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Chapter Text

With his head jolting out of fitful sleep, Nick opened his eyes, tiredness lingering stubbornly through each sand-grainy blink.  Maybe we hit a pothole. 

Squinting blearily, Nick attempted to make out the silhouette of the rolling mountains – Sierra Almagrera – to focus in on the whitewashed villages with their classic archways, but it all merged to a speeding blur within the various shades of night time. 

The red digital clock above the back of the driver's seat displayed 00.23 in flashing confirmation. It’s almost like his subconscious had known they were coming to the end of the transfer but he went back to leaning his head against the window, letting his eyes close once again.

Sleep seemed harder to harness this time however, it’s kind of hard to drop off once you become re-aware of just how disgusting your mouth tastes; as dry and dusty as his battered Adidas sliders. In an ironic contrast, his back was overly moist; the space between his shoulder blades and the nylon seat cover was possibly warm enough to create condensation for life to flourish, efficiently recycling his body's sweat to form a miniature ecosystem in the concave of his spine.

After fidgeting restlessly for a while in an attempt to get comfortable – his large legs wedged against the seat in front – he finally gave up, forcing himself to unkink his wonky spine and reluctantly accepting consciousness. Craning his neck to look around the minibus for the first time in ages, he noticed that now he was the only one on it. How he had slept through the various stops and loud unloadings, he couldn't fathom, but this made him even more hopeful that his stop must surely be imminent and he quickly rummaged through all his hand luggage.  On finding a clean, white vest, he peeled off the travel-stained t-shirt, patting the sticky sheen from his upper body, before hastily pulling on the fresh one. With his deodorant in his main case it was the best he could achieve but he just hoped it would be enough to negate the worst of his armpits.

The digital time blinked off, replaced by the temperature which was also aptly in red; 28°C.  No wonder I feel like I've woken up in an airfryer.

They started a slow ascension, the groan of the engine battling it out against the gradient, and Nick could now make out the hotel plaques and the pink climbing flowers in closer detail, somehow still vivid even under the shadows of midnight. After another five minutes, they finally came to a rolling stop and the side of the mini bus was unceremoniously flung open, the stifling air hitting him like a hot brick wall to the face.

“Casa Primavera, señor.”

Backpack digging into his shoulder, Nick alighted before rummaging through his shorts pocket. After smoothing out a very creased five euro note for a tip, he waited whilst the driver hauled his case out of the compartment, the disturbed dust rising in clouds around their feet. “Gracias.”

“De nada. Adiós.”

The ceramic sign for Casa Primavera was small, befitting a small hotel; a glazed blue tile with a swirling yellow font which matched the many sporadically-placed flower pots on either side of the automatic sliding door. Nick smiled the tiredness away at the sight of it, just feeling happy to have arrived. After a journey much longer than it really needed to be, Nick was more than enthusiastic about the prospect of lying fully down, preferably stark bollock naked in the form of a starfish. And, once he had dragged his heavy case up the three steps and crossed the threshold, the cool of the air conditioning hit his moist skin in blissful gusts. Thank fuck for that.

The reception area was practically blinding, gleaming in brilliant shades of white and blue with pops of sunflower yellow. When they were researching, his dad had banged on and on about wanting a ‘villa feel’ every time they had spoken on the phone – wanting all the plus sides of not having to bother to shop, or cook, or clean – and this one had ticked almost all the boxes. It was a relatively short walk to the main strip of Mojacar and its beach, yet was isolated and small enough to enjoy the peace. Also, adults only. No whining children! his father had crowed. Despite this, Nick had to admit, it seemed as if Stephane had made a good choice so far.

Nick felt grubbier than ever as he walked over the stretch of traditional Spanish tiles towards the desk, fully aware that the travel dust from his sliders was marking up the pretty blue and white diamond patterns underfoot.

"Bienvenido, señor.”

A light, pleasant voice brought his eyes up from his dusty toes. Even without the lower octave, he’d have been able to tell it had come from the dark-haired young man behind the desk, the welcome visible in his face, because the girl standing behind him was clearly less than interested. Next to her, upon the marble top, lay a small water cooler, the infused lemon slices visibly floating behind the condensation on the glass, and he was instantly reminded of the dry thickness of his tongue.

“¡Buenos días!” Nick was a bit unsure why the guy's smile got a tad wider, dimples twitching. Maybe his accent was off. “Uno habitación… tiene para… mí? Nick Nelson?”

“Sí! Por supuesto. Su habitación está lista. Parece que la necesita después de tan largo viaje.”

Nick baulked, both at the long stream of pretty Spanish and the pretty mouth it had just flowed from. He also had a sinking feeling that he had just swam way out of his depth. God, his eyes are as blue as the inflection in the glazed floor tiles. 

Shit. You fool. Concentrate.

“Uh. ¿Sí?” Nick shook his head, unable to grasp any of the lad’s words except the word room – habitación – and this was only because he had just literally used it himself. 

The guy waited with a patient smile. The girl's face behind his shoulder, however, was deadpan, heavy lids looking as if they might be tightly controlling an eye roll, and Nick found himself sweating under all the pressure despite the aircon on the back of his clammy neck.

“Sorry… ¿Hablas inglés?” It was no good. He had to admit defeat, already suspecting that he had made a fool of himself, and the cool gaze the guy was giving under that long mop of dark curls was not conducive to achieving anything near normal brain function anyway.

The receptionist pointed to his badge.  Charlie. 

Not a Spanish sounding name at all. 

“Fluently.” He smiled. “I said that your room is ready and I trust you'll need it after such a journey. Delayed, weren't you?”

“Yeah.” Nick breathed, feeling relieved at being able to have an actual conversation but also a bit embarrassed that he had unwittingly kept them up and waiting for his arrival. “Two and a half hours stuck at Gatwick! It's been a long day!”

The receptionist, Charlie, grimaced sympathetically, a tsk escaping from his white teeth. “I won't keep you long then. I just have a few things to sort, paperwork to sign, that kind of thing. Have you got your passport, please, señor? Please help yourself to some water…”

As they started to go through the motions, Nick took the opportunity to pour himself a drink – to press the cold glass briefly to his forehead and wet his arid mouth – fully enjoying the tart coolness sat on his tongue before letting himself swallow. Feeling Charlie's gaze on him, Nick self-consciously wiped his chin with the back of his hand and placed the glass down, and the young man quickly gestured towards the various places to put his signature. 

Nick suddenly found himself lost in the perfect caramel colour of the guy's fingers and forearms as he passed over the pen, a stark contrast between the white of the paper and his rolled-up cotton sleeves. He had never felt so pale and ginger, not to mention sweaty, in all his life.

“Right, now that's that out of the way…” Nick found himself at the end of another disarming smile and tried hard not to choke on his saliva as the bloke with the perfect jawline started talking. “Breakfast is at six-thirty and continues ‘til ten. You may use hotel towels for the pool and can collect them from the laundry room,” Charlie gestured to his right, “but we do request they are not taken to the beach.” Nick nodded dumbly, recognising only the subtlest of accents, noticeable just because he was so desperately searching for it; clearly, speaking in English was almost as mind-melting. “Your room number is 25; both a sea and mountain view, as requested. You'll need to follow this corridor behind you until you reach the set of stone steps, you go up one flight, take a left and follow this through the upper courtyard, then a right turn. Any questions for now? I realise you may have more in the morning…”

Nick wasn't sure if it was travel weariness fogging up his brain but he seemed to be having great trouble recalling those instructions. “Uh, so… follow the corridor, go down a flight, take a right and then… a left was it?”

The girl snorted, bringing her presence back into his stream of consciousness. She had been hovering silently like a bat until now and Nick had this feeling that her patience was as short as her bob and her tongue as severe as her fringe. On her white blouse there was also a name badge but – for some unfathomable reason – it was upside down, making it difficult, but not impossible, to read. Victoria .

“Oh, um . No,” said Charlie, patiently, drawing Nick back again. “I think it's easier if I just take you there. You've had a long day. Follow me.”

“Muchas gracias.” Nick was confident on that one at least. “I appreciate it.”

There was an awkward moment when they both reached for the case handle at the same time, then, on realising the other was going for it, pulling back in a dance of stunted hands before determination on both parts set in. 

“I can take it…”

“Please, allow me...”

In the end, face flushing and wishing that he could have been a bit more forceful, Nick conceded defeat and then had to go through the cringing ordeal of watching this lad roll his heavy case along. To Nick’s relief, he didn't seem to be having any trouble, despite him being slight of frame, and he moved with smooth confidence. Nick tried to insist on taking it back once they came to a small flight of terracotta steps but Charlie gave him a stiff ignoring with a side order of smiles. Nick was once again flummoxed, both with the shy luminosity of said smile and also with how little effort it took for Charlie to lug it up the stairs.

“Holidaying alone, señor?” Charlie finally asked, as he navigated around a corner and into an open courtyard. Despite the poor light of the early hours of the morning, Nick spotted the iron-wrought tables beneath the various orange trees and imagined himself here, escaping the intense heat of the midday sun.

“Uh, yes and no. My dad and brother will be joining me in a few days.” Charlie lifted a confused eyebrow but said nothing and Nick instantly felt the urge to fill the silence and explain the slightly weird set-up. “They live in Narbonne. It's our annual holiday. We only see each other once a year but a board meeting came up – an important one, apparently – so they're going to be a bit behind.”

Nick wasn't even disappointed. The text he’d received as he arrived at his terminal didn't stir up anything in him but quiet relief. It was the best thing all round, he had thought. He could spend a few days relaxing. Building up to it. Both his dad and brother took up a lot of his mental energy. “I don't suppose it's possible to have them stay on the opposite side of the hotel is it?”

At that, Charlie burst into laughter before instantly looking shocked at his sudden unprofessionalism. Possibly he had just remembered that guests would be sleeping on either side of them. Managing to subdue his volume, he gave Nick a chuckled whisper. “I think the rooms are already allocated but, uh, I definitely get it… I’ll put a request in on your behalf!”

Nick found himself grinning, happy to have made Charlie laugh, despite not even trying to and, as they rolled their way to the right, he plucked up the courage to ask his own questions. “You are very fluent, aren't you? And your accent is almost non-existent …” As the younger man didn't look at all uncomfortable by this question – his striking blue eyes nearly encouraging – Nick felt able to continue in the same vein, intrigued by all of Charlie's glaring contradictions. “You also look very Spanish and yet your first name is very English?” 

“I'm half Spanish on my dad's side.” He offered up easily. “We lived in Surrey until I was twelve, then our entire family packed up and emigrated here to help my Abuelo. Abuela had just died, he wasn't coping, so we took it on, let him retire to enjoy his old age.” Charlie's face furrowed for a moment. “I also did my online history degree in English for some reason. Not that I've used it in any way whatsoever…” 

They had now arrived, pausing outside the door of room 25, but Nick had to stop himself asking further questions. Charlie's open face, alongside the formalness slowly slipping away, only reeled up the desire to know more and more about him. Instead, Nick offered him a matching grimace. “I've not put my business degree to any use either, so I can't really judge.”

A breathy laugh escaped and Charlie pushed a long curl out of his eye before gesturing towards the door. “Uh, I take it that you still have your room key?”

“Oh,” Nick startled, suddenly unsure why he was still standing there, hovering like a twat, before realising that it was probably that he just didn't want the conversation to end. “Yeah. Right. ”

After locating it in the back pocket of his shorts, he tapped the plastic card against the sensor and waited for the click. Charlie's hand was on the door knob almost instantly, dragging the case into the room and switching on the nearest light. 

Apart from the low whir of the blessed air conditioning unit, the first thing Nick noticed was the sea of cerulean floor tiles and, in the middle of this glossy blue, was his king-sized four-poster bed. It almost resembled a sailing boat with its billows of white cotton gauze tied to the wooden posts. It might not have been a large room, but it was crisp, clean and inviting; elegant in its simplicity.

“The remote for the air-conditioning is here.” Charlie picked it up off the wooden table by the mirror. “There is a safe in the wardrobe and the mini bar is just in the corner, by the balcony.” 

Without waiting for a reply, Charlie moved toward to the double doors and threw them wide open, spilling the night air into the room and immediately stepped out. Nick felt his feet follow, as if in a trance. The balcony, again, was small – just enough room for two people to stand side by side – and Nick tracked Charlie's gaze out across the moonlit sea and breathed in the humid air with its notes of salt and pine. To his left lay the mountains, a cluster of pinprick lights scattered, almost linearly, throughout the depths of the valley beneath them.

“Wow.”

“I think you have one of the best views in the hotel, to be honest.”

“I think you must be right,” Nick agreed vehemently, Charlie's presence making the scene even bloody better in his mind.

“Hopefully, everything is to your satisfaction?” 

Nick found his stomach rippling in time to Charlie's heavy brow as he watched the breeze catch in his hair. The dark curls were quite wild – long enough to brush the very top of his shoulders – but they looked like they would be as soft as sin and Nick brushed his fingertips together beside his thighs, as if to fabricate the feel. “God, yeah. Definitely. Just stunning . Thank you…” 

“Is there anything else you need before I let you get some much-needed rest?”

A kiss right now would just be fucking perfection, to be honest… After a long pause, seemingly trapped in the eternity of Charlie's long eyelashes, Nick managed a small shake of the head, hoping to banish the visions. The problem was, this handsome guy was at perfect kissing height – one quick dip of Nick's chin and his lips would be on him – and this little clip seemed to be playing on his mind in a continuous loop.

“Then I'll leave you to it, señor.”

Azure finally breaking, Charlie slowly started to make movements toward the door, signalling their time coming to an end. Dry of mouth, Nick's words burst out of him before Charlie had even made it past the bed. “Wait!?” Turning, Charlie watched with an air of confusion as Nick started to follow him. “Here.” He held out another creased ten euro note and, on realisation, started de-crumpling it desperately with his thumbs in the hope it would look more impressive. “I really appreciate you helping me find my room and bringing my luggage. Thank you.”

For a split second, Charlie looked like he was longing to take it but, in less than a blink, he was shaking his head, curls bouncing against the nape of his brown neck. “No. Really, it's fine…”

“Take it,” Nick said again, firmer this time, desperate for Charlie to feel some semblance of gratitude, despite it being such a trifle. “Buy yourself a drink.”

Blue eyes unbelievably wide, Nick followed the bob of Charlie's Adam's apple as the moment stretched out around them. “Keep it,” he said, finally. “You could always buy me one yourself… if you feel so inclined. Buenas noches, señor.”

Nick wasn't sure if his eyelids still worked, so frozen at the subtle inference in Charlie's light professional tone that he barely managed to get his ‘Buenas noches ’ out of his mouth before Charlie’s slim frame had slipped through the door. 

At the gentle close, Nick suddenly felt incredibly revitalised, his buoyant feet and hands shaking in the full flood of adrenaline. He indulged himself in a short, but giddy, little jumping dance before throwing himself backwards, fully dressed, onto the cool cotton bedspread. He wants me to buy him a drink!  With all remaining energy now well and truly zapped from his impromptu solo-celebration, he sighed – nestling himself amongst the pillows and possibilities – and spent the last of his remaining energy on herding his thoughts exactly where he hoped his dreams would take him.

Chapter Text

Despite the overtiredness and travel-fatigue, the morning sun managed to easily rouse Nick's drowsy limbs and light-sensitive eyelids. He awoke to find himself exactly the way he fell last night; fully dressed, over the covers and with a silly, little half-smile that had seemed to have permanently embedded itself in overnight.

