Chapter Text
After Charlie’s shower, with a towel fastened around his waist, he gathers the travel sized bottle of lube and the smallest plug he was able to sneak in his luggage. He places the items on the counter in the bathroom, a plan for the night already formed in his head. Prepare for the best case scenario: getting railed by his husband after a few drinks and some dancing.
Nick and Charlie learned the hard way back in their uni years that being a bit drunk and underprepared can equal disaster, though it ended in a good laugh at the time.
Charlie looks at himself in the mirror, wet curls still dripping into his eyes. He runs a small amount of curl cream through his locks. Still more grown out than usual, though he’s trimmed around his ears a bit, making it similar to a modern baby mullet style — longer down his forehead and onto his eyebrows and curled at the back of his neck, where Nick likes to run his fingers.
And just as Charlie washes his hands, Nick — hair still slightly damp from his turn in the shower — wanders by the open door in his black boxer-briefs, a button-down shirt in his hands. His eyes dart from Charlie’s reflection to the products on the counter and back again. He eyes register an excited recognition at what they mean.
Nick drapes the shirt onto the bed and comes to stand behind his husband at the sink, both watching the other in the mirror. Putting his hands flat on the cool surface, Nick boxes Charlie in, hips pressing close. His lips are at Charlie’s ear when he says lowly, “Lemme help.”
Charlie rolls his eyes, then focuses back on Nick in the mirror. “I know you.”
Nick feigns dumb. “You mean so very helpful?”
“We’re not having sex right now,” Charlie replies, but he’s grinning. “We’re going out.”
Picking up the lube with one hand, Nick ponders the options, responding, “We can do both, you know?”
“No,” Charlie tells Nick. “You’ll just wanna stay in if we start now. And I wanna go out. It’s been probably a year, babes. Uni Charlie would be disappointed in Old Charlie’s lack of partying.”
“Does Uni Charlie know Old Charlie’s also known as Parent Charlie?” Nick asks, resting his chin on Charlie’s shoulder. “Cause I think if he knew how generally tired Parent Charlie is, he’d be more understanding.”
Charlie leans his back into Nick’s chest to finger comb his hair a few seconds more.
“Also,” Nicks reason, “didn’t Uni Charlie party enough for all the Charlies in there?”
“We’re going out.”
“But,” Nick protests, as his fingers unravel the tuck of Charlie’s towel, letting it fall to the floor, “I could finger you first.” His eyes meet Charlie’s in the mirror. “If you want.”
“I want you to prep me enough for the plug,” Charlie explains. “Or I can do it myself, thanks very much.”
“Whatever you want, love,” Nick agrees.
“The second you try to distract me, I’ll kick you out,” Charlie threatens, but again, he’s smiling.
Nick lifts his hands in surrender. “I promise, I won’t make this pleasurable at all. In, insert, out. Done, done, done.”
“Okay then,” Charlie gives in, “you can help.”
Moving to Charlie’s side, Nick opens the lube and drizzles some on his fingers, questioning, “Douched in the shower?”
“Course,” Charlie answers, readying himself for the potential chill of the lube.
But Nick rubs his fingers together for a moment, just to warm it, and he shuffles a step forward so he’s right near Charlie’s hip. He dips his hand low to Charlie’s ass crack, out of view of the mirror, but Charlie still watches from there, gazing at Nick’s reflection.
When Nick’s first finger brushes at Charlie’s rim, he stifles a sigh and reluctantly closes his eyes. Nick promised there wouldn’t be pleasure involved, but he’s already ghosting abstract shapes around Charlie’s entrance, lighting the nerves on fire, generously spreading the lube. Nick’s nothing if not a giver, even if he’s not trying.
“Ready?” Nick asks quietly.
Charlie nods, breathes, “Yeah.”
Slowly, Nick sinks his finger in to the second knuckle, then holds steady for a beat, letting Charlie adjust, reminding, “Relax, Char.”
Nodding again, Charlie exhales, rolls his neck side to side, and any tension in his body expels gradually.
Before dragging his finger back, Nick checks, “Alright, darling?”
