Work Text:
JUNE: CHARLIE
Staring at the contents of my wardrobe as though they hold the answer to all of life's questions has become a bit of a thing. Anxiety crackles in an almost palpable cloud around me as I catch sight of my bare torso in the mirror that hangs on the back of my wardrobe door, and I can't help but scowl down at the now-fading scars on the inside of my upper arm. Today, though, I'm determined not to let the intrusive thoughts win. Blowing out a resolute sigh, I grab two items and weigh them up – do I go for the safe and cosy jumper, or more revealing t-shirt?
Hmm…
There's a short rap on my bedroom door and Tori calls, “Are you ready for the big performance? We're leaving in a minute.”
Feeling brave, I stuff both items back on the rail, then pluck the pale pink t-shirt with the fuschia trim around the neckline from its hanger and shove it roughly over my head. Glancing back at my reflection, I feel simultaneously proud and a tiny bit sick.
It's tight on me now, tighter than it was in Paris. My chest and shoulders have filled out a little, the material straining slightly over my lightly defined pecs, but rather than making me feel disgusted with myself, I feel that little surge of pride swell.
I look well.
I look good.
And judging by Nick's reaction last night when I accidentally let him see me shirtless on Facetime, he thinks so too.
My cheeks heat as I remember where that video call had led: Nick's bare chest, mottled with a flush of pink; the bite of his lip to stop himself from crying out as he found his release; me spilling over my own hand with a muffled grunt mere seconds later.
This sex thing is fun.
Grinning to myself, my hand flutters towards the pink checked shirt I usually wear over this tee but I halt its progress, chewing anxiously on the inside of my lip as my fingers hover just centimetres from the comforting fabric.
No.
I don't need it.
I don't need to hide anymore.
“I'm ready,” I announce, striding confidently out of my bedroom door, huffing a chuckle at Tori's surprised face.
And I am.
🐚🐚🐚
My sticks flying over the skins mirror the frantic drumming of my heart against my ribs. I'm on stage in front of hundreds of people and Nick isn't here yet, which makes my anxiety ten times worse. Not only is he not here to reassure me, I'm now worried about the speed he might be driving to try to get here in time. I catch Tori's eye in the crowd and she gives me a little half smile.
“I'm okay now, Tori.”
The words I said to my sister on the ferris wheel earlier echo through my mind and embolden me.
I'm okay.
My lips twitch, almost but not quite, into a smile. Glancing just across from Tori, I see the proud, happy faces of my parents and my chest warms. Okay, so we haven’t always seen eye to eye, especially me and Mum, but this past year, while I've been ill, they've been amazing. And Mum is really trying. Ever since that big talk we had a few weeks back, she seems different. Lighter. Like she trusts me more.
Which is kind of ironic, given what Nick and I have been up to every given opportunity since.
Tao's flailing limbs block my line of sight to my parents and that's what turns my trepidatious smile into a full-blown grin. My friends are the absolute best. I really couldn't have asked for better support from them while I've been unwell. I love them all so much. Feeling a surge of giddy happiness in my chest, I enthusiastically hit the cymbal slightly harder than normal and Sahar notices, shooting me a reassuring, barely-there wink before turning her attention back to the crowd.
Suddenly, it dawns on me that I don't actually need Nick to be here. He's the love of my life, sure, but I'm surrounded by love – everywhere I look – and I feel happy tears prick at my eyes.
I am so fucking lucky.
This past year could have been so much worse without all of the support I've had from the Paris Squad, my parents, Susan, Tori, Michael – albeit in his own, quirky way – my teachers, Geoff, Sarah.
And Nick.
Steady, reliable, big-hearted Nick. Who loves me so unconditionally it's hard to believe sometimes.
Just as we hit the break of C'est La Vie and I'm absolutely cheesing at the audience like an idiot, proud of myself in an embarrassed kind of way, Nick and the girls come barrelling through the crowd. My boyfriend is flushed and sweaty but beaming from ear to ear, and I return his grin before clasping both drumsticks in one hand so I can raise my free one in a wave. I resist the urge to roll my eyes as he whips his phone out and starts taking pictures of me, letting myself be swept back into the music instead.
Yep, I'm definitely okay.
🐚🐚🐚
As I practically leap into Nick’s arms after the set, his breath huffs out in a surprised grunt directly into my ear, making me shiver.
“You did it! You're amazing!” he cries enthusiastically, as he grabs me by the middle and swings me around in a circle in that oh-so-Nick way of his, before setting me back down. “Sorry I wasn't there before you went on.”
Smiling, I tell him, “It's okay.” I shrug. “I was okay.”