Lifting up his heavy head, Nick could see that the balcony doors were still partly open – a wisp of breeze ruffling the white gauze at either side – and memories of yesterday, especially the moment he spent out there with the handsome, young receptionist, came flooding back in a whoosh of multicoloured feelings. 

Of course, the first thing he wanted to do was to get up and out there, to take another long look at the view. It was just as beautiful in its range of blues, emeralds and golds as it had been in all its midnight hues, and Nick spent five glorious minutes breathing in crisp sunlight and breathing out fatigue, becoming perfectly present with his senses and surroundings.

Now, feeling a bit more awake and with an added spring in his step, he let his mind wander whilst getting ready, thinking of the day's potential whilst brushing his teeth and rinsing himself of yesterday's layer of dust under the power shower. After starting on the warm jets, before working his way down to cool, Nick emerged feeling fresher and smelling sweeter than would have ever felt possible yesterday, and left his room in his favourite Superdry t-shirt, hoping that the colour might attract some attention. Nick looked good in green, he'd been told so before. Many times. Something about it complimenting his complexion. And, with this in mind, he was aiming to dawdle through reception in the hope of saying buenos días to a certain someone. In his back pocket was his phrase book, its presence reflecting how determined he was to learn another line, or two, over his morning coffee.

To his disappointment, a certain someone was not behind the desk, and a short, middle-aged man with silvering dark hair was his unfortunate downgrade. Nick practised his greeting anyway, hoping to perfect his accent for the real deal, and the Spanish gentleman looked pleased by the effort, coming around from behind the desk with a welcoming stride.  

“¡Buenos días! ¿Señor Nelson, yes? I am Julio, owner of Casa Primavera.” His large brown hands were rough when Nick found himself on one end of a very enthusiastic handshake, and he immediately spotted the similarities to Charlie layered within his features. “Apologies that I was not here to greet you last night on arrival, I trust my son and daughter looked after you adequately?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Nick smiled in the memory of his son’s immediate hospitality. “I was dog tired and they bent over backwards for me.” 

This, of course, was a little bit of a stretch on his daughter's part, and Julio did look a little incredulous at this statement but swallowed it without challenge. “¡Perfecto! Well, breakfast is this way,” he said, signalling to a doorway on Nick’s left. “Food is self-service, however hot drinks and orange juice will be wheeled to your table. You can choose to sit inside in the air-conditioning or out on our veranda in the sunshine. ¡Que lo disfrute!”

“Gracias.”  With a smile, Nick raised a stalwart hand in gratitude and, guided by Julio’s pointed finger, meandered through the white archway and into the main restaurant. 

There were a few tables already occupied in the cool – complete with the sound of indiscernible Spanish chatter – but the magnetic pull of the morning sun and fresh air was too irresistible and Nick soon found a small table overlooking the sea, soaking up the sights and the atmosphere, before committing to the search for solid sustenance.

It was bright, the sun already beating down hard overhead, but being this high up gave the benefit of the freshest of breezes that cut through the early humidity. Nick was not alone; a few other guests had chosen to eat breakfast alfresco style amongst the potted flowers and were being waited on with fresh orange juice. One of whom, Nick noticed, was an elderly gentleman in light-coloured linen that was currently being fussed over by a mousey middle-aged woman wearing a silk scarf and a name badge. He couldn’t quite tell if the old fella was enjoying all the surplus attention, looking a little overwhelmed at being hand-delivered two plates piled full of offerings; pastries and bread, alongside a bowl full of fruit. Rather than stare, Nick let his attention get caught by the few variously-coloured cats that were either stalking the area for dropped offerings, or lounging under the shade of the tables. There was a cute ginger one batting playfully at a smaller black cat, vying for attention, and he hoped that over the week, he might be able to bond enough with one to earn a stroke or two.

It was at this point – as a clink of a glass jug descended and a smooth ‘De nada’ was carried upon the wind – Nick realised that the server on the other side of the veranda, the one who was pushing the drinks trolley, was in fact Charlie, and the flamenco dancer in his belly performed a flamboyant little twirl. 

Nick was not quite sure how he’d managed to miss him. Charlie was in the same pressed uniform as yesterday; a white shirt rolled up to his brown elbows with black slim-fit trousers. What was new was the pair of boat shoes that he couldn’t seem to rip his eyes away from. Nick had never seen such tanned ankles in all his life and the sight made him feel a bit tight-chested for some reason, as did the sun catching halo-like on the man’s dark curls and the bronze highlights it left upon his skin. Nick continued to enjoy this view within a view as Charlie made his way along to the next table, watching as he seamlessly switched from Spanish to English – light conversation and smiles given freely – as he poured out cups of hot coffee.

Oh god, he's coming closer. Look busy.

The only possible way to look busy was to fumble his phrasebook up right in front of his face – to focus his eyeballs on the tiny ñ's and é's as best he could – but, almost as soon as he managed to control his erratic heart rate enough to check the location of his interest, his interest was there, ready and waiting, standing there with a well-contained smile.

Nick attempted his morning greeting but all he heard reverberating through his eardrums was a highly-accented, four-syllabled squeak. Despite this, Charlie beamed, bright eyes lighting up from within and his dimples firing out in full force. 

“¡Buenos días! ¿Espero que hayas descansado bien? Yo no pude.”  Charlie sniggered to himself when he was met with a blinking wall of well-impressed blank. “Perdón, I said; I hope you slept well?” 

“Oh! Yes!” Nick nodded exuberantly, grateful for the translation. “Out like a log! Normally, when I'm away, I toss and turn and throw the covers on and off me all bloody night and…” The light of sudden self-awareness belatedly dawned. “And, you really didn't need to know that! Sorry!” Nick grimaced, “I think you can probably tell, I'm an oversharer.”

Thankfully, Charlie had his mirthful lip well under control by a top tooth. “Don't worry, I enjoyed all the surplus imagery. Coffee? Tea? Orange juice?”

“Uh, coffee? No, actually, orange juice!” Nick felt torn in two. “The coffee smells so good though… umm. Oh god… ”

Charlie subtly shook his head through this endless dithering and decided to pour out both with a steady hand, placing them on the table in front of him. “Luckily, we're not on war rations here. You are on holiday!”

Red-faced, Nick gave him a nod, fiddling with the sugar packets to help distract his twitchy fingers. “So,” he tried again, making another brave stab at conversation. “Receptionist and you're also a waiter…”  It was supposed to be an observation, however the inflection at the end seemed to have turned it into a rather simple-minded question and his inner critic started to slow-clap. Well done, Captain Obvious.

“Oh, there is no end to my skill set.” Nick noted the smirk. “You'll see me pop up here, there and everywhere, I expect. I go wherever the demand takes me.”

It was subtle, but his gaze briefly flashed towards the mousy-haired woman on the other side of the veranda. She was somehow managing to set up new tables with cutlery whilst simultaneously keeping close tabs on all the staff. When it landed, a split second later, her pointed stare said get the fuck on with it – but presumably, in Spanish – before turning her sharp eyes onto his unblinking sister who was vacantly scraping the same empty plate continuously into the bin.

Charlie’s mouth immediately flattened, his eyes almost rolling, but then he was suddenly back to full beam and Nick wondered if he'd imagined it. “So, what are your plans for your first full day, señor?” His body language was open, interested, and Nick actually felt like he wanted to know rather than just feigning politeness.

“Sweet not-a-lot , really… I'll probably swim in the pool and read this morning. If it's not too hot, I might wander down to the town and get some tapas for lunch, check out the nearest beach after. Then give my mum a call to check in." That was a lot of information in one go and Nick just hoped he was coming across charmingly interesting rather than maniacally giddy. "And you? Where will you be?”

It left Nick's mouth before his brain had fully engaged and he cursed himself for his clear lack of chill. He should have said ‘what job are you doing, today?’ – or, something along those lines – something that didn't completely give away what an absolute fucking melt he was. Of course, Charlie took this little slip-of-the-tongue in his stride, eyebrow twitching in assessment before bestowing his last debonair smile. “Oh, I'm sure you'll find me. If you look hard enough, anyway. “¡Nos vemos luego, espero!”  And, with this air of mysteriousness built to a crescendo, he continued his way to the next table over.

“Yeah. ¡Hasta luego!” Nick called to his retreating form, very nearly glad Charlie had gone because the thrill from one little conversation was getting harder and harder to contain; the fizz slowly bubbling upwards to his grinning face from his feet. In an attempt to hide it, he brought the glass of orange juice up to his lips and tried to ground himself by drowning in fructose, which was possibly counterproductive.

‘Espero’... what did the ‘Espero’ bit mean after the ‘See you later’ part?”

The phrasebook was far too inefficient for Nick's current level of impatient flappery so he got out his phone and found trusty Google translate because everyone knows that's never wrong.

I hope! It means ‘I hope!’ He thought, with his limbs tingling. Ha! Get in! We are flirting! Fuck!”

The adrenaline, dopamine, and citrus-y sugar hit seemed to have combined into a cocktail of hyperactivity and, to get his restless feet under control, Nick thought it was probably best to distract them by obtaining some breakfast. With one last ditch attempt at chill he tried not to look, even vaguely, in Charlie’s direction as he wandered off indoors and towards the buffet. There wasn't a huge selection, but what was there was obviously good quality, local Spanish fare which was more than good enough for him. He chose some honeydew melon, a couple rounds of toast and a small, unidentifiable pastry before returning to his table. 

As he lowered to his seat, in his periphery, he could see Charlie and his sister getting an abrupt whisper-bollocking by the mousy-haired woman. She was managing to look cross - whilst fake-smiling through gritted teeth at passing guests at the same time - and Nick couldn’t help but wonder if it was because Charlie had lingered that little bit too long to chat. Eventually, Charlie went back on his round whilst Victoria took over from the scary scarfed woman, all whilst wearing the long-suffering face of someone who would, quite clearly, much rather be dead. 

Sadly, the whisper-bollocking seemed to have done its job and the curly-locked Lothario did not approach again. He kept looking over though, with the smallest of smirks, and Nick wondered why until he realised that it was probably because every time Charlie looked up from his trolley Nick was sat there staring at him like some slack-jawed simpleton. Nick gave himself a little shake, followed by a vigorous mental slapping, forcing his attention back onto his breakfast only to find that he must have subconsciously been chewing at the same time as all the creepy staring. Instantly, he felt a hot combination of cross and embarrassed. He just hoped to god that he'd managed, at least, to keep his full mouth closed.

The only thing left on his plate turned out to be the melon but there was no way Nick could face chowing down on it with his fingers. He pictured all the mess he would undoubtedly make, the juice dripping down his chin and decorating his table cloth in honeyed raindrops, as well as all the stains on his favourite top. There was no way, not with Charlie's eyes likely to be on him, that he could embarrass himself again so he did the only thing feasible in this situation, picking up his knife and fork while feeling incredibly stiff and British in the process. 

It was delicious, as ripe and flavourful as it looked but, unfortunately, the next time his eyes rose above the semicircle of sweetness, he could see both Charlie and Victoria looking on in bemused bafflement, sharing low-level whispers in Spanish.

Maybe – he thought to himself, as he self-consciously reassessed the whole knife/fork/melon situation – this isn't the sexiest I've ever looked. 

The shirt Nick had chosen to wear tonight was hanging from the wardrobe door. It was pink cotton – Jack Wills – and, in his opinion, the perfect combination of smart-yet-holiday-casual. It was also the loosest fit that Nick could find within his suitcase which, when having to factor in his rather moderate sunburn, was currently the highest of priorities.

He'd been standing in his shorts for some time now, waiting until the last possible second to put it on his blistering body, and now, as he really needed to head off and get some dinner, it was finally time to bite the fucking bullet. Whilst inspecting his reddened shoulders, he gingerly stuck a hot arm through one of the sleeves, wincing as the fabric brushed his searing skin before battling with the other side. It smarted just laying there across his back whilst he did up the tiny white buttons and, as he assessed his reflection with a furrowed brow, he couldn't help but worry that the pink was doing nothing but accentuating all the singe.

In truth, he'd rather hide away in his room in his underpants, keeping his sore skin fully aerated all evening but, as room service was not a thing here, he had no choice but to get the fuck on with it, reminding himself that it's not as if he was the first fool to have ever got burned under the Mojacar sun.

As he tenderly walked through reception, his skin feeling hot and stretched under his shirt as if on a roasting spit, he caught another glimpse of himself in one of the many large mirrors and internally sighed. 

Not fucking ideal, is it?! 

Bellend.

After collecting his dinner – choosing an abundance of cold: a large salad, rustic-style bread with a sundried tomato and aubergine dip – he decided to sit inside this time, in the vague and optimistic endeavour of cooling his face down under the aircon to help him look less like a bacon rasher. 

Heart convulsing, he soon spotted a dark, curly head a few tables over and sat a little straighter, feeling the internal paradox of both wanting to be seen and also to not be seen, until he realised, with a slump, that this person was not Charlie. He looked a lot like him, sure, but, on closer scrutiny, this lad could be no older than fifteen as he whizzed around everywhere, collecting all the empties, and Nick quickly looked back at his dinner feeling a tad disconcerted. He felt like he shouldn't even be looking in his direction, not when the similarities to Charlie were so incredibly striking, and the whole thing was making him feel a bit uncomfortable.

Of course, in the spirit of not looking, he found that he had to keep checking, just in case the lad disappeared between mouthfuls and Charlie had since arrived but Nick just hadn’t paid enough attention to notice. But, on the third or fourth time of his head snapping upwards to then go back to his salad in disappointment, he found himself jumping for a different reason; a monotonous voice startling him from behind his right shoulder. 

“He's manning the bar.” 

Almost choking on his bread, Nick turned mid-chew to find Victoria, eyelids heavy in ironic observation, standing there holding a wine bottle by the neck. All she needed to do was to raise her arm for it to look like a weapon, and Nick could only hope that he was not about to get glassed ‘round the head.

“I mean, I do hope I’m right in assuming that it's actually the elder of my brothers that you're looking out for, Pinky?”

She raised a terrifying eyebrow and Nick started to trip and tangle upon his own tongue. “Oh god! Yes! Yes, of course it is!”  

Nick didn't want to look as if he should be on some kind of register but, even so, he soon realised that little outburst did nothing but confirm his big, fat, embarrassing crush on Charlie. In the searing awareness of this fact, his face flared up from the inside and, combined with all the sunburn, he wouldn't have been surprised if his skin had split and turned to crackling. But, rather than answering this confession, she stalked off smirking, leaving him to dolefully contemplate all of his poor life choices over the past twelve hours.

Nick was having trouble not eye rolling at himself as he sat there, hotly stewing in both his skin and his shame. His family would be arriving sometime soon and, if a girl he’d only just met could so easily clock on, David was bound to as well and then he'd never hear the fucking end of it. He'd loudly bring it all up in front of his Dad, or worse, Charlie, and things would quickly get weird.

What to do…

As he stood up to make his way out of the restaurant, Nick wondered if he should seriously consider trying to keep his distance; to put these ridiculous holiday romance ideas out of his mind for good. 

Maybe, if he went sightseeing over the next day or two -kept himself busy and distracted - he wouldn’t have time to dwell on the tanned skin or the bright blue eyes, those long and deft-looking fingers or that crown of soft, dark curls. He could admire 18th-century churches or Moorish Architecture instead. Gaze at the rugged coastline and mountainous horizons, the native flowers and…  

… Oh. He had found himself in the bar; his restless legs had evidently become bored of his brain’s blatant bullshit and taken matters into their own hands feet.

Nevermind.