Charlie holds the edge of the sink with his hands, replies, “Yeah.”
Nick’s finger builds a slow rhythm, though he purposefully avoids a specific area and specific motions he’s perfected, knowing exactly how Charlie will react. He’ll keep his word, what Charlie requested of him, but he’d give anything to crook his finger just so, drawing light, lazy circles until Charlie’s writhing against his hand, helpless and breathless and all sorts of beautiful when he lets go. Pressing a chaste kiss to Charlie’s shoulder, Nick praises, “Doing good, baby.”
“Feels good,” Charlie says with another exhale.
Nick pauses his actions, looks to the mirror at Charlie, but his eyes are still closed. He teases with a chuckle, “Should I kick myself out?”
Finally lifting his lids, Charlie’s grey eyes meet Nick’s brown, and he smirks at Nick’s reflection, admitting, “No.”
Continuing on with Charlie’s blessing, Nick uses his free hand to add more lube to his working finger.
“More,” Charlie tells him, watching the mirror again.
“I’m getting it, love,” Nick assures him.
“No, I mean …” Charlie allows his eyes to drift shut on a sharp inhale, his brows drawing near the center. His face falls toward the floor and he murmurs, “I want another.”
“Two, darling? You sure?”
“Yeah,” Charlie whispers, then hums when Nick complies gently.
And it’s enough for Nick to lean closer to hear it, his face at Charlie’s neck, where his nose clumsily bumps along skin, but he convinces himself to keep his lips from finding purchase there.
Charlie lets go of the sink, letting his arms go limp at his sides, but when he sways with Nick’s ministrations, the back of his hand grazes the front of Nick’s pants. He doesn’t move it and Nick swallows hard, parts his lips to exhale hot breath on Charlie’s flesh, resulting in goosebumps.
Nick just wants a taste, asking, “Can I —”
“Yes,” Charlie answers, like he knows what Nick’s thinking before he can even voice it, like he can hear it in the way Nick’s breathing.
Nick takes his time, planting his lips on the column of Charlie’s neck, so soft, and lingering like he can’t bring himself to pull away.
Charlie nods just once.
So Nick moves toward Charlie’s jaw, kissing there too, until his mouth reaches Charlie’s ear. He sucks the lobe into his mouth, metal hoop and all, tonguing the skin, and Charlie shudders, moaning. Nick immediately detaches from Charlie’s ear, but stays standing close, Charlie’s hand against his clothed, stirring cock.
When Charlie opens his eyes, he looks a little dazed, dreamy, but he turns his face to Nick, raises a mischievous eyebrow, and deadpans, “Get out.”
Nick laughs breathily, then presses a kiss to the corner of Charlie’s mouth.
“We are not staying in,” Charlie insists, albeit weakly.
“I didn’t say anything,” Nick argues playfully.
Charlie side-eyes his husband, replying, “You don’t have to say it for me to know.”
“Then,” Nick sighs, lips nearing Charlie’s, “you should probably move your hand.”
“You first,” Charlie dares with a crooked grin, but he does as he’s told, anchoring said hand on the bicep of Nick’s free arm.
Not missing a beat, Nick keeps him rhythm, fingers gently stretching Charlie steadily, “Pretty sure I am, babes.”
“Another,” Charlie says.
“Yeah?” Nick asks.
“Yeah,” Charlie breathes.
Nick drips more lube into Charlie’s crack and his fingers, smearing softly, lightly, making Charlie hum appreciatively, before he’s adding a third. And Charlie’s eyelids drop and his head lolls back on his neck with the addition of the extra digit.
“Okay, love?” Nick whispers at his ear.
Charlie nods, inhaling and exhaling deeply, “Mm.” It turns into a moan. “It’s good.” Grabbing at the edge of the sink with a hand, Charlie adds, “You’re so good.”
Nick lifts his free hand, rests it on the opposite side of Charlie’s neck, cradling under his jaw, and the tip of his nose brushes the shell of Charlie’s ear.
