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I felt like an absolute dick asking Charlie to stay the night last time he was here. I’m blaming it on the oxytocin that was surging through my bloodstream and not the fact I’m absolutely head over heels for the curly-haired menace.
Regardless of the reason, he doesn’t seem to be holding it against me. He’s back again, perched on my bed and opening the next calendar door like nothing ever happened. Every time he arrives it feels more and more natural, and even at door three I’m already dreading the calendar coming to an end.
I’m staring at him. He’s already stripped down to his boxers and T-shirt, and I think it’s adorable how comfortable he must feel here. His hair is bigger than usual, the curls are not as defined, but I like it. I could reach out and brush the stray strands from his face, tuck them behind his ear. I like the way he’s concentrating on the calendar, eyes raking slowly over it as he searches for the number, and the urgency that follows when he finally finds the door.
‘Would you like to be double stuffed?’ he reads out, voice unwavering—then just stares at me.
It takes me a second to register.
‘Fuck off, does it really say that?’ I gasp.
He doesn’t respond straight away, just holds my gaze for a beat before cracking up.
‘Of course it doesn’t, you numpty.’
I laugh along with him.
‘I wondered where Janet got this bloody thing from for a second there.’
Yes, I’m still extremely confused about this weird-as-fuck Secret Santa gift, but I’m not about to complain when I get to re-enact all these cheesy prompts with Charlie. He just shrugs and nods like he knows it’s weird as fuck too, but neither of us bring it up—probably out of fear of poking at our also very weird-as-fuck situation.
Charlie picks up the small stack of cards and starts flicking through them. His eyes widen with each one, and I swear I see a flicker of horror cross his face.
‘What does it really say?’
‘Is being fully filled at the top of your Christmas list?’ he doesn’t look at me. He just keeps scanning the cards like he’s searching for something that isn't scaring the shit out of him.
‘Fully filled?’ I repeat, voice cracking.
‘Yes. Fully. Filled.’ he says, matter-of-fact, punctuating each word with a tiny nod.
Then he turns one of the cards around for me to see and—oh.
Fully filled Indeed.
His shoulders slump slightly and he looks a little defeated.
‘We can’t do most of these without being extra prepared.’ he says, almost glumly.
Then he squints at one of the prompt cards and bites his tongue; his concentration is just another adorable addition to the many faces of Charlie Spring.
‘Where do you keep your toys?’ he asks, placing the cards on the bed.
‘My toys?’
‘Yes, your sex toys. Where are they? I might have an idea.’
‘I—I don’t have any.’
He just blinks at me. Then he raises an eyebrow, looking at me like I’m a massive liar.
‘Seriously. I don’t have any. I mean… I might have a rogue plug hanging around somewhere, but that’s about it.’
My cheeks prickle with embarrassment. Again, I’m not a complete novice in the sex department, obviously, but I wouldn’t say I have the hungriest sexual appetite. Well, maybe the last week has changed that but still…
‘Wow, how do you manage without them…’ he says, genuine disbelief colouring his voice. Then he frowns, glances away, and mumbles, ‘Well, I suppose if you’re having lots of sex you wouldn’t really have a need.’
He laughs, but it’s hollow. Then he huffs—in defeat, frustration, or whatever the hell that is, I’m not sure.
‘You know what, we can’t do tonight’s prompt, so… let’s just leave it, yeah?’ he says stroppily, already bending down to pick his trousers up off the floor.
What the hell is his problem?
But when he starts putting a foot into the leg of his jeans, I panic.
Fuck.
He cannot leave.
My brain is scrambling, absolutely spiralling, trying to land on something—anything—that will make him stay. He won’t want to just hang out, and I can’t cross boundaries by suddenly trying it on with him or whatever.
Argh, fuck.
I stroll over, trying to look casual and not like I’m seconds away from begging.
‘I’ve got an idea…’ I murmur, reaching out and catching his chin gently between my thumb and forefinger, guiding his eyes up to meet mine.
He goes tense and rigid at first—a full-body flinch—and then something loosens in him. His shoulders drop. His expression softens. And his eyes…
There’s something there. Sadness? Mmm, tiredness most probably. It is the end of the week, after all.
‘What’s your idea?’ he asks, huffily—but he sounds about two seconds away from giving in.
I just smile. Warm. The kind of smile that says trust me without actually saying it. I try to pour every bit of want and soft desperation into our eye contact.
Then I let go of his chin, kick off my tracksuit bottoms, and settle myself up against the headboard.
He just stands there watching me, sceptical. If he wasn’t trying so hard to stay moody, I’m sure he’d have his arms crossed, tapping his foot.
‘Come here.’ I stretch my legs out and tap my lap.
‘Why? What’s your idea? Because—’
‘Charlie.’ I cut him off, soft but firm. ‘Just… trust me and come here, okay?’
I say it sternly, sure—but there’s a question in my tone. I want him to have a choice. Always.
He hesitates, then takes a tentative step forward. And when it’s accompanied by a small, reluctant smile, I know we’re back on the right track.
We both end up stripping down, and now he’s straddling me—fitting into my lap perfectly. I’m trying (and absolutely failing) to ignore our cocks rubbing together. The fact we’re both already hard isn’t helping; it’s so tempting to just grab the lube and get us both off like this.
Charlie’s completely softened now. That grumpy exterior of his melted the second I told him to take his clothes off. I don’t see myself becoming some full-on Dom or anything, but when he actually listened to my soft demand and stripped… yeah. I can see the appeal.
‘So what’s your idea then?’ he asks.
My hands are splayed across his lower back, just above the curve of his bum, and he’s so warm and soft under my palms it’s ridiculous.
‘I was thinking…’ I tap his hip twice with my fingers.
He furrows his brows—that cute little crease appearing—and he’s just so stupidly beautiful even when he’s trying to be sassy.