It was blissfully cool in here, whirring fans everywhere, and there were about twelve or so circular mosaic tables staggered around the small L-shaped bar. Not that Nick had noticed any of this, nor had his ears registered the Spanish-sounding background music; his senses were fully locked onto the only thing he really cared about. 

Whilst he hovered, collecting his courage, his eyeline followed the bobbing curls. With Charlie mostly concealed by patrons, he could only catch fleeting, pretty glimpses of him through the gaps between bodies or heads.

“¡Ey! Con permiso. ¡Estás bloqueando la puerta!” 

Nick jumped and promptly moved, understanding that the abrupt tone and impatient gesticulating from the woman close behind him meant that he was in the fucking way and, with a deep breath, he joined the back of the small crowd. Soon enough, he found a gap near the corner to sidle on into, and leant upon the wood, then straightened before deciding to lean once again. Feeling nervous, and not entirely sure what to do with the largeness of his glazed ham-like arms, in the end, he committed to a half lean, casual-looking, before lifting his eyes back up onto Charlie, his mouth quickly losing all surplus moisture.

I'm fucked. Nick thought, the Flamenco dancer in his tummy keeling over in a dead faint as he fully lapped up the perfection in front of him. Utterly fucked.

Luckily, he'd not ruled that out.

Chapter Text

Jesus Christ. He's so fucking sexy! What the actual fuck…

Nick tried his best to compose himself, aware that many people standing around the bar, including the very hot barman himself, might just notice he didn't exactly appear the right kind of thirsty. Unfortunately, neither swallowing, nor rapid fire blinking, appeared to help. 

The top three buttons of Charlie's crisp, white shirt were undone – clearly, looking less formal was allowed behind the bar – and Nick got thoroughly lost amongst the gorgeous protrusions of collarbone framed within the expanse of tan . There was also a necklace, tiny, flattened discs of driftwood, white and aqua blues laying tightly side by side that, together, made a loose collar around his delicious-looking throat. 

Charlie was clearly busy with the influx of customers however there was no stress to be found on his face. He was laughing, chatting away animatedly in Spanish, whilst he multitasked – shaking the metal cocktail shaker with one hand and pressing the coke nozzle with the other – gracefully flowing, almost dance-like, from one kind of drink to the next. As he passed across yet another tray of colourful drinks across the bar with an enthusiastic ‘¡Salud!’ whilst stuffing his tip into his back pocket, Charlie lifted his head to assess what was left of the queue and Nick's lungs froze over as their eyes met. 

He forgot all about his sunburn, all prior over-awareness of his cumbersome arms gone, and, as the blue held, Charlie's pink mouth parted in a smile that seemed to be only for him. In recognition, his curly head nodded – sharp chin lifting in one short upward-motion – and he turned, a brief grin appeared before he moved smoothly onto the next order. As Charlie forked his fall of curls from his eyes, Nick could feel his body inwardly crumple and swiftly went back to a full lean upon the bar, not fully trusting his knees.

Nick wasn't sure if he was imagining it but it seemed as if Charlie became more efficient after this – juggling orders with even more grace and flair than before – and he felt a small rush of awe at this young man's competence. It was a little difficult to accurately guess but Nick assumed Charlie was younger by at least a couple of years - fresh-faced and full of life - and, after a few minutes of admiration, Nick allowed himself to be caught up in the Spanish conversations like a current, pulled under by the fantastical flow of Charlie's intelligible speech until, soon enough, there were only two more people waiting ahead of him. Is he showing off for me? Or is he trying to get rid of everyone else so we can chat sooner?

Either way, as the last set of change was handed over and the two ladies wandered off in the direction of the veranda, Nick took another deep breath in and straightened his spine, sliding smoothly across to get closer whilst his fingers and toes tingled in nervous anticipation. “¡Hola! ¿Qué tal?” 

Despite it being simple enough, nothing remotely impressive, Charlie's dimples immediately dawned despite his smile suddenly becoming shyer. “Muy bien, señor.” Charlie gestured broadly with an open hand. “What would you like?”

A vague set of panic returned as Nick realised he'd not given the matter any thought whatsoever, far too busy ogling to even think this far ahead. Ordering a beer just seemed so incredibly basic, not to mention very British. This hot Spanish guy had been whipping up exciting, exotic drinks left right and centre and Nick was now feeling the pressure to make himself look, at least, a little bit interesting. The problem was that almost all of the cocktails that sprung to mind were dirty euphemisms - and he didn't want to be that guy, well, not yet anyway - which only left him with… “A piña colada, por favor?” 

He couldn’t fathom why but Charlie's face dropped, a tanned hand slapping against his forehead before sliding dramatically down over his mouth. “Oh god, no…” The words mumbled thickly through his fingers.

“What?” Nick's stomach plummeted, belly flopping into a pool of perplexed panic. “What's wrong?”

Shaking his head, Charlie raised a finger, blue eyes suddenly resigned. “Right. Hold on…” He turned, grabbing the iPod that was casually laying on the back of the bar, and seconds later the music changed, the loud eighties intro blaring loudly and unmistakably through the speakers.

I was tired of my lady

We'd been together too long

Like a worn out recording

Of a favourite song

“Oh.” Squeezing his eyes shut, Nick finally understood what was happening before reopening one in a tentative squint. “Oh, no…”

Charlie slowly nodded, very almost apologetically, with his blue eyes wide and his lips pressed together. “I'm so sorry, but it's sorta house rules...” 

If you like piña coladas

And gettin' caught in the rain

If you're not into yoga

If you have half a brain

Nick was mortified that – whatever the fuck this was – was happening to him, and by the fact that everyone seated seemed to have spun around on their arses to stare his way. It was reminding him of the Happy Birthday song being sung at him in restaurants as a child, apart from the fact you usually knew that shit was coming and had prepared for all the public cringe. 

“You have to play that every time someone orders a piña colada?” Nick felt positively incredulous. Why?! Why did I have to go and fucking choose that?!

The breathy yeah that breezed out of Charlie's mouth was more than half a sigh. “And, I also have to make an extra one for my Abuelo. Look,” Charlie gestured to an older man in linen sitting under the blast of a fan in the corner of the bar, clearly living his best life. “You've made him very, very happy, at least!” Nick realised that this was the same gentleman who was being fussed over at breakfast. With both his index fingers upwards, alternating in, what could only be described as, a seated, jaunty, grandad-dance, the big smile on his craggy face got the two of them grinning.

If you like makin' love at midnight

In the dunes on the cape

Then I'm the love that you've looked for

Write to me and escape

“Ey, Charlie,” his Abuelo called, shoulders joining in with the beat whilst his crinkling eyes sparkled. “¡Haz el bailecito!” 

“¡No! ¡No está en mi contrato, Abuelo!” Charlie called with an indulgent smile as he started to gather the pineapple juice and the coconut milk before noticing Nick’s blank expression and performed a pretty, little grimace. “He wants me to dance along…”  

“Wow,” Nick chuckled, “I can’t believe you’d just let your Abuelo down like that…” 

Charlie gave him a look of deepest scathing which told him this kind of emotional blackmail was most unappreciated. Nick, however, feeling the most relaxed he’d felt in some time, leant across the bar in the hope of teasing him further. “So, uh… what exactly would happen if I just decided to sit here and order piña coladas all evening?”

Charlie leaning fully in on his elbows, mirrored Nick’s posturing, and raised a magnificent eyebrow. “Oh, you’d be fucking barred! I’d be sad about it though…” he conceded, curly head tilting. With a bright laugh at Nick’s jaw that had dropped into his lap, Charlie started adding everything to the metal cocktail shaker, gathering two Poco Grande glasses at the same time. About thirty seconds of hypnotic bicep shaking later, a tall creamy-looking cocktail, complete with pineapple wedge garnish and blue umbrella, was presented with a grin before Charlie bounded off to deliver the second. 

Abuelo seemed over the moon with this and, after a quick chat with Charlie in Spanish, he looked over to Nick to raise his wrinkly, double thumbs up from across the room and, laughing, Nick returned the gesture.

“I wish my gramps was as fun,” Nick said fondly, once Charlie returned, noting for the first time that both of them shared the same shaped blue eyes, and Nick suspected that long ago they most likely would have had the same hair colour. “He’s also kind of adorable."

“Yeah, he is!” Charlie seemed to be pleased with Nick’s opinion, spinning back around to wave at his grandad with a smile. “He made a load of silly bar rules when he and my Abuela built this place. Luckily, with it no longer being the eighties, hardly anyone orders piña coladas anymore so we’re not often subjected to that one!”

“Um!” Nick let his mouth fall open in the spirit of good-natured banter. “Are you making out that I’m woefully unfashionable in my cocktail choices?!”

“I wouldn’t dare!” However, the flash in Charlie's eyes told a different story and, instantly, Nick knew he'd happily fall victim to this guy's ribbing any day of the week. “How is it, anyway? I’m a bit out of practice with that one…”

Nick took a sip and the double shot of white rum was almost immediately replaced by the sweetness of the pineapple before smoothing out into cool coconut upon his tongue. “It’s nice…” Nick nodded, truthfully. “Really nice! Not that I have any idea what I’m talking about. I’ve never had a piña colada in my life…”

“What?!” Charlie's face became immediately animated, blinking those illegally dark eyelashes at him in apparent disbelief. “Then why… why would you order one?!”

“Just, uh… well, I got a bit nervous, didn’t I?” Nick admitted with a shy smile, his stomach flip-flopping around, once again, like a fish out of water when he caught Charlie’s questioning gaze. “You know, a bit put on the spot…”

“Nervous?” Charlie smiled that word away with a bite of his lower lip and a shake of his head, and Nick felt eternally grateful that this word shared between them remained thoroughly unpicked. Reaching for another straw, Charlie gestures to his cocktail. “May I?”

Dry of mouth, Nick slid the glass back across the wood and watched as Charlie leant over to dip the new straw, curls falling forward in a tactile cascade just inches away. As he wrapped his lips around it, suddenly Nick was feeling rather hot and it was hard not to project himself forward in time, to a wondrous place where Charlie's dark curls had dipped down between his legs to take a long suck on his dick.

“So, what does the expert say about it?” Nick asked, nethers throbbing yet feeling happy that yet another level of formality between them had been thoroughly shaved away.

“Mmmm.” Charlie looked up from his straw and took a long inhale. His eyes were brazen, the blue holding for much longer than strictly necessary, and Nick fought to keep the eye contact going for as long as he could. “Strong, yet sweet, and deliciously creamy – just how I fucking like it...” 

Nick couldn't seem to catch his breath, fully aware that the flush blossoming up his neck was rising in time with the smirking corners of Charlie's mouth. We've arrived. We've arrived at peak flirting.

“Perdón, ¿¡puedo pedir una ronda!? ¿O voy a tener que verlos teniendo sexo primero?” 

Unbeknownst to the pair currently caught up in their flagrant round of public eye-fucking, three people had arrived to order an actual round and they broke apart from their mutual leaning, looking a tad disorientated.

“Ah. ¡Sí, Señora! Por supuesto, disculpe…” Charlie slid away with a grin, looking entirely too fucking cool about it, whilst Nick tried to imagine what shade of scarlet he must be right now. He'd no idea what the woman had said but, as she smirked knowingly at him, and then at Charlie, whilst she waited for her three pints of San Miguel, he gathered it was something extremely fucking embarrassing.

“So,” Charlie said casually, after tapping in the amount into the cash register, stuffing in the notes and sweeping his eyes back in Nick’s direction. “Are we… going to address it?”

Nick could hear himself gulping, the nerves getting stuck in his throat. This is it. He attempted to look bemused, tightening his lips together and raising an eyebrow, as if he had no clue what could be coming.

“The elephant in the room?” Charlie continued, in response to this terrible attempt at feigning ignorance, and Nick felt himself squirm at all the directness, aware of his pulse point pounding erratically in his throat as he moved closer.

“I think we need to talk about how it’s possible for you to have got so spectacularly sunburned on the very first day of your holiday…” Charlie’s eyebrows met in mirth and Nick found himself landing back to earth with a bump to the ego. “Did you not use any sunscreen? Were you hoping the sun's rays would just reflect back into outer space?”

“Erm!? That’s a bit harsh!” Nick laughed, luckily finding the whole thing rather funny. “Of course I did. I just… forgot to reapply?”

“Ah, I just forgot to reapply!” Charlie almost sing-songed his echo with a mischievous smile. “That’s madness… Brits abroad madness. ”

“Is it really that bad?” Nick asked, already knowing the answer but hoping, perhaps misguidedly, for a bit of gentle placation.

“I know I'm half English so can't be too offensive,” Charlie started, “but why do Brits always overdo it on the first fucking day? Especially the ones with pale skin, red hair and an abundance of freckles?” 

“Listen! I thought I had enough on, okay?!” Nick maintained, only a little miffed at being the butt of the joke. “And, I couldn't reach my back at all! One of the downsides of travelling alone!” Charlie looked vaguely horrified at this confession, mouth partly open and thick-set eyebrows all askew. “I guess my t-shirt will just have to stay on over the next couple of days…”

“That is a shame,” Charlie sighed, lashes shutting briefly, seemingly bereft at this terrible injustice before turning thoughtful. “You know, I'm sure there are many people who would happily oblige with the sun cream business. It's hardly an arduous task, is it?” Charlie’s eyes bounced around the bar, as if scouting out potential contenders. “I expect there would be many guests of the middle-aged lady variety, who would be tripping over themselves to help you out with that one.”

“What? Just walk up to some woman I don't know and say, excuse me, can you cream up my back?” Nick found his forehead furrowing wildly at the idea. “No thanks, sounds awkward as fuck… I think I'd rather burn.”

“How dramatic of you,” Charlie said, with a badly contained snigger. “Listen, I'd really hate for you to end up in hospital Torrecárdenas with a bad case of sunstroke. Turn around and flash me for a second… let me check?”

Nick rolled his eyes, secretly thinking he'd rather flash his front. “Now who’s being dramatic?” 

Charlie swung his index finger around in little circles, seemingly unwilling to take no for an answer and, strangely, Nick complied; rotating around and raising his shirt to reveal the lower third of his back and wincing at the hot tension across his skin. He could hear Charlie hiss and he kicked himself for doing this, for showing him, what must be, a very unattractive fuchsia horizon line over the white sand that makes up the freckled skin above his arse-crack. 

“If you think that's bad, you should see my shoulders,” he muttered, lowering his shirt back down and turning back around. He met Charlie's eye again feeling self-conscious, wishing he'd had the nerve to say no in the first place but Charlie, instead of looking disgusted, looked on the very edge of dismay. 

“I hope you've got some aloe vera?! Or aftersun, at least?!” 

“Um, yeah. I think so.” Nick screwed up his face, trying to remember. “Hopefully it isn't one of the things I tossed out because my case was too heavy.”

Charlie's face brokered no argument, one hand resting on his hips and his eyes firm. "You need both aftersun and a cold shower when you get back to your room.”

Nick grimaced, tilting his head to the side in thought. “Shower, sure. Easy . Aftersun? Kind of have the same issue as the sun cream…”

There was a few seconds where Charlie just looked at him, lip thoroughly caught up in his teeth. “If you want me to help you out, you only have to ask.” Charlie's eyes were wide, almost unblinking, but Nick was struggling to read the message written within them.  Is this a genuine offer, or are we flirting again?  And, if I agree to this madness, will I end up showing him the other side of my burn line?