“Nick,” Charlie exhales, his hand gliding from Nick’s bicep along Nick’s chest and then down to his hip, fingertips tracing the waistband of Nick’s boxer-briefs.
Nick only falls back a little to take in Charlie’s face while he’s still lost in the sensation — eyebrows drawn, eyes shut tight, parted full lips, his breath labored — and then his neck — how the skin pulls over the stretched sinew when Charlie gasps low, so quietly — and then his prominent collarbones — the relief so strong it looks as if the hands of Rembrandt created him. Nick revels in the vision before him, the fact that his husband is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen and always has been, and he only gets better with age. It’s not lost on Nick that Charlie’s body has also changed since entering fatherhood. Sure, he’s still slender and long-legged and flat planes with sharp angles, but lean, well-defined muscles exist where only a hint of them were before, and the new features bunch, ripple, carve ridges under Charlie’s skin with each thrust of Nick’s fingers. He lets his hand wander — feeling, touching, drifting aimlessly over the curves and through the trail of dark hair low on Charlie’s abdomen, leading to his half-hard cock — as his lips find their way to Charlie’s shoulder.
“Char,” Nick says helplessly, his eyes watching the air leave Charlie’s mouth.
“Hm?”
“Lemme make you come.”
Slowly, Charlie opens his eyes, gazing at Nick, and his lips form a lazy smirk. “Not yet.”
Nick chuckles, turning his head to rest his cheek on Charlie’s shoulder, eyes on his wanting digits as they sink deeper. His voice light, he answers, “Tease.”
“Slut,” Charlie quips.
“Says the man with three of my fingers up his arse,” Nick responds with a grin.
Charlie takes the plug from its case, coating it with a thin layer of lube. Once he’s happy with the application, he taps Nick’s free hand, and guides it to Nick’s grasp when he holds out his hand. “Mm,” Charlie agrees, washing his hands, “I’m nothing if not greedy.”
“Alright then, greedy slut,” Nick replies, positioning the plug at Charlie’s rim, “you ready?”
Charlie nods and says, “For you, always.”
Nick goes slow, inching, and Charlie puts his hands flat on the counter, bending a little, arching his back into Nick’s actions, content humming merging into a breathy moan when the plug slips into place, the base peeking from between his cheeks.
Fingers massaging gently, Nick asks, “That okay?”
Charlie lets a shiver run down his spine, goosebumps cropping up on his arms as he pulls Nick into a hug, and kisses him softly on the lips, a silent “thank you.” He murmurs, “Later, yeah?”
“Promise?” Nick questions, raising an eyebrow.
Charlie kisses him again, before playfully pushing him away. “Like I’d be going to all this trouble if I wasn’t gonna get some.”
“Here,” Nick says, washing his hands then grabbing a flannel to wet under the water, “lemme clean you up a bit.”
Charlie stills as Nick drags the warm, wet flannel around the plug carefully, wiping at the excess lube smeared on Charlie’s skin. When he’s done, he throws the flannel into the sink, then grabs at Charlie’s ass cheek, making sure to brush against the base. Nick feigns surprise when Charlie grunts suddenly, but wraps Charlie up in his arms to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.
“Darling?” Nick asks, cupping Charlie’s face in his hands.
“Babes,” Charlie replies.
With a cheeky grin, Nick responds, “Let’s stay in tonight.”
Charlie scoffs, lightly smacking Nick’s chest with an open palm. “You little shit!”
Nick laughs, dodging Charlie’s hands’ next attack.
“Go get dressed,” Charlie tells him, giggling, landing one good slap to Nick’s ass. “We’re going the fuck out!”
———
“Char,” Nick flounders, eyes wide, looking his husband up and down, “you look, uh …”
Charlie shifts his weight from foot to foot, a confused expression on his face.
“It’s …” Nick stammers. It’s been a long time since they got a bit dressed up to go out. Maybe even a whole year, as Charlie estimated earlier. Nick swallows. “You look incredible.”
Charlie made sure to get dressed away from Nick, so the look is a complete surprise. His husband didn’t even see what selections from his wardrobe made it into his suitcase. And Nick’s reaction didn’t disappoint — his jaw falling, dark eyes wandering, not knowing what detail to take in first, before his face settled into a satisfied smile.
