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my heart, it tumbled

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It isn't ideal - it's far from ideal. Paying Tom's (not TomTom, Jesus - not here and not now, for fuck's sake) bail has pretty much entirely cleaned him out but it's worth it to have Tom's mouth on his, the kiss wet and hungry - it feels like a long time coming, somehow.

It's barely been any time at all.
But here they are, anyway.

"I'll pay you back," Tom says, stumbles, between kisses. Charlie's still busy fumbling for his keys, trying to stop them rattling against the door; his nan sleeps like the dead but he's still not going to run the risk. He slips his free hand between them, cupping Tom's cock through his jeans, squeezing him firmly.

"Damn straight."

Tom's grin is quick, surprised and utterly genuine.

"You're done this before," he whispers, rolling his hips forward to press the hard line of his cock into Charlie's palm.

"Once or twice," says Charlie. From the look in Tom's eye, he's got a feeling that makes two of them. He rubs his thumb along the line of Tom's fly, other hand curled around his keys and resting against Tom's hip. There's something surprisingly solid about Tom close to - Charlie's got a couple of inches on him, height wise but he likes the feel of Tom pressed in against him, likes the rise and fall of him where he can feel it.

This time, Tom's smile is smaller, a flicker, tugging at the corner of his mouth. The stubble suits him; he'd look about twelve, clean shaven.


That smile broadens.

"I was just wondering what you look like naked. That dress didn't leave much to the imagination, mate."

Charlie's cock definitely sits up and takes notice of that.

"Upstairs. First door at the top of the stairs. I'll be right up."

Tom takes another kiss before he goes. He leaves his trainers in the hall and, without thinking, Charlie nudges them straight with his toe.

He sticks his head into the sitting room and finds his nan still in her chair, fast asleep with her head nodding, her glasses resting on her chest, her thumb keeping her place in a battered paperback romance novel. Charlie takes the book gently and marks her place with the photograph that she's been using. It's a picture of his mum, younger than he is now. There aren't many pictures of his mum.

He leaves his nan where she is. She'll wake up on her own and, honestly, it's probably safer if she's down here.

For now, at least.


About a year ago, Charlie snapped. He put all of his kid stuff in boxes, a jumble of toy cars and football trophies, pin-ups and school toys. All of that went up into the attic and, in its place, he tried for something a little bit His nan gave him the bigger bedroom years ago, so he's got room for a double bed and a desk, a battered armchair that usually ends up serving double duty as a suit-rack.

There aren't any suits on it right now.

Right now, right this moment, Tom is sitting in that chair. He's shed his leather jacket, his t-shirt, so it's just bare skin and khaki, the key around his neck. It's so easy for Charlie to sink down on his knees in front of him, hands on his thighs to push them wider apart. Tom's breath catches in his chest.

"What's that key for?" he asks, leaning forward to just brush his lips against the front of Tom's trousers, right against his cock. Tom tries to lift his hips but Charlie's hands keep him pressed firmly back in the chair.

"It's the key to my dad's house," says Tom, biting his lip as Charlie eases down his zip, presses his hand inside his pants to stroke his cock slowly.

"Why have you got it around your neck?"

Tom shrugs, arching his back to lift his hips and press his cock through the circle of Charlie's fingers.

"In case I ever want to go back," he says.
It's a sentiment that Charlie can sympathise with, at least. He bends his head, just brushing his lips against the head of Tom's cock. It's not much, but it's enough to make Tom's hips jerk up.

"Are you seriously about to do what I think you're going to do?"

Charlie licks his bottom lip and nods.

"You can pay me back later."

He takes his time. It's been a while since he gave another guy head; he's only dated girls in the last year or so. He likes the feeling of Tom's cock in his mouth, the slight tremble of Tom's thighs under his hands as he sucks, letting his cheeks hollow slightly, teasing with the flat of his tongue. His own cock is aching hard, hard enough to be a distraction, so he fumbles his jeans open, wrapping his fingers around himself and stroking as he bobs his head, swallowing Tom as deep as he can without gagging.

Which is deep. He's got himself pretty well trained.

Closing his eyes, he thinks about how Tom looks in his glasses, the thin sliver of skin that you can see, sometimes, when he leans over his computer to do something, his arse in combats, the way his hair ruffles when he pushes it back with his fingers, the way he bites his lip, his voice, his walk, the stubbled hollow of his throat. There's a strangled sound as Tom shoves his fist into his mouth to keep from yelling. Charlie smiles as much as his can.

"Oh, Jesus," gasps Tom, both hands coming to rest on Charlie's head, pushing his mouth down just a little. Which is fine. Which is good. Charlie's perfectly happy to kneel there and take it - the rock of Tom's hips, the pressure of his hands and the moment when he comes without warning, right into Charlie's mouth. He's never minded swallowing and he manages to without coughing. By the time he sits back on his heels, he's so turned on that he can barely breath and he doesn't want to assume anything, he really doesn't, but, God, he needs something more, especially with the way that Tom looks sitting there shirtless and flushed, his chest heaving, his trousers pushed down around his thighs. More naked than he is clothed.