Now struggling to make eye contact, Nick felt incredibly conflicted about the entire thing. A part of him wanted to bite Charlie’s hand off at the crazy offer and, even if it led nowhere but a cheeky back massage, at least his skin might feel soothed overnight. But, then again, the idea of Charlie seeing his red and white body – that most likely resembled the flag of St George, at this point – made him cringe like fuck. Not the best of circumstances for a little holiday fling. 

“That's very kind but… isn't that a bit weird if I asked you to do that?” Nick murmured eventually, the tension vibrating tenfold inside his chest. Charlie was still looking at him with that unsettling, unreadable expression – blue irises as vast and exposing as the sky – and Nick felt like he was on a tightrope; one wayward breeze and he'd topple.

Charlie appeared to be right at the very end of a decision, and there was a flicker of pink tongue across a lower lip before he swallowed, committing himself to speech. “How weird do you think it would be if I offered?” his voice held none of his previous humour, and there was a long pause that seemed to travel all the way to Canterbury and back. 

God, I really can’t tell

...

He can't possibly be coming onto me

...

Maybe he really thinks I might end up in hospital with 3rd degree burns. Maybe he's just being very kind and helping this pale, loner out

At this moment, a new group staggered up to the bar looking, and smelling, a bit worse for wear and the noise and laughter seemed to break the spell, thankfully, saving Nick from having to answer. Charlie bestowed one last small smile before cracking on, grabbing syrups and spirits in the name of a large round, and Nick returned to his cocktail to take a small sip, noting the feeling of being distinctly lightheaded despite hardly drinking anything.  What to do. He’d still not made any kind of decision by the time Charlie had bashed out a round of lurid green Piledrivers and his patrons had waltzed off singing a rather rambunctious version of ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca.’  

Everything felt like it was on some kind of axis point, but Nick wasn’t sure if he could even look Charlie back in the eye. Is he going to mention the aftersun again? And, more importantly, was Nick going to be able to resist the pull of finding out exactly how innocent this suggestion was?

Luckily, or rather unluckily – whichever way you look at it – Charlie didn't offer again, instead just giving him another shy smile. “Stay out of the sun tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nick, somehow, grew redder at this well-meant earnestness. “I'll read my book in the shade, I promise.”

Charlie almost snorting into his own armpit and, instantly, Nick felt offended. “Hey! Not all of us are blessed with perfect olive skin, you know... I bet you never burn!” He couldn't help but wonder if there was any paleness to be found over the expanse of Charlie's caramel skin. He could only imagine where the brown might end and the cream began, and he got all caught up in the idea of what it would be like to kiss the point where those two colours collided.

“This is true.” Charlie nodded, suddenly grinning, a flare of minx igniting back within his features. “I mean, there's got to be some perks to being in the hospitality industry, and having an opportunity to strip down and sunbathe on my lunch hour is definitely one of them.”

Nick closed his eyes, releasing a long puff of air between his lips and shook his head to exorcise the sexy image parading around his mind, soaking wet in swim shorts. He wanted, desperately, to say something, something that reflected his level of interest that didn’t come across as lechy. Also, something that didn't bring up the possibility of something happening tonight. The thought of wincing his way through the entire thing wasn't exactly the vibe Nick had envisaged. Of course, verbally navigating his way out of this situation also seemed nigh on impossible at this moment in time so, with an embarrassed smile, he went back to nursing his drink and Charlie looked as if he sensed that their conversation had come to an end.

“Gracias,” Nick said finally, after the last delicious dregs had finally been drunk. “I really enjoyed my first ever piña colada.” 

Charlie watched him as he straightened up to leave and Nick couldn't help but feel like he owed him some kind of explanation. “I, uh… I'm gonna go and have a night time stroll I think before my cold shower, but, uh… Nos vemos luego, ¿espero?”

With his face breaking out into another full smile, this showed Nick that Charlie had cottoned on to the fact he'd translated his I hope from this morning. “Yeah!" Dimples flashed. "Espero verte luego.” The emphasis was clear enough, but Nick didn't trust himself to look back over his shoulder as he slipped out of the cool air con and into the sticky humidity of the drinks terrace. 

The sun had already set and the moon was out, a perfect luminous crescent hanging from the clearest night's sky. There were endless stars upon staggered stars, but the peace was somewhat disrupted by the wild laughter and raucous chatter echoing up into the dark from amongst the tables. The long sigh that Nick expelled merged with the moist night and he stood there for a full minute, attempting to process the evening's events but getting fucking nowhere. In the end, he forced his stubborn feet to move in the opposite direction to which they wanted to go; across the yellow glow of the globe-lit veranda, down the stone steps and through the fragrant stretch of jasmine and out of the side exit. 

Here he paused, facing the descent that he knew led all the way to the main strip of Mojacar that was lit up below him like Christmas, before urging himself onwards to prevent any impulsive ideas. The dirt road led to narrow, white-washed streets, alight with the glow of lanterns, and he walked with his weaving thoughts for a while, meandering through the little town square, listening to locals and tourists alike, living it up in the many bars and restaurants that were jumping with activity. After walking around in a few circles, he found himself at a new table with a new cocktail, going through the motions with all his distinctly un-new thoughts.

Did he regret leaving like that? Should he have stayed and let it all play out, sunburned, or not? Did Charlie actually like him? Or, was he just used to courting all the guests to encourage the cash?  He never took my tip… 

Bollocks. Nick had not bought Charlie that drink, far too entangled in the many moments they were already sharing to travel backwards in time to the early hours of last night. He wondered, belatedly, how he must have come across. Did his interest appear obvious enough? Or, did he seem too uptight and reserved?

Nick spent almost an hour mulling in both his solitude and a couple of sub-standard piña coladas, the drunken shouts steadily dispersing around him into unintelligible droning. Although he knew that he was still none the wiser, Nick found his fidgety feet bounding back, flying up the lengthy ascent quicker than he’d have ever thought possible. 

Maybe he's still there.

I can at least say goodnight, give him a smile… take another mental photo of his face to keep me company tonight.

Of course, when he arrived, perspiring and panting, the bar was almost empty – with only Abuelo nursing a final late night tipple and Julio mopping the floor – and he kicked himself all the way back to his room, before pulling his clothes off to step into the cold jets of his shower. With gritted teeth, Nick endured the necessary, but painful, rebound of the icy spray upon his skin for as long as he could bear before finally turning it back up to tepid. And, soon enough, his earlier fantasies of Charlie’s offer returned to haunt him – the idea of him knocking, turning up with a bottle of aftersun and repeating his proposition was unshakeable – and Nick’s hand snaked around himself as he let the visceral visual play out. He could almost feel the cool hands on his back, the hot lips on his shoulder, the slickness of the aftersun sliding far lower than necessary to massage his twitching glutes, and he spectacularly shuddered over his fist in record time. 

Not longer after, Nick fell into bed feeling fatigued, mostly from translating all the mental gymnastics tonight. Tomorrow, he thought, as he lay there, the cool cotton and air-con blissful, as replay after replay of remembered conversation ran through his mind, There's always tomorrow. 

Espero.      

Chapter Text

Beneath the dappled shade of the pergola, bright sun-flares bursting through the canopy leaves, Nick was nursing his third cup of black coffee. He had wondered if this caffeine binge might be a bit unwise, considering the fact he had felt rather jittery before he'd even opened his eyes, but it had seemed rather necessary due to a rather fitful night's sleep.

He had spent the majority of the morning hours turning like a rotisserie chicken, punctuated by extended waking periods of perpetual overthinking. Eventually, at the arse-crack of dawn, the decision was made to accept his fate and get up for yet another cold shower and he had stood under it for so long that he feared his balls were about to freeze and fall off. With this being the last thing he fucking needed, Nick had gotten out to spend the next thirty minutes naked underneath the blasting air con – arms and legs splayed like the pink edition of The Vitruvian Man – before almost dislocating his shoulder in some sad, solo attempt to aftersun his back.

Needless to say, despite the long and leisurely breakfast, Nick was feeling tired as well as jittery, not to mention marginally grumpy, and all this felt exacerbated by the fact that the lad that definitely wasn’t Charlie had been in charge of the drinks trolley all morning.

In the aftermath of melon gate, Nick had avoided fruit at the buffet, as well as the gaze of the sharp-eyed, blunt-fringed sister that seemed to hover ever-present within his periphery. He ate slowly, in no hurry to move, which was partly due to being quite unsure what he was going to do with his cumbersome sunburned body today. Rather than commit to thinking about it, Nick had decided that he was happy enough to let himself be distracted by the many naughty cats that were pouncing and prowling under the table legs, occasionally mewling loudly for tidbits.

Now though, with the bottom of his third cup almost in sight, as well as being the last person still sitting beneath the pergola, Nick was wondering if this dragged out brunchfast – along with the hope of a spontaneous appearance from a certain curly-haired waiter – might have to be given up on.

It's probably for the best, Nick thought, what could I possibly say to him after the abrupt end to our conversation? 

In his mind, Nick could easily envisage the expression on Charlie’s face at the very end of the evening, once his panicking had completely dampened any ability to flirt back. He'd recognised the confusion in it at the time, how Charlie's confidence had visibly dimmed, as if he was suddenly second-guessing every other sign of interest that Nick had offered up to him. The only thing that was helping Nick to believe that he'd not completely blown it were the tentative espero’s they had shared before parting ways.

On top of this, there was also the looming fact that there were only days until his dad and brother arrived. Would there be much point in starting a summer fling with Charlie if he was only going to have to pack his queerness away for an easier life?

A loud clattering close by brought Nick back from the brink of his brooding and, after sharply raised his head, he found Victoria staring right at him with a face like a block of granite, nary a blink to be seen. She was stacking dirty plates with one hand and, with the other, throwing cutlery, one piece at a time, hard into a plastic vat of water.

“Holá.” He forced out a flattened smile, no longer able to avoid the fact that she had noticed him, noticing her. “¿Qué tal?”

“Oh. We're doing that, are we?” She had sardonic blandness down to a fine art. “Yeah. Bueno, I guess… unlike your accent . ”  She went back to spearfishing, appearing not to notice, or care, about the soapy water that was splashing all over her black ballet pumps.

“You really don't like me much, do you?” Nick asked eventually – more intrigued than offended, truth be told – and he saw the faintest flicker of surprise cross her, usually unanimated, face. 

“I can honestly say that the strongest I feel about you is absolute fucking ambivalence.” She shrugged half a shoulder. “I guess I'm just not as easy to please as some people…”  Nick sat up in his seat at that comment, feeling a surge of electricity at the inference. Does she mean Charlie?!  “Why are you still here, anyway? Shouldn't you be working on deepening the red of that impressive sunburn?”

Nick didn't bother to refrain from an eye roll; if she could get away with being rude, he wasn’t going to worry about his own manners. And, more than anything, instead of it making him want to slope off – like he was just about getting around to doing – he now felt like eking this all out a whole fucking more, just to see how much he could push it. Maybe he’d sit here until lunchtime; just him, the cats and this soulless, dreary girl and her collection of sharp implements.

“I dunno…” He shrugged impassively. “Just in no hurry today, I suppose.” To emphasise his point, Nick picked up the full jug of water – the one that he had, so far, been successfully avoiding – and poured himself a large glass, crossing both ankles beneath the table to try and fully convey his total lack of fucks.

“Oh." She pursed her flat lips together and squinted with the power of a thousand x-rays. It felt as if every private thought he'd ever had was being leafed through, one by one. "I see how it is.”

Seemingly unimpressed by this display of stubbornness, Victoria stalked off to the nearby counter – where the dirty plates and cups had been stacked haphazardly all over the side – to lift a red phone to her ear, aggressively pressing a singular button. Nick couldn't help but snort to himself as he pictured being escorted out in cuffs by the breakfast police. That wouldn't exactly read well on Trip Advisor.

“Por algún motivo, el rosadito sigue acá y, sorprendentemente, parece andar bastante gruñón.” Despite speaking in Spanish, she still had her eyes completely locked onto Nick, a long slender finger toying around the red spiral cord, and he suddenly had the most horrible feeling that he knew exactly what she was up to. “¿¡Media hora, más o menos!?” She threw up half a shoulder, eyes rolling sideways, before furrowing her brows into a sharp point. “Bueno, pareciera que sí…” A big, long sigh emitted from her mouth, her pale, unsettling eyes landing back on him. “Menos mal, porque este nivel de patetismo me está desquiciando y me encantaría dejar de presenciarlo.”  

The phone was then put down with an unceremonious slap, and Nick had this sudden sense of foreboding circling in his belly like a threatening swarm of wasps. "What did you just do?”

“Lets just say that I'm fed up with clearing up around you and he'll be right out.”

“Oh my god, you didn't.” Nick swallowed a teeny, tiny something that could well be sick, raising two fingers to his lips just in case. “Victoria, pleas-”

“Hey!” For the first time since he'd met her, an expression other than disdain or boredom was blasting across her face – mouth falling open and eyes flashing in vehemence – and Nick wondered if he was about to experience her full, transcendent wrath. “No, no, no.” She pointed to her upside-down badge with a jabby index finger. “This is a protest! If you must insist on being on a first name basis, call me Tori, else I may be forced to spit in every beverage that I bring you… ”

Nick noticed that he had risen to a stand, feeling caught tight in the clutches of a fear that went well beyond the unveiled threat of ingesting foreign saliva unexpectedly. “Tori…” Voice calm with his hands outstretched, Nick's tone and body language quickly gentled into horse whisperer mode, holding onto the small misguided hope that he had entirely misunderstood the situation. “Please tell me that you didn't just summon him here on my behalf…”

“Well, you can't possibly make out that he isn't who you’ve been waiting around for all fucking morning!” She swallowed an evil smile as an eyebrow flew up like a sparrowhawk. “Did you want me to call him back? Tell him not to bother?”

“Wha’? No! Jesus FUCK! That’s actually worse …”  Nick’s brain was hurting from all the things he didn't want pulling his cranial hemispheres apart in different directions. He didn't want Charlie to turn up because Tori had told him to. He didn't want her to call and cancel this terribleness either and, all in all – despite it looking unavoidable – he didn’t want to look like a complete fucking numpty again. 

Shit. 

Double fucking shit.

What to do…

“Why’s your face like that?” Tori asked conversationally, possibly recognising the absolute blind panic she'd unleashed from the fact that Nick’s freeze response appeared to have well and truly kicked in. “You’re not about to have a hypo are you? Because, I don’t remember any of my first aid training…”

Do I run away? Hide in the flowerbed with the cats? 

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck–”

“Uhh… Is everything alright?” 

Nick could feel all his organs slosh together as he spun on his heels, his larger-than-average thighs knocking into the table as he found Charlie only four steps away looking rather bemused. The effect of this sudden arrival – combined with him looking so effortlessly fucking gorgeous – seemed to have knocked all air from Nick’s lungs.

His dark curls were little wilder today – held out of his face by a zig-zagged headband that only seems to emphasise his incredible bone structure. And, with one hand casually clasping at the top pergola beam, Charlie partly squinted at them both through the onslaught of sunshine alongside an unsure smile. He was in his standard work attire; short-sleeved shirt – buttoned up properly, sadly – but the position of his hand above his head showed off the inner of brown, upper arm. Nick was instantly reminded of his fascination with Charlie's arms from when he had watched him shake cocktails the night before and all time seemed to slow as he caught up with himself, his brain processing all this gloriousness at the speed of Windows 2000 dipped in syrup.

“Oh, um, YES? Fine … ?! Hi? I mean, holá?”