“You think?” Charlie asks, wanting to be sure that he’s not overdressed or needs to change into a more modest top. “I have —”
“Darling,” Nick says simply. “It’s perfect. You’re stunning.”
Charlie looks into the full-length mirror one more time. He chose a baby blue, long-sleeved mesh top with a knit polo collar, basic black trousers that fit him to a tee, black leather loafers, a few extra accessories alongside his wedding band, and the chipped, dark green glitter nail polish Lucy painted on his nails before they left for holiday. His tattooed arms peek through the fitted, diamond-patterned mesh, teasing the images beneath. His dark curls dried into the perfect mix of definition and volume, complimenting the edgy style of his cut. Smoothing his hands over his top, Charlie then turns to Nick.
He’s dressed in tan, pleated trousers, a brown button-down dress shirt that appears loose and silky against his frame, lace-up cap toe boots in a deep, worn brown, and his timelessly classic watch. His auburn hair still cut on the short side, all casually mussed skyward with some styling product Charlie got him. Charlie takes his bottom lip between his teeth whilst appearing to study Nick’s outfit, seemingly considering something.
“Am I not good enough for my hot husband tonight?” Nick questions, raising his eyebrows as if offended.
“No, I like it,” Charlie replies surely, but wavers a touch. “Just, maybe …”
Nick motions to himself, an invitation.
Charlie takes a step forward to assess closely and decides to let loose the majority of the buttons on Nick’s top, exposing his chest. Taking a half-step back, Charlie nods, “That’s better.”
“Wasn’t aware this was a topless club,” Nick quips, eyeing the adjustment made to his shirt.
Rolling his eyes, Charlie responds, “You’re not topless.”
“Topless,” Nick reasons, “tits out. It’s all the same.”
“You look so good, though,” Charlie tells him, fingers following the edges of the top up, to circle his arms around Nick’s neck and pull him in for a kiss. “Like, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”
“You mean the hottest guy you happened to be married to,” Nick corrects, going in for another kiss.
“You’re hot and you’re my husband,” Charlie states. “Both can be true.”
And with that, he considers the argument won, so he backs away and grabs his phone, checking for messages and the time.
“Only a few minutes until we meet them at the gates,” Charlie explains.
“Shall we go then?” Nick asks, holding out his hand for Charlie to take.
They walk hand in hand to the gates at the front of the property, where Tillie, Ace, Leo, and David are waiting for the hired car, which arrives shortly after Nick and Charlie do. The driver talks pleasantly to David — who’s riding in the passenger seat — the whole way, telling him all about the nightlife in the area they’re on their way to. There’s bars, clubs, late-night restaurants, and sometimes events, with lots of dancing, drinks, tapas, and music, both from DJs and from live bands, depending on where one chooses to party. David nods his head at every supposedly exclusive tidbit the driver shares, but Nick can tell he’s not paying attention. And when they reach their destination — out of the vehicle and down a dark set of stairs — David wastes no time in telling the group he’ll be leaving whenever he’s ready, without them. He’ll text when he’s gone and there’s no use waiting up. The others nod at his clipped instructions, then roll their eyes after he makes his way inside alone.
The outside of the club is nondescript, blending into the coastal scenery, but after locating the door amongst an outcropping off cliffs, the interior is the complete and total opposite. It’s dim, the house lights low with a multitude of colored strobes going off at any given moment, the neon hues rotating on a random shuffle. The ceiling is a web of exposed ductwork and beams, silver and mostly shiny, reflecting the rainbow at odd angles and shapes. There are high-topped tables and a few booths to one side of the bar and traditional bar seating along a countertop, behind which a line of bartenders are serving a variety of fancy cocktails, little shots of liquor, and specialty mixed drinks in sleek lowball glasses. The expansive wall that cages them into their shared workspace is filled with hundreds of alcohol bottles from bar height to the ceiling, backlit with glowing running lights, blinking to the beat of the music. In the far corner is a DJ with a complicated setup of turntables, speakers, and other assorted equipment, including a tiny electric drum kit. The DJ looks to be a petite woman with big pink hair and a gold vinyl romper, a shining beacon against the lights, highlighting the way she’s dancing with reckless abandon — throwing her arms up and out, encouraging the dancers on the smooth, squared floor in front of her station. The mass of bodies is surprisingly large, all packed into the moderately sized space, and everyone seems to be dancing together as one writhing entity, like the crowd is alive of its own accord. And the music is pounding loud, so intense it feels like a throbbing heartbeat inside every patron, working its magic to bring the club to life. The bass immediately burrows into ears, setting them ringing and no doubt continuing long after the establishment shuts down in the wee hours of the morning.
