“Sorry for being like this.” Charlie doesn’t look sorry at all. He looks a little smug.
“You should be. Now I’m all sweaty. I’m dying, here.” Simon runs a finger under the collar of his shirt. “I’m not built for this.”
“Alex says I’m needy.”
“Pfft. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Simon is a global market leader in nuclear-grade neediness and Charlie’s running an adorable little lemonade stand. “Is that why you broke up?”
“Yep.”
The surge of irritation Simon feels toward Alex makes no sense at all. If they hadn’t broken up, Charlie wouldn’t even be here.
He takes a few steps toward Charlie. Charlie holds out a hand and Simon takes another few steps.
“I really am sorry for, you know. My personality.”
Charlie wraps a hand around Simon’s wrist and tugs. Simon goes alarmingly easily. “I like your personality.”
“Nobody likes my personality.Idon’t like my personality.”
Charlie lets go of Simon’s wrist long enough to put Edie on thefloor, which is animal abuse, but whatever; Simon’s okay with it because he knows what’s coming next. Charlie tugs Simon onto his lap. “Is it my turn to say nice things about you?”
“I will literally gag you and lock you in the bathroom.”
“That’s what I thought.” Charlie pulls Simon down for a kiss, then just rearranges him until Simon’s sprawled across Charlie’s chest.
“You like the book?” Simon asks into the skin of Charlie’s neck.
“Yeah, Simon. I like it.” One of Charlie’s hands is on Simon’s neck, the other big and heavy on his lower back.
“You should readHowl’s Moving Castlenext. There aren’t any dragons, but there’s dragon energy. Bitchy wizard plus his extremely competent housekeeper, basically.”
“I saw the movie.”
“He’s bitchier in the book, trust me.”
Charlie’s fingertips drift under the hem of Simon’s shirt. It’s been a while since Simon had a make-out-on-the-couch kind of relationship, but apparently that’s what they’re doing, and Simon doesn’t hate it. He just sort of lies on top of Charlie, not even bothering to hold himself up, and kisses the hinge of Charlie’s jaw, the place where his neck meets his shoulder. He smells like Simon’s bath soap mixed with whatever laundry detergent Charlie uses at home. Simon breathes in the scent like he’s chasing a high.
Charlie’s hands skim over Simon’s back, his fingers slipping under the waistband of Simon’s pants, but without any real intent. His hands are big and warm and a little callused, presumably from whatever he does at the gym and also a catastrophic failure to use moisturizer.
Simon’s coming to accept that he has a full-blown thing for Charlie’s hands.
“Is this how weighted blankets work?” Charlie asks, his mouth moving against Simon’s ear.
“I mean, my blankets don’t usually try to rub off on me but I’m not an expert.”
Charlie groans. “Let me see.”
For a minute Simon thinks Charlie wants to see his weighted blanket. Then—“Oh.”
“Or not,” Charlie says, because he’s slept with Simon three times, which is more than enough to have gathered that Simon’s comfort zone for sex (and also everything else) is not exactly broad and expansive.
Simon thinks about it, thinks about Charlie’s eyes on him, and nothing about that image doesn’t work for him. Simon sits back enough to undo his belt, to shove his pants down. Charlie does the same thing, scrambling a little, then tugs Simon back down so he face-plants into Charlie’s neck.
Then Simon just... does what he was doing before, except he pushes himself up on one elbow to give Charlie room to watch. He’s lazy about it—in this instance, that’s absolutely the right word—letting his pleasure build slowly, feeling up Charlie’s chest with his free hand.
The whole situation is completely no frills, utterly basic, two people getting one another off in the least creative way possible. When they came back home, Charlie turned on every light in the apartment, so they don’t even have the lighting working for them. Most of their clothes are still on, and not even in a sexy way.
Simon can’t think of a single reason why it should feel like more than all that. It might have something to do with the fact that Charlie’s running his mouth, telling Simon what he looks like. But even that’s pretty standard, as far as dirty talk goes, nothing Simon hasn’t heard before.