Charlie's blue eyes bounced from Nick's look of overwhelm to his sister's deadpan expression before raising his eyebrows at her. When she didn't look particularly inclined to move, his eyes flashed – head tilting in an expression that quite clearly said ‘well, off you fuck then!’ – and she slowly glided away like some sadistic poltergeist with the ghost of a smirk laced on her lips.

Once she was at a more acceptable distance, taking the opportunity to light up a cheeky cigarette whilst semi-concealed behind one of wooden pillars, Charlie's blue eyes settled back onto Nick and he rolled them jovially. “Sorry about her. She refused to become fully socialised along with the rest of us…” An apologetic smile rose before an elongated pause. “Uh, so… where were we? Hi? Wasn't it?”

Nick released a long-held breath and chanced a smile despite the nausea that still felt incredibly fucking present . “Yeah… Hi.”

Letting go of the beam, Charlie smoothly slid into the shade of the pergola, his smile tightly smooshed together in well contained amusement. “I can't stay long, I’m delivery boy , today… how’s the sunburn? Tori said you were grumpy so I brought you this to cheer you up…” He lifted one hand, gently placing a large nectarine on the table between them.

“Oh!” Despite the very randomness of this gift, Nick could not help but be warmed by the gesture. Its shiny skin was a sunblushed red and he picked it up, noting the warmth, no doubt, that had been transferred from Charlie's hand, and how the soft flesh gave way beneath his thumb. “Thanks?!” 

In response to Nick’s pleased, and yet, baffled expression, Charlie immediately launched into explanation. “Nectarines are one of the few fruits that we don't grow ourselves. They also seem to arrive once in a blue fucking moon but a box of about thirty just turned up.” He threw a shoulder up alongside this comment before placing a hand casually on his hip. “I thought I’d save you one… you know, before all the locusts swarm? They seem to last less than two minutes before they're all filched…” Charlie suddenly blinked, looking away and clearing his throat in thought. “Sorry, that all sounds a bit weird now I’ve said that out loud… do you even like nectarines?”

“Yes!” Nick was feeling buoyant, like he’d been pumped up with helium and was having trouble keeping his feet on the ground; all previous grumpiness dispersing off into hot air above his head. “Who doesn’t like a nectarine?”

“Well… phew?!” Charlie grinned in relief. “Personally, they're my favourite but I never get to have one. I think that one's perfect but you'll have to let me know…” 

“What? Why don't you ever get one?” Nick’s eyebrows knitted together at this obvious social injustice, the idea of Charlie being deprived of his favourite fruit seeming completely un-fucking-fair.

“Oh, well… they're for guests.” Charlie caught Nick's stunned expression. “It's okay. I'm happy to live vicariously through you…” Charlie’s bottom lip suddenly became trapped under a tooth, that shy smile out in force again, and Nick was suddenly under the impression that he was waiting for him to taste it. Right here and now.

“Do you need me to fetch you a knife and fork?” A contemptuous voice asked, through a cloud of undulating smoke.

“Oh, fuck off, Tori…” Charlie called snarkily, eyelids heavy in the same long-suffering expression Nick was starting to become accustomed to seeing on his sister’s face.

To correct the melon faux pas of yesterday, Nick refused to overthink any further, raising the nectarine immediately to his mouth. He let his teeth pierce amber flesh, enjoying the abundance of juice drenching over his tongue in a wave of sticky sweetness. Nick’s eyes sought Charlie out, desperate to drown in blue, only to find himself captivated by his parted pink mouth instead, harnessing a swallow that mirrored Nick’s own. Amazingly, instead of feeling embarrassed by the sticky rivulet running down his chin, he caught it with an eager thumb before bringing it up to his mouth to suck clean.

“Mmmmmmm.” Licking his lips, Nick allowed himself another fleeting flash of eye contact, satisfied at finding Charlie, seemingly, mesmerised. “That is a perfect nectarine, Charlie…” He flashed a smile, realising that this was the first time he had said Charlie's name out loud, before indulging in another slow bite. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you?” He held it out and, for once, it seemed like Charlie didn’t quite know where to look, at the half-devoured, reddened innard of the violated nectarine, or back at Nick’s faux-innocent expression.

“I, uh… I wish I could…” Charlie ran a slip of tongue across his lower lip, “It's tempting but... well, if I’m caught with a juice-splattered shirt, I’d never hear the fucking end of it, I swear to god…”

“Hmm.” On taking another bite, Nick feigned thoughtfulness, sucking the excess juice from the pit and revelling in its tartness whilst thinking about Charlie’s flirting from yesterday - specifically when Charlie had described, in detail, how he liked to strip off and sunbathe during his break. Nick had felt oh so woefully tongue-tied  that he’d had to let it go without so much as a comment but he was not about to waste a second opportunity. “You are really missing out. Maybe pinch one for your next lunch break… can’t spot any juice stains on your shirt if it’s off now, can she?” 

Nick traced the slow swallow – the dip and rebound of Charlie's Adam’s apple – before watching his lips press together in the full acknowledgement of Nick’s cheeky suggestion, blue eyes narrowed in a shrewd assessment before a steady smile ensued. “I like the way you think, Nick…” Charlie said finally, keeping erogenous eye contact and looking as if he was testing the full weight of Nick’s name on his tongue for the first time, “and, that way, any sticky evidence could be thoroughly washed off before I have to put all my clothes back on…” Charlie smirked as he walked backwards, eyebrows seemingly erratic in their enthusiasm for the idea. “Look at you, leading me all astray… atrevido.” 

Eventually, Charlie was forced to spin on his heels to look in his direction of travel – shaking his curly head like he was disappointed but ever so impressed at the same time – and Nick had no choice but to watch, mid-juicy-bite, as his derriere disappeared through the sliding doors.

“Well, that was revolting…” Nick turned to see Tori blowing out smoke, twisting her cigarette butt against the pillar behind her in a nauseous grimace, “and on so many fucking levels.” She flicked the butt of her fag into the bin and sighed dramatically. “Right, now that sordid little ordeal is over, could you kindly fuck off? I have a metric ton of monotonous shit to do...”

Nick couldn’t contain his full-mouthed grin as he skipped down the pergola steps and out into the bright sunshine with a new found sense of purpose. First, he was going to head back to his room to fully prepare, then off to stalk out the pool area in the hope of snagging a strategically-placed sunbed for a front row view. Just in case.

“Have a wonderful day, Tori!” Despite his cheerful snark, he was not quite brave enough to look back.

Chapter Text

It was fucking hot – a sub-tropical 35°C, to be exact – and despite Nick ensuring that he was constantly in the shade, moving his sunbed a few inches every ten minutes like the human embodiment of a sundial, he was still sweating his gonads off.

He had put himself thoroughly into stealth mode – aviators beneath his cap with his book open in front of his face – covertly scouring the bodies around the poolside every thirty seconds, or so, in ever-dwindling hope. True to his word, the white t-shirt had sensibly stayed on, and the one foot that occasionally became endangered by the sun's fiery kiss had been slathered in a thick, white sheen of factor fifty just in-fucking-case.

The little plastic lunch basket that once held Nick’s portion of chips had almost melted in the full scorch on the table to his immediate right, alongside the three empty glasses of San Miguel that had gone down a little too easily. It had seemed like a good way to pass the time until one particularly hot, semi-naked, half-Spanish man was due to make an appearance but, unfortunately, all the gas and starch had made him a tad bloated and now he was really hoping that he wasn’t about to belch or fart at a critical moment. 

That would just be my fucking luck.

As time ticked ever closer to 2pm, Nick found himself slowly losing faith in the entire endeavour, wondering if it had been all fanciful banter after all.

There was no way that Charlie was actually planning on turning up? Was there?

There was also this disturbing thought that wouldn’t go away. One cranial whisper telling him that it was all a bit weirdo-stalker vibes to be waiting here – despite the fact it was a communal pool that he had paid considerable money to lounge around – in the hope of one very particular peep show. 

Nick gave himself a little shake. It was not that weird.

This was a nearly-naked space after all. It could hardly be Nick's fault if he happened to have a set of working eyes and if Charlie happened to come here and flash his lithe, olive-skinned body within fifteen feet of them.

In fact, it could be safe to say that, after the scandalous undertones of their previous conversation, it would be a very consensual ogling indeed. It seemed a bit of a shame Nick was still pink, not to mention covered-up and bloated; it just didn’t quite feel like a fair exchange.

Just as he was considering giving up on it all, a vision in teeny-tiny, yellow shorts arrived in his periphery, the tanned legs protruding through them appearing to go on forever.

Nick’s blood instantly thickened. His erratic heart sped up whilst time slowed down as his gaze lifted up, travelling straight past the towel and the clutched bottle of lotion, and skimming along all the interesting slopes and planes of Charlie’s brown abdomen.

He could no longer feel the weight of his body pinning him on the sunbed but he could very nearly almost hear that classic Barry White intro (you know the one) playing between his ears as he took in those sumptuous-looking hip bones splaying out from either side of his shorts. 

The queer-panic was hitting him harder than it had ever hit him before. Should he make eye contact? Maybe shoot him a cool and gravelly hey to announce his presence? Or would that make it look exactly how it was; like he'd been sitting here, on his desperate horny haunches, for most of the afternoon? 

The moment of truth arrived… and then instantly left again, Nick rendered fully dumbfounded by the pert, peachy perfection that strode straight past him. He attempted to take control of his face, a belated effort at feigning chill, praising god that – beneath his mirrored lenses – there was no way anyone could accurately tell which heavenly body his gravitational gaze was being pulled to.

Nick breathed a sigh of conflicted relief as Charlie found a singular sunbed, in full flaming sun, to the west of the kidney-shaped swimming pool. He was far enough away for that intense I’m in danger feeling to have faded, yet close enough to give him a bang-tidy view of Charlie as he lowered that resplendent rear-end upon the sunbed mattress. 

For some reason, Charlie chose to sit astride it – his long, bronze legs hanging leisurely either side – and Nick spent an indecent amount of time gazing at the shape of his calves before realising that there was this red-ripened promise of a nectarine being slowly lifted to Charlie’s lips, seemingly plucked from nowhere.

This is not fucking happening? Is it?!

After the longest pause, Charlie’s eyelashes fluttered softly shut, and it dawned on Nick that he must have been breathing in the fruity scent, savouring the moment. Finally, with the very edges of his mouth curving upwards in a crooked half-smile, Charlie’s incisors snagged through flesh and Nick could only watch thirstily as the nectarine burst open like a raincloud, splattering bare skin with an abundance of blush-coloured droplets.

Charlie made absolutely no move to wipe any of it away, instead, choosing to recline fully upon the backrest and close his eyes, offering up that sticky, contoured chest to the sun like he had all the time in the fucking world. 

Nick was thankful he had a towel within reach to pull across his steadily stiffening lap, as Charlie took another indecently large bite. From across the pool, he could only imagine the audio – the sinfully moist noises of that perfect mouth working sloppily against the plump ripeness – and, helpfully, Nick's brain even conjured up a decadent little moan of self-gratification to file away for later on.

What I wouldn’t give to get eaten out like that fucking nectarine…

Nick allowed his eyes to travel up that throat – taking in the taut tendons in a swallow – before he realised that Charlie’s eyes were now fixed on him. 

Immediately, his ass lifted about a foot into the air, like lightning finding ground. In that instant, he forgot all about the fact that he was supposedly reading his book, that there should be no sure way to tell exactly where his gaze had landed, and yet Charlie grinned knowingly all the same. He’d clearly clocked where Nick had been sitting – aware of him, all along – and, keeping the explicit eye contact going, Charlie sucked the excess juice from his sticky fingers before discarding the ravished pit-remains into a nearby urn.

After giving his bare chest a very thorough wipe down with his towel, he picked up his lotion bottle and sauntered on over with a barely-hidden smirk. Nick, meanwhile, fidgeted nervously on his bottom as Charlie came ever closer, overly aware of the towel that was still randomly puddled on top of his overreactive lap.

“Hey” Charlie raised an eyebrow, an emboldened gesture that practically shouted, Well, here I am!’ 

“Oh, hey!” Nick practically chucked his book to one side and lifted up his sunglasses to perch on top of his head. It was a bad idea. Now Charlie was a hundred, thousand times more incandescent, a glowing aura glinting around his head and shoulders from the position of the afternoon sun. “I, uh… didn't see you there! You having a good break?” 

Smooth. Totally fucking believable.

Charlie trapped a pouty grin beneath his entire row of top teeth as he considered his response. “The best, thanks. My nectarine was divine, by the way. Probably tasted all the better for being forbidden, I expect…” 

The word forbidden seemed to have sparked a flare in Charlie’s eyes and, a split second later, Nick found himself on the receiving end of a flagrant gaze – one that was razing over his reclined form – and it felt as if, out of the two of them, Nick was the one wearing next to fucking nothing. 

Instantly, he was self-conscious. Did he look as bloated as he felt? Or, just plain stupid being almost fully dressed next to all the sizzling bodies that were stretched out around him like rashers of streaky bacon? 

“You look like you're being very sun safe today. I approve, coloradito mío. Do you mind?” Charlie shook the bottle at Nick and gestured, almost casually, towards his back.

Garbled non-words gushed at this turn of events. Sure, it's was the exact opposite scenario of his cold shower fantasies but equally as arousing, and it resulted in a senseless stream of Ers and Ums before Charlie took that little mind-spasm for golden, plonking himself down on the end of Nick’s sunlounger and passing the bottle backwards. “Thanks, you're a legend…”

Blinking bewilderedly, Nick placed his legs on either side of the bed and shuffled up. He couldn’t get too close, now was not the time to rub his rapidly unfurling throbber against Charlie's back, but he couldn’t help but let the inside of his knees lightly brush either side of Charlie’s hips as a consolation prize. 

As he carefully drizzled the lotion across the peaks and ridges of Charlie’s tawny shoulders, instead of the thick white SPF that he was expecting, it came out amber and glistening, and Nick squinted at the label on the back. 

Tanning oil.

“Um. This doesn't appear to be very sun safe?” 

“I don’t burn, remember?” 

“Oh. Yes. Vividly.” 

Charlie snorted and he felt himself blushing a magnificent shade of scarlet at how his motor mouth and blindsided brain were clearly in cahoots to embarrass him as much as fucking possible. 

Taking in a deep, silent breath, Nick went for it, pressing the flat of his palms against Charlie's perfectly bronzed shoulder blades, sweeping up and over the expanse of hot skin, only to experience a crackle of static that ran straight up his spine. 

Fuck, this is what it’s like to touch him…

Is he feeling this too?

Nick suddenly felt a bit lightheaded, wondering if he might pass out from lack of blood to the brain. Was this really happening? Or, had he fallen asleep under the umbrella and was actually in the throes of the most leg-kicking, stiffy-inducing dream? Whatever this was, Nick didn’t want it to end. 

Luckily, he’d gone rather overboard with the oil and took full advantage of the excuse to keep on rubbing over the ever-undulating shape of Charlie's flexing back. Nick had to swallow his sigh of appreciation as he roamed around both sides, riding another horny belly-ripple as his fingers brushed the very edges of Charlie's rib cage and down, either side, to his slender waist. Holding Charlie within both his hands, he could feel every expanding breath, every tensing muscle, and wondered if Charlie was as attuned to Nick’s tightly-controlled exhales as they hit hotly on the back of his shoulder blades.

After sliding his way up Charlie’s spine, he reached the very top to find that Charlie was forking his fingers through the longer curls, exposing a creamier subsection of neck that was much more latte to look upon than the rest of him. Nick almost gasped at the sudden reminder of how, last night, he’d imagined letting his lips lave over a place on Charlie’s body that the sun never got to kiss. 