Nick and Charlie discovered their love of dancing the first year Nick attended uni. They used to go out often then, when Charlie would visit or sometimes even when Nick returned home. They aren’t great at dancing — perhaps not even good, though Charlie can definitely keep a beat — but the key to their enjoyment of it is quite simple: they have to be at least two strong drinks or three weak drinks under the influence before hitting a dance floor. By then, they’re too far gone to care about how they look or what moves they’re trying, instead just letting the pulsing rhythm and the need to be near each other guide them.
So Charlie, Tillie, and Leo go to claim a table while Nick and Ace collect their drinks. They have to shout a bit, but the quintet take the time to visit as they sip their libations. Tillie catches Nick and Charlie up with her new flat, her new promotion at her old work, and how she and Ace met. Leo updates the group about the newlywed life he’s been living with Gemma for the past few months, how they found out they were expecting, and the fact that it’s a girl, but they’re keeping it quiet around Rich and Diane, who prefer to be surprised. Ace tells Nick, Charlie, and Leo a little more about themselves, eventually opening up about their nonbinary journey, citing how they already feel so comfortable around a long-established queer couple and an ally.
After two rounds of drinks, the group chat gets a notification from David. It just reads “out” and the table briefly discusses whether they think he left with a stranger to do, well, whatever it is that David does, besides beg for his father’s approval and impregnate women he’s only known a short time. They laugh at his expense for a little while, since he was a bully to all of them growing up save Ace, and then they collectively admit they have to acknowledge how he’s changed for the better, if not into an altogether good and loving person.
Charlie gets up from the table first, kissing Nick on the cheek and telling him, “Going to the loo. Be right back.”
Then Tillie, Ace, and Leo decide it’s time to hit the dance floor. They offer to wait for Charlie, but Nick assures them he’ll stay behind and get his husband out there as soon as he can, so the threesome shimmy away and into the crowd.
Nick gets another text notification. But it’s not the group chat this time. It’s from Charlie.
Hoping it’s not anything to worry about — maybe Sarah sent a picture or a video just to him instead of both of them, as she often does by accident — Nick quickly opens the thread to reveal a single photo. It takes a minute for the full image to make sense in his alcohol-addled mind, but once he figures it out, his heart starts racing, cheeks flushing. There’s the blue mesh of Charlie’s top, the black fabric of his trousers, gaping open in a deep V, and in between is the unmistakable sight of ornate black lace. Peeking from the waistband of the lace is Charlie’s thumb, the glitter catching what little light’s in the picture.
And there, rising from the lace, situated just below Charlie’s thumb, is the head of his hard cock, already glistening.
———
“Char?” Nick questions near the stalls in the club’s toilets. There’s only three total, in a darkened corner of the room, covered in graffiti, just like the surrounding walls. Most of the scribbled words are in various languages, from Spanish and Catalan to French, but one English phrase stands out, glowing bright in the dim light — “call on me” and a series of numbers. Nick briefly wonders how long the words have been there and if the number still works — not for personal reasons, not because he’s tempted to call, but out of sheer curiosity — before he sees shoes matching the ones Charlie’s wearing peeking from underneath the last stall door.
