Chapter Text
Charlie rises to the surface of waking, hovering in that liminal space, all nerve endings firing from the vestiges of a delicious sex dream; one where Nick had slid off Charlie’s sleep shorts and then his own boxers, and then ground against him. In the dream, he experienced the intoxicating drag of Nick’s cock hardening as it pressed and rubbed against his arse, then slipped in between his legs, fucking between his thighs, the thin, stretched cotton fabric of Charlie’s old underwear the only cloth separating them.
Only, when Charlie blinks fully awake, he realises that it’s not been a dream. He and Nick are spooning.
Charlie and Nick had fallen asleep together plenty of times in their four years of friendship. They’d met at an LGBTQ+ soc early on in Charlie’s first year at UCL; Charlie developed an instant crush, though Nick had a girlfriend at the time. Then Charlie had met Ben, and by the time that long, sloppy mess was over, Nick had a boyfriend. By the time they were both single, they’d become such good friends that they’d solidly friend-zoned each other.
Still, they’d lived on opposite sides of campus, so sometimes it was easier to just sleep over. There were plenty of late nights talking, studying and watching movies until they’d fallen asleep, or drunken nights crashing at each other’s place.
Now, Charlie’s first year post UCL, Nick’s second, they share a flat with Tao and Sai. Their sleepovers, despite the relative ease of returning to their own rooms, had become almost commonplace, at least when they were both single. Tonight, Nick had sought the comfort of their friendship after he’d gotten into a massive row with his wanker brother, who had lectured Nick about breaking up with his ‘hot’ girlfriend a couple weeks ago (good riddance to her, despite David’s opinion, she’d never treated Nick right).
To commiserate, Charlie had mixed them some cheap vodka and soda, then they got buzzed together while watching Taskmaster as a distraction, until apparently they’d both passed out.
Charlie’s always been a lighter sleeper than his best friend. Nick slept heavily, was hard to wake, would occasionally move in his sleep, talk, and even walked around the flat a few times. Charlie sometimes worried he’d hurt himself. Once, he’d slept so solidly he’d fallen off his bed and not woken up. At least when the fire alarm had gone off in their building because some idiot had apparently tried to make a toastie with a flat iron, Nick had stirred. For that, at least, Charlie was grateful.
Nick’s tendency to sleep heavily probably explains why, as Charlie comes to full consciousness, Nick remains sleeping. Their spooning position doesn’t surprise him: Nick is in the big spoon position, one arm under Charlie, the other wrapped over him. It’s not the first time they’ve ended up this way, though they never talk about it the next morning. The sex dreams don’t surprise him either. He’s been having thoughts of Nick fucking him (licking him, or him licking or sucking Nick, basically any kind of sexual act you could imagine with another person at this point) for four long years, both consciously and in his dreams. Even, occasionally, when Nick has slept over. He’s never, however, woken before to the two of them grinding together, Charlie’s sleep shorts missing and Nick’s boxers entirely absent. Charlie stills his body, wet and throbbing with want and need at the feel of Nick’s hard cock pressed so close. Nick’s hand is now trailing down his stomach.
Oh fuck.
“N-Nick?” Charlie asks quietly, fully awake now.
Nick doesn’t seem to hear him. What to do? He tries again a little louder, but afraid to raise his voice much higher; Tao is a light sleeper and just across the hall.
Charlie presses his hands hard against Nick’s, which have reached his treasure trail, in the hopes it will still his progress, but Nick simply continues his path downward, as if the weight of Charlie pressing on him is nothing, so that their hands land on top of the thin fabric separating his pussy from Nick’s probing fingers, Nick’s cock temporarily stilling between Charlie’s legs.
“Nick we shouldn’t—” but all the breath is knocked out of Charlie when Nick starts dragging his finger across his underwear through swollen pussy lips, his already wet hole gushing new warmth at the sensation of Nick moving the damp fabric so delicately over his nerve endings.
“Fuck,” Charlie whispers, squirming involuntarily, Nick’s cock grinding at the movement, eliciting internal fireworks.
Nick doesn’t respond other than with an mmmmm; he must still be sleeping, deep in his dream fantasy. He would never ignore Charlie like that if he were awake. He would never do something if he sensed the slightest hesitation in his friend.
No, Nick is sleeping, and grinding his very large, very hard cock between Charlie’s thighs again, sliding past his hole, while simultaneously rubbing Charlie’s clit through fabric, and oh god does it feel fucking good. Like all of Charlie’s fantasies come to life, only in nightmare form because Nick is asleep and has no idea what he’s doing or who he’s doing it to.
Charlie releases Nick’s hand suddenly, because all he’s managing to do is push Nick’s hand harder into his crotch. He reaches down to pinch Nick’s leg. Nick responds by using the arm under Charlie to reach up and pinch Charlie’s nipple just as hard.
“F-Fuck,” Charlie breathes again.
It might take real pain to wake Nick; he could maybe elbow him in the face, which would surely wake him, but it might hurt him, and Nick would be humiliated. Nick is more responsive to loud noises, but if he calls out too loudly, it will be even worse because it might wake Tao too. If he can just slip away without Nick waking, he can save him any unnecessary guilt.