It would be mine, and mine alone.

It was so hard not to just enact the erogenous thought, right there and then, by the side of that very busy pool, and the idea did not help the very publicly pitched tent situation one iota. 

Nick forced his hands and eyes to drop, reworking over the toned lower back that had clearly already been well oiled, before finally admitting that if he carried on, for even a second longer, he might end up doing something he would really, really regret. Handing the bottle to Charlie, Nick cleared his throat awkwardly and scooched his hips backwards in a desperate shuffling retreat. “There you go.”

“Excellent service, very thorough! Shout if you ever need the favour returned, pecosito mío.”

Charlie stood up and, once again, Nick found himself practically frothing whilst forced to watch perfection incarnate casually retreat over to his sunbed, as if that sensuous charged interaction was almost nothing. 

He didn’t even bother with the prior pretence of not looking as Charlie threw his body back down upon the bed, applying the same sensual-looking slathering to his front – oiling himself liberally, over his chest, thighs and calves – until he was practically iridescent. And now, Nick was completely unable to exorcise the next thought, of how he'd like to run his palms up those toned and hairy thighs – sliding his slickened fingers beneath the leg holes of those tiny, yellow shorts – for a very different kind of massage.

Becoming so lost within that lucid little gaydream, Nick was a full three seconds behind on catching up to the fact that Charlie was now standing at the pool edge. With his graceful limbs poised, he cut through the glassy surface and glided almost an entire length of the turquoise water before coming up for air. 

For some reason, Nick also held onto a breath whilst he watched Charlie, seemingly in the slowest of motions, hoist himself up the other side – water cascading off his curls, down his tensed biceps – before he rose to a dripping stand.

“Fuck, the water’s really refreshing today,” Charlie said conversationally, making brief eye contact and shaking his wet hair out with a heartstopping smile. After heading back to his sunbed, he reclined almost regally upon it – skin refracted with tiny diamonds – raising one perfect arm up to cushion his head beneath a hand. 

Nick quickly realised that the quiet yelping noises he could hear were coming from himself, but he made another heroic effort to get a grip, dragging a wayward foot back into the shade as the heat of the midday sun steadily encroached more of his shadowland. He found his book, all creased and battered-looking, from where he’d chucked it and did his best to focus. 

Rather unsurprisingly, it seemed like after every other word he felt the compulsion to check – to see if Charlie had moved, or adjusted his perfect frame in some new unmissable angle – but he stayed there, fully splayed out, exactly like that. 

This book-reading farce continued on for an immeasurable amount of time until, eventually, Charlie fiddled with his watch, resetting some kind of alarm, and began to gather his stuff. Nick’s heart, once again, started pounding tightly, pulse becoming louder and louder in his eardrums when Charlie hovered nearby, scrunch drying his curls. “Right, well I better go dry off properly and get back to work. See you later?”

It was a question. 

Charlie was asking a question.

And was politely waiting to listen to the answer.

All whilst dripping, shining and glorious, possibly embodying every Mediterranean gay fantasy that had ever existed.

“Uh, yeah?”  

Why had he answered like it was a question of his own? He swallowed and attempted that again, this time with more confidence. “I mean, yes. I'll be around… Will you be in the bar tonight?”

Charlie scrunched up the left corner of his mouth, almost in satisfaction, and tilted his chin up in challenge. “Maybe…”

Oh, it’s like that is it?

Nick raised his eyebrows with a probing smile and said nothing, letting the seconds eke out to call him on his bluff, and it wasn't long before Charlie gave him that little bit more.

“It’s hard to know exactly… it swaps around all the fucking time so I guess we’ll just have to see how hard you try to find me. See ya around, cariño mío.” And, with that, he sauntered off in the direction of the hotel, wringing the marginal amount of excess material of his shorts with one hand and rubbing the towel over his wet body with the other. 

He didn’t look back, and Nick would have felt sad about that, apart from the fact that it gave him the best fucking view of his life so far. He didn’t think it was possible for Charlie’s arse to look any better, however, the almost-see through yellow nylon of his shorts, clinging to his wet butt cheeks, had proved him happily wrong.

Once completely out of sight, Nick dived for his phone, tapping out cariño mío into Google Translate and grinning to himself like a giddy imbecile.

My darling.

He wished he could remember the other little Spanish comments, the ones that Charlie had been dropping casually into conversation, more than anything, but this one… this one was proof. It just had to be. 

Nick was a certified disaster. He knew this to be true, but he was not blind, or deaf, or entirely dumb to the past forty-eight hours. Charlie was interested. Interested in a sunburned, ginger numpty like him, for some baffling reason.

Why? Who could say? But Nick was not planning on putting up much more resistance.

He spent a luxurious hour in his air-conditioned room fantasising about licking his way up every single one of Charlie's limbs; tasting every water droplet, every sweet trace of nectarine residue, in fact, any fluid that might fall or drip or spurt from Charlie's body, Nick knew he’d eagerly lap up in the hope to satiate this endless thirst. He wanted it all.

As he laid on his bed – back still sore, sweating once again and covered in his own savoury flavour of sticky juices – he wondered what his next move should be. 

Could he do this? Hook up with someone for a night or two before his dad and brother arrived? 

This wasn't his usual behaviour at all. He couldn't even remember how long ago his last one night stand, or meaningless fling, was, but he couldn't let himself pass up this opportunity. 

After all, how often did he get hit on so blatantly by beautiful Spanish men with ocean blue eyes and wicked smiles? 

Never. 

And probably never will again.

Would Charlie get it? Obviously, he would… It's not like he doesn’t understand how bloody holidays work.

So, why didn't it seem that easy?

Chapter Text

“Hmmmm.”

Nick drummed his fingers against the cool of the wooden table, pursing his lips at the presented conundrum. He raised a hand, only to be quickly caught up in some sudden thought before swiftly returning it back to the safe confines of his lap. “Uh. No. Bad idea, actually.”

Gruff laughter billowed out, again. To save face, he slid the tiny marble bishop diagonally across four black squares, committing to taking out the pawn that was idling a bit too close to his knight. Wiry brows and twinkling, blue eyes became overly animated at this mistake and Nick couldn’t contain his groan as he watched his bishop get unceremoniously taken out by the white queen.

“When you offered, I did not think it would be easier than when I'm playing against myself…” 

Abuelo’s voice was low but melodic, laughter laced within his heavy accent, and Nick graciously shrugged as he took a long sip of orange juice. He was fine with losing. He'd never been all that competitive, with the exception of rugby. “More fun though, hopefully?!”

“Oh, sí. Definitivamente.”

After his little solo session and impromptu nap back in his room, Nick had got himself ready for dinner far too early. He’d deliberately chosen a stone-coloured shirt that was just a little too tight around the biceps and had felt pleased to see that the pink gammonness of his face, neck and arms was definitely less noticeable this evening.

Itching to find some way to pass the remaining hour before dinner, Nick had spotted the elderly gentleman with his chessboard. He had been sitting under the shade of the courtyard, surrounded by baby orange trees potted in vibrant blue-glazed ceramics, and had been continuously spinning the board around, moving both sets of pieces, one by one, amongst the bustle in a way that almost broke Nick's heart. Abuelo had given him a whiskery grin when asked if he could use some company, and had been well and truly kicking Nick’s ass ever since.

He had insisted that Nick sat and drank with him, asking if he'd yet had a chance to try their freshly squeezed orange juice. When Nick had told him yes, and how delicious it was, Abuelo had looked as if he might burst happily at the seams and, at once, had begun to tell him all about their extensive fruit orchard sloping south of the hotel. 

Stories of when he and his wife had arrived in the region of Almeria in the eighties came next but, sadly, the orchard had not been profitable enough to make more than a paltry living. Opening their home up as a B&B had eventually given them enough capital to invest in building around them, and Casa Primavera had slowly expanded to what it was today.

“And this courtyard,” Abuelo had looked around with nostalgia at the granite pillars, his palms held outwards in obvious pride, “is a part of the original building.”

“It's gorgeous here,” Nick admitted, smiling to himself. “And your family, well, they’re wonderful. Very welcoming.” 

“Oh, sí. Certainly seems that way to my old eyes.” Abuelo’s cheekiness had lit up from within. “Mi nieto, Charlie, especially, eh?”

Nick had reddened and blustered at this, remembering their bold body language over the bar last night, rather relieved that Abuelo had been nowhere near the poolside this afternoon to see Nick struggling to close his mouth. 

As his brain had immediately melted into fondue, he'd made a rather stupid move without thinking, which Abuelo immediately had jumped on, taking his castle and threatening his king at the same time. Luckily, this check situation had distracted the old fella enough to allow Nick to change the subject back to safer territory, bringing up his own family instead, and the stress he was feeling over their rather imminent arrival. The old man had sucked his teeth at that, sighing empathetically whilst seemingly cautious to commit to giving an answer. 

And, right now, Nick was here holding on by his fingertips at their third game. It was past his regular dinner time, and the hungrier Nick got, the poorer his judgement and foresight became. It was not all that long before he was shaking the older man’s gnarly, mahogany hand in magnanimous defeat and making his excuses.

“I’ve really enjoyed this afternoon. Another time?”

“I would never say no to company, Nick. And certainly not to company as terrible at chess as you.” Abuelo grinned, still gripping Nick’s hand tightly between both of his, a warmth seemed to be conducted between them. “You’re excellent for an old man’s ego…”

“Uh, happy to… help?”

After filling up on an array of colourful tapas, rather over indulging on the Champiñones al Ajillo without full consideration of how garlicky his breath might get, Nick decided to amble his way through the hotel – keeping an eye out for a certain curly-haired someone – in the hope of conducting yet another round of flagrant flirting. 

Charlie was not in reception so Nick carefully dodged past Tori, who was vacantly staring ahead like an extra in some psychological horror film, feeling thoroughly relieved to have been able to skirt past without getting caught up in her own special brand of caustic conversation. I've had enough of that for one day.

Nick was fiercely disappointed to find that Charlie wasn't manning the bar either, especially considering the younger, curly-haired teen – who Nick now affectionately liked to refer to as Not-Charlie – almost immediately made him jump out of his skin when he appeared to collect glasses from out of nowhere. 

As he wasn’t quite sure where else to check, Nick ordered a beer from the woman with the silk scarf – the same one who was overseeing breakfast service yesterday – before retreating into a corner seat to quietly people-watch. It only took him ten minutes to decide that, despite the sporadic customer service smiles, the woman serving was very nearly as antisocial as Tori. She had the same sharp, pale grey eyes and seemingly bitter omnipotence and yet, somehow, she was able to mask it slightly better. Is she part of the family too?

The atmosphere, without Charlie, felt flat – almost conference like, with the classic tinkling of jazzy piano music – so very different from the night before where an array of up-tempo tunes from across the decades had been playing. It also seemed that the drinks were appearing on the bar at a pace of racing snails and, despite appearing calm on the surface as she dealt with a group of six – all rambunctiously clamouring for cocktails – the strain forking like lightning through the crows feet was obvious to any who cared to look. 

Eventually, once another trio of tipsy Spanish women joined the back of the ever-growing queue, he saw her mutter something from out the side of her mouth at Not-Charlie, who immediately sloped off through one of the side doors as she gave the guy stood in front of her a grimace.

A few more tense minutes panned out, with the woman ploughing resolutely on, before Charlie made a quick appearance from the side door. He swiftly removed and abandoned a navy apron as he joined her side, making a beeline for the next group waiting. Nick couldn’t help but smile when he noted that for every cocktail she made, Charlie assembled at least three – plus a mixer and a packet of nuts – with a cheeky smile and the natural charisma of someone that obviously thrived under the thrill of the pressure. 

She scowled slightly, more to herself than towards him, when Charlie paused to change the dirge to an upbeat Dua Lipa track and, seconds later, he was one-handedly undoing his top two shirt buttons between pouring out a round of Manhattans. As he was clearly there to do her a favour, it was rather obvious by her glacial expression that she didn’t want to piss Charlie off too much by complaining, or at least not before the beverage backlog was completely cleared.

As the bodies gradually dispersed from around the bar, Nick watched her abruptly don and tightly tie the abandoned apron, throwing a rueful look in Charlie's direction, before stalking off and leaving him with the very last person waiting. And it was then, just as Charlie handed over the tray of San Miguels, that their eyes met across the room, a shy smile rising in a crescent moon framed by flashing dimples. With both elbows now leaning upon the bar, Charlie gave a gangly, little wave and Nick became very aware of the perpetual ache of his jaw. 

How long have I been grinning? 

Shit.

To Nick, this unexpected coyness was a million miles away from the bravado of the half-naked Charlie that he'd come across by the poolside today. He raised a stalwart hand in return and flattened his lips together to better contain his smile, rising to his feet to let the siren call of Charlie’s bright blue eyes lure him out to sea. 

There seemed very little point in trying to play this cool anymore. Who cared if his beer was only half gone and he looked moderately desperate? Charlie could well be the entire reason to exist, right now. 

His heart was oscillating like butterfly wings on his approach, dry mouth releasing a nervous huff of air as he parked one arsecheek on the very edges of the nearest barstool. Automatically, his sweaty fingers were nervously tapping against his beer glass as he attempted to harness some syllables to share.

“Hey.”

Just the one syllable then.

“Hey, yourself.” Despite the succinctness of his reply, Charlie looked as if he was only just about holding on to his own smile, lips twitching in a way that suggested that he was relieved that they’d found each other. “So… I think that may have been the second time I’ve caught you staring, today.”

“Only the second?!” Nick laughed unexpectedly, looking semi-impressed with himself. “Wow, I’m doing so much better than I thought!” 

Charlie immediately looked away, smile growing larger and seemingly temporarily tongue-tied at this overt admission, and Nick found the short-lived blush upon his olive skin so endearing that he was desperate to bring it back again. Suddenly, it felt like the tables had turned. 

“So, remaining half a pint of beer notwithstanding, I would like to order a drink.”

Charlie held up both hands out, as if to say Well this is what I’m here for. “Okay. What do you fancy?” 

Raising his eyebrows at this, a blossoming pinkness across Charlie’s cheeks appeared, making it obvious that this turn of phrase was, surprisingly, unpremeditated. Of course, Nick couldn't help himself. “Are we still talking about drinks?”

Charlie’s eyes fired up from the flirtation, and Nick suddenly got the feeling that had they not just met two days ago – or, maybe, if Nick had been more within arms length – he might have got a playful smack round the bicep for that comment. Subconsciously, he moved his barstool more to the right and leant further in, quite liking the idea of being on the receiving end of Charlie’s palm.

“In all seriousness though,” Nick continued, “it's definitely more about what you fancy. I still owe you that drink, remember?”

“I do.” Entrapping his lower lip with his teeth, Charlie nodded slowly, as if he had not forgotten about it for a single second since Nick had suggested it that first night he’d arrived. “Strong, yet fruity, is sounding really fucking good right about now…”

Nobody was blinking, the searing heat crackling across the oak between them and, somehow, the right words were right there, in easy reach. “However you take it is fine by me.”

Dark eyebrows now animated under the yellow striplights, Charlie started pulling out various bottles – peach schnapps, vodka, a pitcher of orange juice were the ones Nick could recognise – and he started adding them, in varying quantities, to his metal shaker alongside an abundance of ice. 

With the slightest of smirks, Charlie slammed the top down with the palm of his hand and began to shake vigorously; his long sleeves might have been rolled up to the elbow, but that didn't stop Nick enjoying the show. After pulling out two hurricane glasses, Charlie poured out a layer of cranberry juice to sit on the bottom of each one before slowly adding the sunshine mixture, each with a circular orange slice to garnish, presenting this alongside a bowl of plump green olives.