‘I don’t get it,’ he says bluntly.
I bring my hand around and hold up two fingers.
‘You’ll just have to trust me.’
He nods when he finally clocks what I’m getting at, but then he looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
‘That’s not the prompt though… We’ll be breaking the rules.’
‘It’s an advent calendar, Charlie. There aren’t rules.’ I lean in and peck his cheek. ‘Just relax and let me make you feel good.’
And with that, I don’t need to say another word. He just leans in and kisses me. Which I take as very enthusiastic agreement to my plan. It starts off a bit frantic—his mouth hot against mine—while my hands slide down to cup his arse, pulling him closer as our tongues battle for dominance.
His hands come up to my face, holding me there, and his grip gets tighter the longer we kiss.
I love the friction of his cock dragging against my stomach, the faint brush of his balls against me every time he shifts in my lap. He’s pressed in so firmly that all I can feel is the heat pouring off him, like he’s trying to melt right into me.
Things settle down, and I’m more than happy to take it slow. Our lips move lazily, unhurried, and there’s a soft moan every time one of us shifts and gets a little more contact.
My hands drift slowly up and down Charlie’s back. I can feel the sharpness of his bones under my fingertips, the velvet softness of his skin. I start to kiss gently along his jaw while his hands settle on my shoulders.
God, this was a good plan—if I can have a tiny humble brag for a second. It feels so… fuck, I don’t even know. Sensual? All my senses are buzzing. I can feel every tiny movement either of us makes, and there’s this delicious flutter low in my stomach every time I look up and catch his blissed-out eyes.
‘You’re so perfect,’ I whisper, nipping gently at his neck before leaning in and biting his shoulder softly.
He lets out a breath—a little undone sound—and we haven’t even got to the best bit yet. We both seem perfectly content to take it slow and soft.
My favourite. I love hot and ravenous sex, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something special—intimate—about getting to really feel each other and take our time.
I grab the lube from my bedside table with one hand, and while he’s kissing down my neck—manoeuvring my face wherever he wants it so he can get to all the spots he likes—I warm the lube between my fingers.
When he reaches my shoulder, I hear a quiet, desperate ‘fuck’ slip out of him, and his lips just… stop there. Not moving, just hovering and brushing against my skin like he’s found a spot he really, really likes.
He seems to luxuriate there for a second, and then I start gently circling his hole. He just melts into my shoulder. His face presses in, and I get the absolute pleasure of kissing a full head of soft, fluffy curls.
The smell of his shampoo is intoxicating. I breathe it in, taking my time, focusing on how he feels under my fingers. I can feel the twitch of his muscles every time my touch gets a little firmer.
He’s huffing now, these tiny, needy bursts of breath, and with my free hand I pull him closer. Our cocks are trapped together and it feels amazing, but the urgency there has quietened.
All I care about right now is making Charlie feel good.
Yeah, the card’s prompt suggestions were fun, but maybe a bit too intimate and time-consuming for two people who are supposed to be casual. Not that anything about this feels casual—not when he’s mewling into my shoulder and I’m pushing my fingers in so delicately, with so much care, and oh fuck—
Nothing could feel better than this.
‘I—Is this okay, Char?’ I mumble into his hair.
‘Mmmhmm.’ He hums it, tight-lipped, and I feel the vibration against my chest because we’re pressed so close.
I keep going, slow and easy, and then we’re kissing again. I’m deeper now, but still unhurried. I add more lube, work my fingers in and out in soft strokes, brushing just where he likes.
I keep it to just two, as an ode to the calendar prompt… of course.
He’s getting impatient—I can feel it in the way he’s kissing me, how it’s gone from soft-but-firm to quick and messy.
‘Fuck, Charlie,’ I breathe when I finally pull back enough to look at him.
He stares down at me and we pause for a second—but my fingers keep moving, pushing deeper. The angle’s a little awkward, but I make it work because he’s so small, so tight, and I can’t stop.
I bite my bottom lip to keep a stream of mushy nonsense from spilling out, and then I push in further and curl my fingers.
Our eyes disconnect when he throws his head back, panting out, ‘Fuck, Nick—do that again.’
So I do. Because I’ll do anything he wants.
We keep going like this, his cock rutting against mine, and the friction keeps getting slipperier as we leak pre-come all over each other. Fuck, my head is swimming. Charlie is moaning into my skin, moving faster, more frantic with every shift of his hips.
‘Yeah… yeah, just like that… more…’
He’s killing me.
‘Please—keep going…’
Like I could ever stop.
‘More—oh my god, more—’
We’re sweating, and it just adds to the intensity of everything.
And it is intense. So fucking intense.
Just having him here—in my arms, against me—I can smell him, feel him, hear everything that's escaping him. All my senses are drowned in Charlie, and if I’m honest… This feels like life goals.
And the noises he’s making? God. They’re beautiful. Little whines, grunts, breathy huffs that keep getting louder and louder. And the broken begging… fuck. Obscene doesn’t even cover it.
‘More, more, more,’ he keeps chanting under his breath, and then he’s mouthing at my neck—low enough that it’s covered, so I don’t give a fuck, I just let him— and—
‘Deeper,’ he breathes, sucking at the spot again, and I just tip my head back, giving him access and pushing my fingers in, determined to please. I keep the rhythm, keep going, and that’s it.
That’s it.
He clenches around me, kisses me feral, and then he’s coming between us, and I can feel the hot slip of it on my stomach.
Fuck.
I babble complete and utter nonsense as I come too.
I think I’m telling Charlie how amazing he is, how good he feels—I don’t care, it’s true—and then my whole body snaps tight like a pulled string and I choke out a desperate, ‘FUCK,’ as I’m shooting ropes of come between us.
Woah.
Fuck indeed.