With renewed determination, and no small amount of regret, Charlie pulls his body forward, grasping onto the edge of the mattress to assist, but he doesn’t have a lot of room to move, he’s almost against the wall now, and Nick chases him, securing him more tightly against him with both arms.
Nick, who has briefly stopped his hand and hip movements, says something entirely unintelligible, then kisses Charlie’s neck. It shoots little sparks of jealousy through him, for Nick to be so casually affectionate and loving with whomever he’s dreaming about. Probably his ex, god fucking help Charlie.
Then Nick starts to move his hand again, this time to slide Charlie’s soaking wet underwear to the side, to rub his fingers against the entrance to Charlie’s cunt.
Oh Jesus.
Body and heart war with his mind, which clings to the idea of ethics, though Charlie is having a hard time hanging onto the thought, what ethics he even means, as Nick expertly moves his fingers against Charlie’s slickness.
Focus, Charlie! F-fuck that feels good but it’s wrong for…some reason. Charlie can hardly think but he needs to stop this, to free himself from this pleasure prison, so Nick never knows. Only, every attempt to move in Nick’s unyielding embrace only pushes him harder against either Nick’s fingers or Nick’s cock, temporarily stilled but still very present, each touch sending more pleasure shooting through him.
He should feel claustrophobic from his inability to escape, but all his body is demanding is to submit, to let go, to focus only on the pleasure radiating from Nick’s expert movements between his legs. For a moment Charlie gives in to the desire, just allows himself to feel as Nick circles and slides across his sopping wet hole and then back again between puffy lips to his clit with the perfect amount of pressure, Charlie open-mouthed and gasping with the sensation of it.
Then Nick slides a finger down again, and sinks the whole of it inside of him.
“Nick,” Charlie calls in a strangled voice that’s meant to be a protest but comes out closer to a breathy, encouraging moan. What kind of heavenly hell has he entered? It’s everything he’s wanted, dreamed of, masturbated to for the past four years, only Nick isn’t conscious. Nick is dreaming of slipping his finger inside someone else.
“Nick, you have to stop and just go back to sleep,” he says louder, borderline loud enough to wake Tao, trying to sound commanding rather than as needy and wanton as he feels while his insides liquify into pure heat.
Nick doesn’t hear him. Instead, he kisses Charlie’s shoulders again before pulling out his finger and manoeuvring his cock against Charlie’s wet and pulsing hole. He strokes its head against his lips: tiny movements, back and forth, back and forth. Fuck, it feels so good. Charlie is almost mindless with the pleasure of it, has lost sense of up and down, is reduced to nerve endings begging him to give in to everything he’s wanted for so long.
“N-Nick we shouldn’t—"
Charlie’s voice trails off into an ahhhhh as Nick pushes against him, his cockhead meeting resistance as Nick grunts, until he’s finally pushed the head inside of Charlie’s pussy.
For a moment, Nick stills, cockhead just inside Charlie’s clenching walls, a sweet, impossible stretch. Charlie feels like a fish on a hook or a butterfly skewered to a board, if either of those scenarios came with almost unbearable pleasure. He feels pinned and helpless. But he’s the one who’s awake, while his friend is sleeping, so he needs to stop this. He needs to pull away even though every nerve is screaming at him to spread his legs and push back and sink further onto Nick’s cock.
He tries though, for Nick’s sake; he uses his feet against Nick’s legs to attempt to push himself upwards, just as Nick, holding him in place with an iron grip thrusts harder up, Charlie’s movements of resistance futile, as his walls yield to the insistent press of Nick’s cock until he’s halfway sheathed. Charlie gasps with the aching stretch of it, walls tightening against Nick in a vice like grip as ripples of sensation shoot through him.
“Mmmm,” Nick hums appreciatively, and then mumbles something that sounds like ‘luh-yu.’ Is he telling his dream person he loves them? Jealousy spikes in him again, though it’s soon dissolved by the overwhelmingly eager response of his body to what’s happening between his legs.
Nick works himself in further, pleasure pulsing through Charlie with each thrust, helpless now to think or do anything but surrender, until Nick is flush against him, inside him to the hilt, balls to arse, Charlie’s eyes rolling back as his hands clench helplessly at the sheet and his t-shirt. Nick exhales a sigh of contentment.
The feeling of Nick all the way inside of him is some kind of hellish ecstasy. All Charlie wants to do is give into the feeling of being stretched around Nick, who is deep inside, hard and hot and thick. Just succumb to the pleasure of it and damn the consequences.
Nick rests there a moment, fully sheathed, and Charlie pants with the effort of not writhing on Nick’s cock and encouraging him further. The demanding urge to rock backward reduces his ability to think.
He should really try to wrestle his way out of this now, struggle and shout, kick up a proper fuss to wake up Nick. And Tao, who would probably come running and get the completely wrong idea.
Only, if he thought Nick would feel bad and embarrassed before, he knows that Nick will never forgive himself for this. His kind, patient gentle giant of a friend, who has never once used his strength against Charlie, the safest person Charlie knows, would be completely and utterly horrified and destroyed by this. This will change their friendship irrevocably, ruin it, and he loves Nick too much to risk that.