“Here we go, cariño mío. Enjoy.”

The warm, floaty buzz from knowing exactly what this meant temporarily distracted Nick from the fact that a five euro note in change had been slid back at him across the bar. He knotted his eyebrows together in confusion as Charlie looked smug, lips dipping around his own straw.

“Hang on, I thought I was buying you that?!”

“Nah.” Charlie grinned. “It's a bit unfair to charge you for mine, seeing as I’m the owner's son and free drinks are sort of a perk. Sure, alcohol might be frowned upon whilst on shift but I have a feeling that you won’t tell on m– oh shit, my mum.”

Immediately, the second glass was also thrust upon him as scarf-lady reappeared out of nowhere and Nick put two and two together. Charlie dipped, paling slightly until she passed by and sighing a relieved outbreath as he watched the back of her head retreat through the veranda door. 

“Thank fuck. Thought she'd clocked me.” His pupils dropped down to his hastily abandoned drink. “You’ll need to pretend that one's also yours if she comes back, so don't go anywhere…”

“Why on earth would I go anywhere?” Nick smiled as he picked up his glass, making brief eye contact as he took a small sip but becoming immediately distracted. “Oh, wow. What is that?”

Charlie’s lips twitched, a pink tongue popping out to wet the lower before he shrugged in a great attempt at nonchalance. “It's a very standard Sex On The Beach. Not that exciting… but it’s my personal favourite.”

“Um, Sex On The Beach might be ‘very standard’ for you but it's kind of my first time so please let me enjoy it…” 

Nick took another long sip, appreciating the tart orange and sweet peach marrying together in his mouth, as Charlie snorted, eyes flashing in disbelief. “God, you really are such a cocktail virgin.”

“This is true!” Nick conceded magnanimously with a nod. “It's okay though… I’m really enjoying all these new experiences.”

Leaning forward upon his elbows, Charlie's wayward eyebrow lifted as his voice dropped to a murmur. “Are we still talking about drinks?”

The crystal blue clarity in Charlie's irises made him pause, heart flatlining in one last deafening thump inside his chest, all clever retorts retreating into the corners of his mind, completely out of reach.

“I have no idea, to be honest.” Nick admitted, breathing shallow and mouth dry, as he grimaced at that response. “Sorry… I’m fully aware that I'm fucking terrible at flirting.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that.” His dimples suddenly popped out again, out of nowhere, as Charlie considered him thoughtfully from across the bar. “You know, you're actually quite smooth when you're not blushing like a nectarine, Nick.” 

And, of course, immediately Nick found his face running hot, inwardly cursing the inevitable pinkness that must be colouring his cheeks as Charlie’s giggle rang out. 

I'll take that. 

In the stretched out gap that this voiced observation rendered, Nick could only cough and sip and try to reestablish his regular breathing pattern as his mind desperately cast about for something cool to say. Luckily, a few customers meandered over at that moment and Nick was able to go back to comfortably watching Charlie in the flow of his natural element. However, once the orders were promptly dealt with, a small towel was thrown over Charlie’s shoulder as he side-stepped back over.

“So,” he started, “tell me about the rest of your afternoon, hermoso. Apart from hiding from the sun like a pink hermit crab by the pool…” 

“Oi, less of that, thanks!” Nick bantered back. “I actually think I'll be back out in the sun again tomorrow, I’m feeling much less sore…”

“Well, this is good news. Cream yourself up properly this time, huh?” Charlie stuck his tongue between his teeth, clearly enjoying the opportunity to verbally roast him. “And, remember, there’s no shame in needing a hand.”

I’d cream up and over your hand, that’s for fucking sure.

Nick prayed that that particular fist-pumping vision had not been projected out of his pupils for Charlie to watch and, instead of descending down into the depths of more dirty flirting, he directed the topic into safer territory. 

“Well, back to your original question, I actually spent the early evening being absolutely thrashed at chess by your Grandpa. He may look like a sweet old man but he was fucking ruthless.”

“Ha! No way!” Charlie’s eyes lit up like sky lanterns. “He must have absolutely loved that!” 

Suddenly, in a complete contrast, Charlie's face became a little sad, lips flattening as he huffed quietly through his nose. “Abuelo spends far too much time on his own. We’re all running around like headless twats most of the time… thanks for keeping him company.”

“Oh, it was no problem! I enjoyed it! He was telling me loads of stories about how the hotel started off as an orchard and the early days of running the place. I’m going to find him again at some point. Once my dad and brother arrive, I’m probably going to have a lot less free time on my hands… which is a shame because, between me, you and this Sex On The Beach, I’d much rather be hanging out with him.”

“And, what about me?” Charlie’s voice was soft yet probing, his gaze much more tentative than usual. “Will you still want to hang out with me sometimes?” 

Swallowing, Nick tried to tread carefully. He didn’t want to get Charlie’s hopes up with something he couldn’t properly commit to, and yet, on the other hand, he was not sure anything could fucking stop him.

“Of course, I'll want to. It will be harder. They’re… Well, they’re dickheads, to be honest – always have been – but it’s once a fucking year, so…”

Charlie smiled sadly, and Nick thought that he had cottoned on to exactly what kind of dickhead he meant. “So, when do they arrive?” 

How much time do we have? is what his large eyes were asking, loudly, in piercing blue.

“Uh, well they’ve been annoyingly vague about it but, supposedly, the day after tomorrow?” Nick’s stomach sank just saying that out loud but, weirdly, Charlie was smiling to himself.

“What? What is it?”

Charlie picked his glass up and took a long thoughtful sip, before tilting his head to the right. “I suppose I was just thinking about the fact that it’s my day off tomorrow.”

…

Oh my fucking god.

…

“I only get one day off a week so I have to make the most of it…”

Throat filling up with sand, Nick coughed nervously, his holiday feeling like it was suddenly on this tipping point, balancing on an axis of possibility. The Oh? that combusted from his lips felt like stolen breath. 

Is he insinuating what I think he is? 

Nick carefully tried to read every nuance in Charlie's perfect  face whilst he pretended to be suddenly preoccupied in thoroughly wiping down all the sides. Nick was well aware they were both tiptoeing around this – that one of them was just going to have to suck it up and be brave – but his brain couldn't help but be unkind and his courage withered.

Why would he want to spend his one day off a week with a near-stranger? 

He's the one who mentioned it!

You'll ask, he'll say no. Then it's fucking awkward. 

But what if he says yes? 

But what if he says yes out of some obligated sense of politeness and you spend the day together in a weird silence whilst he wishes you would just fuck off? 

Within the time frame of this brain blip, more customers arrived and Charlie had to leave, animatedly chatting to them in Spanish. All the while, Nick just let himself get lost in the ebb and flow of his musical consonants, trying hard not to melt clean off his stool. Never had he ever wanted someone so much.

You'll regret it forever if you don't ask…

Whilst he waited, Nick ate a few olives – enjoying the plumpness bursting over his tongue in an explosion of saltiness – and instantly he couldn't help but wonder how Charlie might taste, closing his eyes as he imagined taking him whole inside his mouth. Nick pictured holding him there, taking him back as far as his gag reflex would allow, until Charlie was helplessly spurting an abundance of salty savouriness down the back of his throat.

It was no good, and Nick abandoned the olives as a tool of self-preservation, only to realise that he'd practically chugged his cocktail back instead, barely tasting the alcohol. By the time the last lady had paid for her round, he wondered vaguely if another one would help him work up some much needed courage.

“That was really nice , Charlie.” He said with a smile, once they were finally back to being alone at the bar. “I'd love another when you're ready.”

Charlie looked at the empty glass next to his full one, eyebrows all askew like he was reluctantly impressed. “Wow, you drained that dry, didn't you?!” Nick's stomach hooked with that turn of phrase, illicit visions recurring in his mind. “Mine will probably last me all night. I like to savour nice things.”

“Like your lunchtime nectarine?” Nick smiled, remembering the irrefutable rapture on Charlie's face as he bit into it, his body suffused within a golden halo.

“Yeah.” The eye contact was as direct as midday sunlight. “Like I said before, I don't often get the chance.”

Nick noted the clear undercurrent in Charlie's words and the purposeful intonation. He was pointing out that the opportunity that tomorrow presented may in fact be the only one they would get.

“So, what will you do?” Nick seized the moment, an iron fist clenched around his heart as he conjured the words. “On your day off, I mean? How do you want to savour that precious time?”

A wry smile arose on his lips as Charlie reached for the bottles of liqueur, starting to line up the ingredients needed for Nick’s second cocktail. “I have a few plans.”

Nick swallowed the disappointment and it acidicly churned upon the lining of his stomach. 

He's meeting people. 

Friends. A boyfriend, maybe. 

He's busy.

Their eyes met once more and Charlie's lips were shy-bitten, yet there was determination there beneath those eyelashes.

“But, I suppose they do depend on how desperate you are to hang out with my dear old Abuelo…”

Chapter Text

The plan – once they'd hashed out the bare bones of one, over yet another Sex On The Beach – was straightforward enough. 

Nick was to meet Charlie by the small, tarmac turning circle in front of the Hotel’s entrance, beneath the pink flowers of the large oleander tree. He was to bring beach supplies, with an emphasis on the sun cream, whilst Charlie would pack up some food from the kitchen for a filched breakfast. So far, so good, and Nick could feel himself practically vibrating with happiness up against the bar at the thought of the whole thing actually happening. He did, however, have to suppress a different kind of shudder when Charlie had told him that they'd be leaving at five am.

“I told you that I like to make the most of things.” Charlie’s bright eyes were all-seeing, reading the trepidation in Nick’s face with ease but obviously finding it incredibly amusing. 

Nick – convinced he’d sleep through the alarm – had set three in quick succession, turning his phone on loud vibrate and shoving it beneath his pillow to ricochet by his head, just in case. Luckily, his fears ended up being unfounded. Despite finding it difficult to drop off – his mind a mirage of possibilities until the midnight hours – Nick had found that his eyes were open and his brain was alert before his alarm even had begun to ring out. 

It felt strange to get washed and dressed with the thick blackout curtains drawn. In the glow of the singular orange lamp, it had reminded him of getting ready for work in the depths of English winter but, after donning a clean, white tee and some shorts, throwing his pre-packed bag on his back, he had carefully tiptoed down the corridor feeling like a naughty teenager sneaking out to play.

Now, even though it was still dark outside, the temperature felt pleasant upon his bare arms, with barely the breath of a breeze; the air still smelt sweetly of all the night-blooming flowers. 

Nick tried hard to manage his excess energy, feeling the compulsion to anxiously bounce and fidget as he checked and rechecked the time. He’d only managed to get here early, as a hyperactive brain was wont to do, and so the remaining six minutes were spent chronically overthinking; fretful that maybe the seemingly-fated conversation from last night had actually been a cocktail-induced hallucination.

Soon enough, a low grumbling hum became louder as an engine advanced, Nick hearing it clearly before he could see it, and eventually an old moped swung into the approach, slowing on the bend of the turning circle before coming to a complete stop.

Nick could sense that his star-eyes were out in full beam, getting full palpitations from the sight of Charlie pulling his helmet off his wild curls and greeting him with a smile that was luminous even in the poor light of pre-dawn. “You came!” He suddenly looked coy, like he couldn't believe his luck. “How happy are you to be up before the crack of dawn? Would you rather still be in bed?”

“Absolutely not!” said Nick – secretly thinking that the only way he’d rather be in bed was if Charlie happened to be there too – and this response resulted in a grin.

Charlie reached around for the spare helmet to unclip it and held it out, the challenge clear in the arch of his brow. “So, are you sure you’re up for this?”

Of course, the only answer was yes.

Nothing about Charlie, apart from the ancient-looking helmet, seemed particularly road-safe. His tanned arms and most of his chest were exposed by a short-sleeved, blue, billowy shirt that was barely being held together by two fastened buttons. His beige shorts showed off just as much skin as his upper half, his long, lean legs finishing in a pair of old, dusty flip flops, showing toes as brown as hazelnuts. Despite this – and the fact Nick himself was also wearing almost nothing protective – he didn't let himself to overthink, squeezing his head through the helmet in answer as Charlie kicked the bike stand, balancing it between his thighs.

“There’s a handle on the back,” Charlie smiled, as Nick threw one leg over and sidled up close, “Not that you’ll hear me complaining if you’d rather hold onto me. Are you ready, cariño mío?”

This boldness threw him for a moment but, after only the smallest hesitation – prompted by the sudden rev of the engine – Nick ignored the handle in favour of Charlie’s waist, enjoying the heat of his skin that was barely covered by the thinnest of cotton. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Nick confirmed loudly over the dull roar and, to this, Charlie gave him one last enigmatic smile before replacing his own helmet and slowly accelerating past the flowering pink bushes and out of the hotel’s front entrance in a cloud of dust.

They descended into the dip of the valley – through the narrow, whitewashed walls of sleepy Mojacar – with nary a soul to be seen. At twenty-odd miles per hour, Charlie’s oversized shirt began to whip about in the wind. By the time they came through the village, finding themselves on a main road, Nick, fearful of falling, abandoned his light clasp of Charlie’s waist and, instead, wrapped his arms tightly around his warm, smooth stomach whilst his shirt continued to do its own thing, the excess fabric billowing around them like a stunted parachute. And, when Nick’s pulse skyrocketed, he was unsure if he should blame it on the seventy miles per hour, whilst weaving in and out of the sparse cars, or on the fact his fingers now intimately knew the shape of Charlie’s every abdominal muscle. 

Maybe it’s both.

Eventually, as the sporadic lights of oncoming traffic increased, indicating the very start of the morning rush, Charlie signalled to come off at a junction. This slip road led to a quieter one, and another that turned into a dirt road, before the moped slowed to a complete stop. 

It was poorly lit, a handful of irregular street lights lining the road opposite the cliff edge, and at the kill of the engine, the unmistakable roaring crash of waves was the only thing that revealed the sea to their right. It was still pretty dark, and as he squinted over the endless slate-grey horizon, Nick couldn't accurately tell where the sky stopped and the sea began.

“We’re in time!” Charlie said, once he pulled off his helmet, letting it swing from the strap by the handlebar. “¡Menos mal!”  

“In time?”

“In time for sunrise, of course. What did you think we were doing? Let's go.”

After retrieving his navy backpack from his seat compartment, Charlie pointed directly at the cliff edge. Nick felt a swoop in his belly, feeling rather unnerved by the idea, until, after a cautious approach, his eyes adjusted and he could identify a small parting of bushes. After following in Charlie’s wake, he could see that beyond these bushes was a path, about two feet across that meandered steeply down, and the rush of a stiff sea breeze whipped up to dance across his face. 

It all seemed rather precarious in the dimness – a step too far to the right potentially leading to a broken neck, or worse – but Charlie got out his phone and turned on his torch. He encouraged Nick to do the same, and once the pathway was illuminated, Nick carefully began to follow Charlie’s descent, trying not to slip on the loose, dry stones under foot. As much as he wanted to look down, he needed to keep looking up too – eyes on Charlie's shadowed form in front to make sure he was close by – and meanwhile, with every other step, the waves to his right crashed so loudly that he wondered if he was about to get wet.

“Charlie… is this safe?”

“It’s safe if you keep in. Here…” He threw out a hand and Nick took it gratefully, enjoying the slip of their fingers as they thread together and the weight of him hanging from the end of his arm. And it’s this, as well as the cool, salted sea-air being drawn back into his lungs, that made him feel more alive than he could ever remember feeling before.

