he says aloud.
Charlie hums, and kisses him again, licking into his mouth, which never closed. “Give me two weeks, baby, and you won’t even recognise her.”
He’s never felt like this before but he knows– this is what is supposed to feel like.