Charlie has never felt so helpless, caught between the confusing desires of what’s right and what his body demands, subject to the whims of pleasure Nick is enacting on his body. It’s so hard to think when all his nerve endings are on fire.
But what is the right thing to do? What can he do?
He can’t lose Nick’s friendship. It’s dearer to him than anyone’s.
If dream Nick is so keen to fuck whoever it is in his dream, let him use Charlie’s body. He would give anything to Nick, he can be a vessel for Nick’s pleasure, and when it’s over, and Nick is more deeply asleep, he will slip away, clean himself off, and Nick will never need to know. Better than the recriminations he knows would follow if Nick wakes to this. Or worse, accusations.
Instead, he’ll let dream Nick use him. But he won’t get off, that would be wrong. He’ll just lay there, and let Nick finish.
As if sensing Charlie’s made his decision, Nick begins to fuck him.
The slick slide of him in and out is divine, the pull against his walls and the push back inside lighting up all the pleasure receptors there. But Nick is not content to simply fuck into him. His one hand begins working Charlie’s clit again while the other underneath has moved slightly starts up again on his right nipple, which Nick circles through the fabric of his t-shirt, occasionally pinching it.
“Fuck,” Charlie whimpers again, trying to swallow the noises that want to come out of him, trying to still his hips as Nick steadily fucks him and works him with both hands like some kind of sleeping sex maestro.
Charlie is enveloped by Nick’s presence. His hard, strong body wrapped around him, firmly pushing into him, touching him. The delicious smell of Nick, that already drives Charlie feral is, now mixed with sex, pungent in the air. The sounds of the wet movement of Nick in and out of him, and Nick’s noises of pleasure, soft from his mouth, hot into Charlie’s ear.
He’s trapped between the pleasures of Nick’s cock and hands, and he’s been reduced to the lone thought that he must not cum as if that will make it all ok. Don’t cum, don’t cum, is his mantra, his only thought.
Nick is in no rush though. He fucks Charlie leisurely, only gradually speeding up as Charlie swallows his whimpers, taking his time before he begins to fuck him harder, while Charlie tries not to meet his thrusts or writhe with how good it feels. Nick seems like he could go forever, sleep dulling things for him, or perhaps just his natural stamina.
As the sensations mount, Charlie rides an edge he’s never experienced before. He’s always struggled to reach orgasm, never before has he tried to hold one back, and now he does so, desperately, without any respite from the thick cock continuing to split him open, sliding so relentlessly in and out of him as Nick’s other hands stoke and stroke him.
He battles to hold it back even as pleasure far greater than he’s ever experienced builds in him. Even as he is wrapped in the arms of the man he’s been obsessed for four years, who fucks him far more expertly and better than he’s ever been fucked.
Even as pleasure radiates and heat flushes his face, still he teeters, held at the brink by the single-minded determination to save their friendship by not cumming, by not allowing himself this final, unforgivable step.
Nick, moaning and grunting vocalises his first discernable word.
“Char.”
Whatever remaining thread of control Charlie had snaps with the realisation that Nick hasn’t been thinking of some random person or his ex. He’s been thinking about fucking Charlie.
His orgasm explodes over him as Nick fucks upwards, whiting out his vision with its intensity, rolling through his whole body like an unstoppable force, his stomach convulsing and his feet and toes curling, clenching around Nick’s cock repeatedly, a moan escaping his lips despite every effort to swallow it.
Pleasure floods every nerve as with a few erratic, deep thrusts, Nick groans and releases inside of him, pushing deep inside.
“Char,” he mumbles again, as he fills him with his cum.
Finally, Nick stills.
Nick’s arms loosen around him slightly, but Charlie is too stunned to move, like a beached, boneless jellyfish, blissful and guilt ridden and completely unable to coordinate muscle movement. Charlie feels fulfilled in a way he never has before, deeply satisfied and at home in the arms of someone he loves, and if the reluctance in him to separate grows greater with every moment, that’s no one’s business but his own.
When he’s finally able to stir again, he tests pulling away, but Nick is still hard inside him, and tightens his grip at Charlie’s movement. Charlie stills again. He just needs Nick to soften, to go deeper back into sleep so that Charlie can slip away, clean up, and find his sleep shorts. Maybe he can even find Nick’s boxers and put them back on without him waking up. Though the thought of him being caught trying to do this makes Charlie’s face burn.
Even after the acknowledgement that his best friend has unwittingly but thoroughly fucked him, still, he fears that Nick might wake to see Charlie holding onto his shorts halfway down his legs. Maybe Charlie should just sleep on the couch and in the morning tell Nick he felt ill, and let Nick make up his own reasons for being boxerless.
Charlie’s plan to pull away would likely have worked eventually. Except that a car alarm goes off outside his window, and two people start shouting at each other.
Nick jerks awake, cock still semi-hard inside of him, hand still pressed into the folds of Charlie’s pussy, the one underneath still loose on his chest.
“Wha—” comes Nick’s confused voice.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.