And I really was.
Goosebumps spring up in the wake of his touch as Nick lightly grazes his hand down the bare skin of my upper arm, electricity dancing in fizzing sparks at the contact. His eyes darken and my stomach flutters with anticipation, those purchases he made in Oxford never far from the forefront of my mind.
God, I missed him.
“You look so good right now,” he tells me in a low voice, his eyes darting briefly to my lips and then back to meet my own.
Huffing out a slightly embarrassed laugh, I whine, “Nick,” before the sound of my name being called tears me away from the intensity of the moment.
It’s Tao; he and the rest of the Paris Squad are standing nearby, beckoning me over. My heart swells at the sight of their proud, excited faces, and I allow myself to be enveloped into a massive group hug, my friends’ cheers and compliments ringing in my ears and warming me to my core.
Afternoon soon turns into evening as the Squad and I enjoy the fête, the ferris wheel, helter skelter and hook-a-duck bringing out our inner children for a few hours. Mum and Dad say goodnight with a “Get home safe,” and twin smiles, which feels incredible – for so long it felt like I would never get to be a normal teenager, and now, here I am, being trusted to stay out late with my friends and sleep over at my boyfriend's house for the first time.
Speaking of my boyfriend, Nick seems extra clingy tonight, slinging an arm around my shoulder as we mooch around the fair, becoming a human koala as we wait in line for food, then nuzzling into my neck as we eat. He doesn't seem to be able to stop touching me all evening – not that I'm complaining – and by the time he finally whispers, “Wanna get out of here?” against my neck, I feel like it's only a matter of time before the sparks dancing between us and licking up my spine ignite into a full-blown inferno.
We're both so desperate by the time he pulls the car onto the drive that he's barely switched the engine off before I'm in his lap, fingers mussing his hair, gasping into his mouth as I grind against him.
Eventually, we force ourselves apart and make it into the house, Nick setting his suitcase to one side in the hallway as I wrap myself around him from behind. Spinning in my arms, he tells me how good I looked on stage, and when I try to protest, he looks deeply into my eyes and tells me again. The electricity that's fizzed between us all night flickers back to life, and Nick's breathy, “Upstairs?” tells me he feels it too.
Lacing our fingers together, we practically run up to his room, a mixture of giddy excitement and stomach-churning nerves writhing within me. I want him so badly, and the anticipation is killing me, but I'm also lowkey terrified. Last night, during the Facetime that ultimately led to our first – highly successful – attempt at phone sex, we talked about what Nick had bought in Oxford, and how we might use them. We decided I would bottom first, and although I've done some – ahem – experimenting already, this feels very different. I know I'm ready – I've been ready for a while if I'm being completely honest – but still, it's a pretty scary prospect.
Worries swirl in a violent vortex around my brain as we take the last few stairs: what if he doesn't like it? What if I don't like it? What if I only last thirty seconds? Oh god – what if I haven't cleaned myself properly and we have a mortifyingly messy accident?
Nick pulls me against his body as we stumble into his bedroom, fingers threading into the hair at my nape and making my scalp tingle. As usual, his touch grounds me, settling my nerves and soothing my intrusive thoughts. I know that regardless of what happens – even if we do end up in a shitty situation, pardon the pun – that it doesn’t matter. Because I love him and he loves me, and nothing will change that. If something goes wrong we'll just laugh about it and try again. I already know that sex with Nick is more than just getting each other off – it's having fun together, exploring something new with each other, and ultimately, it’s just another layer of expressing our love.
Desperately, hungrily, our lips find each other again, and then Nick disentangles his hands from my hair just long enough to shrug his shirt off.
“Wait, let me help,” I all but beg, an urgent need to feel his soft skin under my palms rising in my chest.
His t-shirt is off in a matter of seconds and we crash back together, my hands skirting up his sides. I enjoy the feeling of hard muscle under a softer layer of delicious squish, digging into his sides with my fingertips as his nestle themselves back into my hair. My heart slams against my ribs as our tongues dart out to taste each other, that electricity from before sending sparks radiating throughout my entire body. Nick steps away from me all too soon, leaving me standing on his rug, breathless and slightly dazed, and the air in the room feels thick and cloying in my throat. His fingers thread through mine and I catch on a little belatedly that he's trying to pull me towards the bed. I resist, hanging back, and Nick turns towards me again, a question in his expression.
Time stands still as I dig deep for the courage to say what I want to happen next.
“Take mine off?”
My voice is quiet but it seems to echo through the silence as big brown eyes lock with mine, the slight furrow of his brow telling me he's unsure.