Nick reaches out, fingertips pushing at the cool metal, and it gives easily, the door swinging open to reveal Charlie standing there, one hand buried in his hair, polished pinky dipping to his mouth, as he gasps open-mouthed at the hand down his trousers. Without hesitation, Nick slips into the stall, shuts the door behind him, and locks it with sure hands. He turns back to his husband, immediately takes Charlie’s wrist in his hand, and pins Charlie against the wall with his hips, Nick’s hand slamming Charlie’s arm above them, as if declaring Charlie off-limits even to himself. In seconds, Nick’s mouth is on Charlie’s, tongue demanding, and when Nick rolls his hips hard into Charlie’s, cocks brushing against fabric and each other, they both moan with abandon, like no one else in this bathroom can hear. But someone chuckles at the noise, then the squeak of the door and a loud, “Get that dick, honey.”
Neither Nick nor Charlie care, as Charlie drags his free hand over Nick’s exposed chest, grasping at hair and slipping over sweaty flesh, all the way from near his navel, up to his shoulder and then across his back, pulling him closer, into each renewed sloppy kiss — all tongues and teeth and swapped saliva and uncontrolled pants of breath, hot, heavy, wet.
Nick finally lets go of Charlie’s arm so he can reach around, grasping a handful of Charlie’s ass, groping, looking starry-eyed at the black lace peeking low from Charlie’s hips. He grins, fingering the fabric, breathing, “These new?”
Charlie shrugs, “Maybe.”
He feigns nonchalance while he watches Nick slowly find the edge of the lace, but it’s not where he anticipated. Nick locks eyes with Charlie, nostrils flaring, lips parted, as his fingertips trace the scalloped hem all the way around the inverted V cutout, discovering a thin satin ribbon zigzagging across the gap, securing it. For now.
Raising an eyebrow, Nick lets his fingers tangle in the ribbon, testing with a tug. It holds tight. He smirks, curious, then roughly grabs Charlie’s hips, quickly turning him to press his front to the wall, holding him there with a commanding hand at Charlie’s lower back. With his free hand, Nick shoves Charlie’s trousers down, over his ass cheeks, so he can fully see the back of the lace briefs. It’s even better than he was expecting, what his mind had pictured, because Charlie’s arching his back, pert, round ass on display through the sheer patterned fabric and the laced-up cutout, which hides nothing. Plenty of smooth skin is peeking through and Nick’s fingers follow the back and forth of the ribbon, playing at Charlie’s crack, until his touch hits the plug’s base. Nick shifts forward, his chest against Charlie’s back, pressing forcefully, as his lips find the back of Charlie’s neck and his tongue tastes the skin there and he slips his fingers between the ribbon to expertly tap the plug to the hammering beat of the music outside, aware that this particular model will hit just the right spot.
And hit it does. Charlie grunts with the first shudder, cheek still pressed firmly against the wall. He closes his eyes, breath stuttering, trembling with each thump that sends shockwaves through his body, and the building rhythm rips a moan from his throat, sounding desperate for more.
Nick licks the shell of Charlie’s ear and asks lowly, “You like that, love?”
Charlie whimpers, nodding.
Nick’s hips are near Charlie’s ass, just a little offset, cock throbbing through his trousers at Charlie’s upper thigh, and he grinds in time, whispering, “You wish it was me?”
“I do,” Charlie nearly sobs. “God, I fucking do.”
“Tell me how badly you want it,” Nick breathes heavier, hot at Charlie’s jaw.
“Nick, I —” Charlie’s humping the wall, searching for more friction, anything to satisfy the pounding Nick’s pulsing into him. He grits his teeth together and mumbles, “I want it hard.”
“Yeah?” Nick’s fingers suddenly take a break, sliding further between Charlie’s legs to massage his taint. “How hard?”
“I want —” Charlie gasps at the abrupt change. He moans, as his palms glide helplessly over the wall, as if needing something to cling to. Charlie’s words rush out in an exhale, “Your cock could split me in fucking two and I’d say fucking thank you.”
“That hard, huh?” Nick’s hands retreat and he takes a step back.