Charlie bites his lip, savoring the taste of come on his tongue.

"Nope," he says. "Just me."

Tom slips down onto his knees, catching Charlie with one hand curled against the side of his neck and pulling him in for an off-centre sloppy kiss. It all tastes of beer and come and, Jesus, Charlie wants as much of it as he can get, but not on the bloody floor.

"Bed," he says, fingers of both hands tangled in Tom's slack waistband, backs of his fingers against the warm, yielding skin of Tom's belly. "Now."

Tom strips on the way there and Charlie watches him as he gets up on the bed and lies back, letting his knees fall apart. There's a tattoo wrapped around his hip, curling idly against the bone.

"What does that say?" asks Charlie, pausing to pull his shirt up over his head.
"It says, you're alive," says Tom, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as Charlie shoves his jeans down, hissing as the elastic of his pants drags against the underside of his cock. "And it's spectacular."

"Who said that?" asks Charlie, knees hitting the bed and then he's crawling up the mattress, between Tom's thighs. He asks, but Tom just shakes his head.
"It doesn't matter," he says.

Charlie kisses him, thumb tracing the whorling line of the tattoo, and then he leans across, rummaging in the drawer for lube and a rubber. He tries not to bring girls back because of his nan, but that doesn't mean that he's not prepared for the eventuality.

"You don't have to take a long time," says Tom, letting his knees fall further apart, giving Charlie room to slip slicked fingers between them. "It...hasn't been that long. I won't need much."

Charlie nods. He bites his lip and doesn't say how fucking hot that is. He finds that he doesn't mind the thought of Tom fucking other people; he thinks he'd almost like to watch. He focuses on Charlie's face as he sinks a finger into him, fucking him slowly. He's done this with other men, girls too, and he doesn't think he's ever liked anything as much as he likes the look on Tom's face as his fingers him, as he slides a second digit in alongside the first.

"You like that?" he asks, but he doesn't give Tom chance to answer him, just swallows the answer down with another kiss. Tom's arse is tight around his fingers and he keeps making these little gaspy, whimpery noises, pressed tight against Charlie's lips, sliding over his tongue. Charlie fucks him with his fingers for a few moments before he thinks he can't stand it any longer.

"Okay?" he asks, swallowing hard. "You can...You're ready?"

Tom nods.

"I'm so fucking ready." His eyes are bright and feverish, a little bit mental in a flushed face. "I'm so fucking ready for you."

Charlie's hands are shaking as he rolls the condom down over his cock. He hasn't been a virgin for years but this feels like more than a quick, celebratory fuck. This feels like it's got the potential to be somehow epic. He settles back between Tom's thighs and Tom's hand is on the back of his neck, the other on his shoulder as he lines his cock up and starts to slip inside, one aching inch at a time.

For a moment, neither of them make a sound.

They find a rhythm together, Charlie rocking down, Tom rising to meet him. Tom's hands stay on him, giving him something to focus on, stopping him from getting lost altogether. Their mouths press together, as much to keep each other quiet as for the joy of kissing. Charlie catches his weight on his hands to change the angle and Tom crosses his ankles, links them in the small of Charlie's back so that he's bent almost double and it's so intensely good but Charlie finds himself desperately craving more. He wants Tom on his hands and knees, wants him bent over, spread, tied, begging. He wants all of that for himself, too. He wants everything. He never wants this to stop.

"God, come on," moans Tom, bending his fingers to dig his nails into Charlie's shoulders so Tom bends his head nipping at the skin on Tom's shoulder, sucking up a mark on his skin. He likes the idea of Tom wearing that, of them being the only one who knows it's there.

He comes, finally, open mouth pressed against Tom's skin. For a moment, he can't even move. He just lies there, chest to chest, pulse to pulse, just breathing. He's twenty-three years old and he's not sure that he's ever been in love but this? This feels sort of like teetering really bloody close.

"Can you stay?" he asks, rolling to the side, dealing with the condom, promising himself that he'll empty the bin in the morning.

"Yeah," says Tom. "I can stay."
He sounds like a man whose got no intention of being anywhere other than where he is already.

By the time Charlie comes back to bed, Tom's already squirmed under the covers and it's easier than it should be to slide in alongside him. Tom rolls onto his side and Charlie moves in tight behind him, chest against his back, arms around his waist.

"See?" he murmurs. "How easy was that? Why the fuck did you have to get yourself arrested instead of just saying that to Jack?"

He feels Tom shrug, rather than actually seeing it.

"This is different," he says, stifling a yawn.
He's right. But, then again, Charlie's got a feeling that everything might be different now.

He hopes it is, anyway.