“Please?” I hear how beggy I sound, but I need him to know I want this; I'm ready.
Nick swallows, his uncertainty clear, but he steps towards me tentatively. “You sure?”
So fucking sure.
Heart racing, I nod and tell him, “Yeah,” which feels like the world's biggest understatement, but is all I can manage right now.
Back in my personal space, Nick toys with the hem of my t-shirt, wordlessly checking in once more before he begins to slowly peel the garment up my body. I go with it, raising my arms to make the process easier for him, staring intently into his eyes as he lifts it up, up, up, trying to communicate through eye contact alone how much I want him, trust him, love him.
And then my shirt is gone. I glance down at myself, fighting against the now frantic thrumming of my heart, but seeing Nick's face as he takes in the sight of my naked torso calms my concerns instantly. He doesn't look disgusted or disappointed – not in the slightest. He looks… awed?
He meets my gaze and smiles that lopsided Nick Nelson smile that I love so fucking much before we both chuckle lightly, a bit stunned that we’ve finally made it to this point, I think. Nick cradles my face and pulls me to him, dropping a soft, sweet little kiss to my forehead and alleviating the last remnants of my anxiety.
“I love you,” he tells me sincerely as he locks eyes with me once again, “and you are so fucking hot.”
We throw our arms around one another and press our chests together in an all-encompassing hug. Scrunching my eyes tightly shut, I revel in the closeness – his scent and warmth and the steady rhythmic thud of his heart enveloping me into my safe space.
God, I love him.
I love him so much.
We collapse into bed, giggling a little as we burrow under the covers and shuck off our remaining clothes, but the giggles soon dissipate as other feelings overwhelm us. We kiss and kiss – softly, frantically, and everywhere in between – before our hands and mouths begin to roam, carefully at first, then with increasing confidence. We take each other apart and put each other back together again – twice – before Nick disappears with a kiss to my forehead and a soft, “Two minutes.”
Feeling bereft without the warmth of his touch, I wrap myself in his duvet to wait for his return, and as he steps back into the room, he takes in the sight of me in my duvet-burrito and grins, his eyes sparkling in the low light.
He's so fucking gorgeous.
I can't believe he's my boyfriend.
I hear the crinkle of a plastic bag as he sets our new supplies on his bedside table and slides back into bed with me, prompting a playful tug-of-war over the duvet. Yet again, our laughter soon turns to languid kisses and wandering hands – apparently being apart for nearly a week has made us completely insatiable – and I'm soon gasping into his neck as his fingers gently explore new territory.
“You still want this?” he checks, his voice low and thick with desire.
“More than anything.”
Nick tells me he loves me over and over and over as our bodies slowly become one. His lips find mine and then we're gasping into each other's mouths at the new sensation; Nick threads our fingers together, grounding us, tethering us to both each other and the moment.
“You okay?” he murmurs when we're as connected as can be, keeping his hips perfectly still while I adjust.
“Mhm,” is the only acknowledgement I can manage as I breathe slowly through the strangely pleasurable sting.
I can feel his whole body trembling as he hovers himself over me, but he waits patiently for me to give him the go-ahead, and when I finally nod for him to move, he's so incredibly slow and gentle I quickly find myself begging for more.
“I don't want to hurt you,” he says, concern clouding his voice.
“You won't,” I reassure him as our eyes meet. “I need more, Nick, please. I'm okay, I promise.”
After pressing another tender kiss to my forehead, Nick finally allows himself to let go of some of his carefully constructed control, moving just a little faster. Moans spill from both of our lips as we begin to lose ourselves in the moment, and despite the previous two rounds, I'm feeling that now-familiar tightening in my core all too soon.
“Nick,” I pant. “Please touch me.”
Nick's hand snakes between our bodies and wraps around me, stroking in time with the movement of his hips.
“Fuck, Char,” he moans, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. “This feels amazing. You're amazing. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” I tell him softly, tears of joy and overwhelming love pricking at my eyes as my chest sets alight with everything I'm feeling in this moment.
And then we're both lost to it all – all skin, lips and breathy utterances of love and wonder and awe, before we tumble over the edge together one more time.
Afterwards, we cling to each other, sweaty but finally sated, as our racing hearts and laboured breathing calm. I lace my fingers through my boyfriend's and just gaze at him, in absolute disbelief that this beautiful boy – man, nearly, now, I suddenly realise – is really mine.
“You okay?” Nick asks huskily, his gorgeous eyes – shining golden in the low lamplight – roving over my face as if to make sure there's no hint of discomfort showing there.
“So okay,” I tell him, and it's never been more true.
I'm okay.
I'm finally okay.