It feels like Charlie can finally take a proper inhale, fill his lungs, and yet his body craves more, like its fighting the loss of stimulation, the feel of his husband, the overwhelming and welcome warmth at his back. He spins on his heel, his back sagging, letting the wall prop him up. Charlie’s panting, his skin tinged pink with a thin layer of sweat, but none of that matters when his eyes focus on Nick — he’s still so close, Charlie could just lift a hand and he’d be able to stroke his husband’s straining cock, unfortunately still caged behind the fly of his trousers.
And Nick’s just as blissed out as Charlie is, looking hungrily at his husband like nothing else in the world matters, like the end of the world could happen around them, but they’d still be here, locked in this bathroom, wanting nothing more than each other.
Nick takes a step closer again, dropping his hand to Charlie once more time — wiggling the plug deeper with a groan sounding from Charlie’s lips — as he pushes their bodies together, slipping a thigh between Charlie’s legs.
“Lemme fuck you,” Nick says quietly, calculated, as he guides Charlie’s hips into a sway alongside his.
Charlie pulls him into a heated kiss, hands in Nick’s hair, rough and reckless.
“Right here,” Nick continues, face at Charlie’s neck, breathing wet against his skin. “Right now.”
“Not yet,” Charlie whispers, determined to play the long game, though his body seems to disagree as it meets Nick’s every move.
“Lemme rip that fucking ribbon out,” Nick suggests, his voice gravelly in Charlie’s ear, “tie your hands up with it.”
“Not here,” Charlie exhales with measured breath, then inhales sharply.
“Lemme fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
Charlie’s breath catches in his throat. He grins slowly, sweetly, questioning, “Is that a threat or a promise?”
Nick leans in, fully against Charlie, cock to cock, heartbeat to heartbeat, lips nearly touching, and says softly, with the hint of a crooked smile, “Both.”
Charlie whimpers, desperately sighing with every new roll of Nick’s hips, harder and harder and harder, keeping relentless beat with the upbeat dance song being played at full volume just the other side of the door.
Grabbing at Nick’s back, Charlie encourages him, practically crawling up the front of his husband, so Nick picks him up by the hips — Charlie’s legs encircling Nick instinctively, locking him in — and pounds him against the wall.
“Fuck!” Charlie yelps in between moans. Then he pulls away just long enough to lick his lips, swallowing hard, his throat bobbing under Nick’s mouth now, and he lets out another, “Oh, fuck, yes!”
Nick’s hand slides between Charlie’s trousers and pants, following along the curved arch of his back, until his fingers push at the lace and ribbon to hit the base of the plug. Charlie moans and all the while, Nick’s hips are incessant, at a deliberately constant pace, and Charlie sinks his fingers into Nick’s hair at the back of his neck as their mouths crash again and again.
Charlie drags his lips from Nick’s, breathless, barely able to form a thought much less a sentence, “Nick, I —” He cuts himself off with a moan when Nick’s lips latch onto the skin where shoulder meets neck and sucks so determinedly there’s no doubt already a mark there. “Nick, we —” An involuntary groan, and all Charlie can do is hold on, digging his fingers into Nick’s scalp, and ride the waves of pleasure that threaten to undo them both. “Fuck, baby.”
Suddenly, Nick crowds in, and gently guides Charlie’s legs to stand on his own. His face nears Charlie’s, but he doesn’t kiss him, just sharing heavy breaths in the same space, and then their foreheads are resting together, bodies melting, tangling, so close it hurts in the best way. When Nick looks at Charlie, it’s nothing but hunger, want, need, something utterly filthy but feels like the brink of heaven. He licks his own thumb, making a show of it, bringing it into his mouth like he wishes it was Charlie’s cock, and then it travels to the front of Charlie’s mesh shirt, making wet contact with his nipple through the patterned holes. As Nick circles the nub slowly, teasing, Charlie gasps, shuddering.
“God, fuck,” Charlie breathes. He knew he looked hot in this shirt, and Nick had confirmed as much, but he never thought of this possibility when he wore it. Now he’ll want nothing else in the future and he doesn’t know if it’s been ruined or perfected — and he couldn’t care less.
Nick is lazily grinding into his hip, leaving Charlie’s cock woefully neglected, with a thumb still playing at his nipple, and just when Charlie thinks he can’t take any more, Nick dips his head to swipe a tongue directly onto the opposite side of Charlie’s chest. Like Charlie’s nipple is playing hide and seek, the holes of the fabric move against him with the motion of Nick’s mouth, and it feels so good Charlie shivers.
When he notices Charlie’s tremble, Nick groans and rakes his teeth along the pert nub, pinching the other between his thumb and index finger, and Charlie nearly comes on the spot. Thankfully, his body doesn’t get that memo, just pumping jets of pre-cum into his pants so the front’s soaked through, he knows, but his brain doesn’t catch up to the fact that Nick’s headed that direction until he licks at Charlie’s navel through his shirt, dropping to his knees. And then his mouth is at the already-open fly of Charlie’s trousers, sinking his lips over the wet spot, breath hot, and pressing his whole face unabashedly against the gap of the zipper, the lace soft at his skin.
Charlie cries out, still holding onto Nick’s hair for dear life. But Nick’s already got a hand under him, thumb situated directly between his legs, massaging, and fingers teasing the plug. It’s too much. He’ll come any second.
“Ah, fuck,” Charlie hisses through his teeth, and he can’t help the way his hips push against Nick’s face, begging for friction or preferably down his throat, as deep as he can get, making Nick gag until he drools thick ropes of slobber. “Nick, I …” He gasps, craving release, but fighting it. He doesn’t want to let go, even if Nick feels so good he could die from the fire licking at his insides. This wasn’t the plan. “Nick, wait.”
In an instant, Nick rests his hands flat on the wall behind Charlie and rocks back to rest on his heels, his eyes looking up at Charlie, searching his face. The hunger and want and need are still there, in his gaze, but he’s also asking a question.
“Oh my fucking god,” Charlie mutters, staring at his husband, who’s ready and willing to do anything for him, to him, right here in a less-than-clean men’s toilet stall in a bustling club nestled within the cliffs of Menorca, on a weeks-long holiday with his family, no less. It wouldn’t be the first time. Touching Nick’s face as he catches his breath, Charlie’s fingertips trace his features softly, then push into his hair at his forehead. Nick’s cheeks are red, his lips pink, his hair a mess under Charlie’s hands, and sweat’s gathered at his hairline, one drop trickling down his neck. Charlie bends at the waist to lick it, his tongue following its path backward, from Nick’s clavicle up behind his ear. And there, Charlie whispers, “You are so fucking gorgeous.”
Nick bites his lower lip, chest still heaving, and Charlie grips the roots of his hair to help him stand, pulling him in for a sinful kiss that tastes of equal parts pre-cum and sweat. When the kiss ends, they just stand there against each other, noses nearly touching, reminding themselves to breathe.
Shifting closer to Charlie’s ear, Nick says lowly, “Lemme suck you off.”
Charlie considers the offer, so tempting, especially with the way his husband’s watching his lips and licking his own. But Charlie grins devilishly. “Wait til we get back to the villa.”
Nick touches the exposed skin at Charlie’s hips, where his fly still hangs open, then puts his hands on the wall behind Charlie, faces so close they’re less than a second away from touching. “Fuck my face. I wanna swallow every drop, darling.”
Charlie cups Nick’s face in his hands, like he may just take his husband up on the suggestion, but instead he pulls Nick into his neck, so his lips are at Nick’s ear, his whispered words unmistakable. “When we get back, I’m all yours.”
A bite to his lip and Nick asks, “And until then?”
“Well, uh,” Charlie replies, smiling while sidestepping Nick’s figure, “we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He tucks himself back into his trousers, making the obvious as less so as possible, does up his fly, and eyes the result for a moment, absentmindedly brushing at his top. With a quick wink, Charlie pats the bulge at the front of Nick’s trousers, aims a wide grin at his husband, and opens the stall door. “See you out there, babes.”
“Char!” Nick exclaims, just as Charlie slips away. “What the —”
The squeak of the door is all the proof he needs to know Charlie’s left the toilets.