Once they hit the bottom of the cliff trail, Nick soon realised that their journey wasn’t over, Charlie pulling him along the rocky edge of coastline, clambering over the sea-sprayed rocks. As the boulders got steadily bigger, there was no option but for their hands to separate and Nick spent the next ten minutes hoping to god that neither of them would fall in the poor light and twist an ankle.

Finally, the sky now more of a grey-blue steel than an indigo, Nick lowered himself down from the last rocky crag to find his foot sinking. They'd arrived at a sandy cove, an expanse of dark ocean lapping to his right, and Charlie turned to face him with an exhilarated smile.

“I come here every day off!” Charlie’s curls rippled in the breeze and Nick found himself suddenly drowning in dimples. “I never get bored of sunrise, or of sunbathing and swimming by myself, but we only have about three hours before the tide turns. After that we need to head back to the first beach before we get cut off.” Apprehensively, Charlie glanced at Nick before turning his upper body to look behind him at the sea. “So, what do you think? I know it probably looks a bit shit in the dark but…”

From the slight flicker of earnestness on Charlie's face, it was clear this beach, and Nick’s opinion of it, meant an awful lot. He gave a smile before turning to properly scan the panorama, ears tuning into the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves cresting into seafoam, pupils expanding just enough to appreciate the very beginnings of an ombre sky – light bleeding into hues of blue before descending into navy. Compared to the heaving, noisy crowd at Mojacar beach on Nick’s first day, this felt like nothing short of paradise. 

“It’s so–” Nick pulled his eyes back onto Charlie, who was busy undoing the last two superfluous buttons on his shirt. In slow motion, the thin material slid down his shoulders and suddenly, Nick’s train of thought spectacularly derailed; he was not expecting that, at least, not this side of sunrise. “Uh…” He let his eyes trail up and over the cliff edge that was Charlie's chest – every ridge and peak – before dutifully rising to his face, untying his tongue and wetting his dry lips. “Beautiful.” And then he tried again, because once didn’t quite seem enough. “Muy hermoso.”

“God, I love it when you speak Spanish to me.” Charlie threw his shirt over one shoulder and leant further in, forefinger and thumb pinched an inch apart, with his cheeky smirk on full beam. “Just one small thing… La playa, the beach, is feminine, so you would say Muy hermosa.”

Nick let his gaze drop again, pointedly, allowing a squashed smile to prick up at the corners to hone his silent point home. “I said what I said.”

Clearing his throat, Charlie suppressed a self-conscious smile as Nick allowed the very backs of his fingers to lightly brush down Charlie’s wrist, finishing at the knuckles before squeezing his way in between them. “And I said what I said, last night. You're a lot smoother than you think you are.” Nick’s heart felt full in this acknowledgment and fuller again at Charlie’s return squeeze and the sultry raise of his eyebrows. “Come on. The sun’s not far off from rising. Shall we get comfortable?”

Unpacking beach stuff in the cool dimness felt somewhat weird, surrounding themselves with sun cream and water bottles, but once they were sitting side by side on their towels, fingers slotted back together and sharing shy smiles, Nick could feel his limbs softening as they patiently waited.

“Oh, wow.” The words rushed out of him like the wind as a red-orange shimmer finally broke through the watery surface, the pink-amber glow on the horizon gradually eating up the dark. It didn't take long for the dull steel grey sea to turn blue, the golden light reflecting upon every peak and trough as it raced towards them, not fifteen feet from their sandy toes. “Charlie, this is stunning.” Nick half turned to look to his right, also enjoying the view of the day’s first shafts of light as it hit the skin of Charlie’s face, throat and washboard stomach. “I don't even care if I'm, like, the fiftieth boy you've brought here; I'm ridiculously happy to be sharing this with you, right now.”

Charlie wrinkled his nose up in derision before his face levelled out, mouth opening in a pregnant pause as their eyes met. “Please believe me when I say that I've never even wanted to bring any other boy here.” 

Nick might have meant the words as he said them but now – in the light of that response, and the sudden flash of shyness in Charlie's eyes – he felt so relieved by Charlie’s admission that he momentarily forgot how to breathe.

“Working in the hospitality industry is endless,” Charlie carried on, tilting his head and chewing on his lower lip, his thoughtful gaze now lost within a point on the horizon. “Endless hours. Endless jobs. Endless over-politeness to people who mostly are, quite frankly, entitled pricks. It's so nice to come here and just be alone.”

Nick raised both eyebrows skyward, suddenly worried that he’d misread the situation and was heavily encroaching on Charlie’s solitude. “But you’re not alone now…”

“No.” Charlie’s curls bounced as his head quickly turned, interpreting the uncertainty and attempting to banish it with a smile. “I'm alone with you. That's even better.”

Nick's heart suddenly swelled so much it seemed to have closed over his airway. Luckily, words were rendered unnecessary and, with the first lick of searing warmth mixing with the shore breeze, Charlie closed his eyes and Nick followed suit, basking in the feeling of perpetual happiness that seemed suffused within the sunlight. 

After an unfathomable amount of time, the shuffling of limbs next to him broke Nick out of this semi-meditative state. When he opened his eyes, the sun was already hovering a scant inch above sea level, sky now the clearest blue, and Charlie was straightening up and onto his feet.

“What are you doing?”

“The sun is finally up, mi cielo.” Charlie grinned shyly, eyes fixated on Nick’s confused face. “And, here, I sunbathe properly.” 

Pulling the drawstring of his shorts loose, the beige cotton fell to his brown feet and he stepped casually out of them as Nick had a silent aneurysm on the sand. Instinctively, he looked away, cock throbbing away at the mere idea, yet his cheeks burned a hot crimson. 

He’s naked. Charlie’s fucking naked!

“I love the sun and salt-air on my skin. It’s yet another good reason to come here; almost no one knows this cove, even less can be bothered to scramble over the rocks to get here. I've never seen another soul here this early…” Nick could hear the smile in Charlie’s words as his body dropped back down heavily next to him, briefly closing his eyes when he felt the edges of their toes brush together in the sand. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

On opening his eyes, Nick tried to concentrate on the slim, brown calves so close to his pale, freckled ones, swallowing and re-swallowing the shock that had solidified into a stubborn lump at the back of his throat. “S’fine!” 

A bell-like laughter rang out from his right. “It doesn’t sound like you think it's fine, Nick. You're very British, aren't you?” Charlie’s warm knee knocked playfully against his. “Still, maybe I should apologise for the lack of warning. I suppose I had kind of made an assumption you'd seen another man's cock before…”

“I have! Sorry. I'm just not used to… fuck.” Nick shook his head at himself, despairing at his complete lack of chill. “I promise I'm not a complete prude…”

Chancing a quick look in Charlie's direction, focusing only on his top half, Nick found him smiling demurely, blue eyes bright and analysing beneath his mop of curls. “You’re welcome to join me? I promise it's very freeing. And, of course, then we’d be the same and you'd be much less embarrassed.”

As Nick severely doubted this, he sat up a little straighter and went back to staring at the sea in the hope that the rise and fall of the softly lapping waves might calm him down enough to know what to fucking say, or do. After a few moments of tightly controlled breathing, he chanced another glance over one shoulder, relieved to find that Charlie had his eyes shut again – leaning back upon his elbows and soaking up the sunlight – seemingly nonplussed at Nick’s varying degrees of obvious stiffness. 

Allowing his gaze to drop, Nick’s mouth dried up like a sand dune as he took the sight of Charlie in all his demi-god glory. Apart from his legs, and the small smattering of dark trailing down from his navel, he appeared almost hairless, and Nick found his mouth watering at the perfect flaccidity cradled between his thighs – as bronzed as the rest of him – with nary a tan line to be seen.

He could be a sculpture. A painting. A poem in fucking Latin.

Nick couldn't help but baulk at the vision of his pale, ginger throbber ruining the purity, and it was this moment when Charlie chose to recline further backwards, stretching out and elongating those perfect muscular legs and threading his pointed toes through the sand. Both arms got thrown back above his head in a way that made his lean biceps flex and, captivated, Nick continued to drink it all in. Just as he was admiring the dark finely-trimmed trail of hair under Charlie’s arms, the ripple of toned lower stomach, Charlie opened one piercing blue eye, akin to a napping cat, and grinned. 

“Fine! Keep your clothes on! If my dick offends you, I guess I’ll roll over…” Charlie’s tone was light and teasing, but he did as he said, rolling onto his front. Now Nick had a new sight to struggle with; the definition of Charlie’s shoulder blades above the dip of his spine, which lead to a pair of muscular brown mounds, was just as arousing.

“Gahhhh.” Nick threw himself backwards next to Charlie upon his towel, an arm covering his face to conceal his fresh blushes. “I’m not offended,” Nick mumbled quietly, “it’s just, uh, well… we wouldn't be the same.”

With a resigned sigh, Nick rolled onto his side and used his bicep as a pillow. Charlie’s bare body was less than six inches away but he fought the overwhelming urge to scooch even closer. Dark lashes flashed open in the crook of a sandy elbow, less than a hand span away, blue gaze suddenly intense as he took in Nick’s face. “What do you mean?”

Another insuppressible groan escaped but, this time, Nick couldn’t pull his eyes away, couldn’t stop his bare legs from gravitating towards Charlie’s in his need to initiate skin-to-skin, relishing in their calf hairs lightly brushing together. 

“I’m… hard,” he admitted quietly, watching the flicker of Charlie’s eyelashes, floundering in the unreadable crease of his brow.

“You're fucking adorable… that’s what you are,” Charlie teased swiftly, lifting his head and trapping his bottom lip under a canine before his eyes suddenly turned serious. “I’m okay with it... with you being hard.” 

“Yeah?” It was a breath – a near-whisper – so quiet it could have been the breeze whipping across the sea. Nick lifted a nervous finger and coiled it through the nearest dark curl, languishing in the soft bounce. He'd been longing to touch Charlie's hair since the first day he had arrived in Mojacar and, as he played – eventually tucking the strand behind Charlie's ear – the whole time he was aware of the intent gaze fixed upon his face.

“And… are you okay with this?” The poised hand dropped, trailing down Charlie’s jawline and along his elegant neck, dragging the back of his index finger across his taut shoulder blades in continuous feather-light exploration. Charlie’s eyes fluttered shut, a breathy smiling assent was his only answer as lowered his head back down between his elbows. Nick continued his patient study – examining the striking cheekbones, the long, raven lashes, the bronze expanse of upper back – in tentative discovery. 

Nick could feel his upper body weight sinking inwards. Charlie's skin was so warm, so inviting, it was taking all of his self control to go slowly – to savour and explore every dip, memorise every hollow with the tip of his finger – instead of rushing headfirst to where he longed to be. 

“Dios. That feels good.” Charlie almost purred when Nick added another finger and a thumb, making his light brushes a touch firmer as he slowly zigzagged his way along Charlie's back. Nick was gratified to spot his arm hairs rising as he traced his finger within a cute back dimple, happy when he heard the satisfied exhale whilst walking his fingertips along the contours of Charlie’s spine.

“You’re so unbelievably beautiful. Did you know that, Charlie?” 

Swallowing hesitation, for the first time Nick let his eyes linger on the two olive mounds rising up, the shape and definition of those perfectly rounded cheeks almost hypnotising now he’d allowed himself to properly look. Charlie’s lashes fluttered open, eyes seemingly soaking up Nick’s every expression.

“Solo sé que cuando estoy contigo me siento hermoso.”

Despite having absolutely no fucking clue about what had just been said, Charlie’s husky intonation and heavy-lidded eyes said it all and, instantly, Nick was rolling his body even further in, letting his hardness press against Charlie’s hipbone. Their bodies were so closely aligned that their noses could almost brush – breath meeting and merging – and with close-up eye contact fixed, unwavering blue as deep as the Mediterranean sea. Nick flattened his fingers into a heavy palm, finally skimming up the soft curve of Charlie’s asscheek to the sound of a contented little sigh. Whose sigh was debatable.

“I like your large hands and your shy gaze on me, Nick. Both are as warm as the sun.”

Nick groaned again, keeping his fervent touches toying from light to firm and back again, enjoying the soft, warm shape and perfect buoyancy beneath his fingers.“Fuck. My mind can't take it. I've never felt so hard and yet so fucking melted for someone at the same time…”

Charlie rolled back onto his side and glanced down at himself with a smirk. “Look at me. Look at what a few light touches from you can do to me. Now we are the same.”

Nick let his gaze drop down, a ball of tangled heat tingling behind his pelvis as Charlie gently lifted his outer leg, knee bent, to expose himself. He was just as breathtaking when hard and, before he even stopped to consider it, Nick reached out – cupping him in a gentle caress – enjoying the taut heaviness and the gasp it coaxed out. 

“Fuck.” Their mouths seemed impossibly close, like they could be less than an atom apart, and Nick felt that last consonant click into the air left between them. The upper bicep that had been cushioning Nick’s head left his right hand free to fork through Charlie’s curls and he continued that same lazy light attention above he was bestowing beneath, but his eyes were transfixed. Looking at the fullness of those lips, he was suddenly lightning-struck by a new thought.

“This is all so overwhelming,” he admitted, floundering slightly in the intensity of it all. “I literally have you held in the palm of my hand, Charlie, and we've still not even kissed. What we're doing feels deliciously and confusingly backwards…”

Charlie stirred with a smile, dipping his nose to brush Nick's with a light toy of almost-kisses, the heat from his teasing mouth raised his temperature more effectively than the Spanish sun. “Oh, don’t you worry about that, bonito.” He lifted up an enigmatic eyebrow, pupils igniting as he supported his head with a hand. “I have big plans for our first kiss…”

Nick mirrored his position so their eyes were, once again, level, bending his right elbow to prop his head up in interest with his left now skimming over the slimness of Charlie’s hip. “Oh. And were you going to include me in these big plans?!”

“Maybe. If you take your clothes off.” Charlie’s gaze dropped lustily down Nick’s body. “I am far too naked for you to be this dressed. I'm embarrassing myself with how shameless I’m acting right now…”

Nick held one hand up in defeat before gesturing to himself. “Okay, but be warned, I'm hairy, still pink and where I'm not pink, I'm pale. In truth, I feel like an orangutan trying to shack up with a dolphin right now… ”

Charlie suddenly looked incredulous. “Uh, just because I put in a great deal of time and energy into de-hairing myself, doesn't mean I don't love body hair on other people!” He leaned closer, serious eyes locked in. “Nick, honestly, everything about you is a massive fucking turn on, the things I want you to do to me feel like they should be illegal.” Dark brows furrowing in thought and light fingers lifting, it was now Nick’s turn to feel a cool trail down the outside of his forearm. “So, is that the reason why you turned me down on that first evening?”

“Turned you down?!” Nick’s jaw almost detached itself in disbelief. “I never turned you down! Jesus, I was literally falling over myself trying to chat you up!” 

“You wouldn't let me rub aftersun on your back, remember?” Charlie was now smirking, eyes bright and clearly enjoying the tease. “But what about now?” He nodded towards the sun cream. “I promise I’ll do a good job, mi coloradito…”

Laughing at the keenness, Nick sat up and pulled his top off, flinging it off into the sand somewhere in his enthusiasm and chucking the bottle at him. “Fuck yes! Go on then, put your goddamn hands on me!” 

As Charlie knelt up – seemingly oblivious to his own naked perkiness and far too busy drinking back the sight in front of him – all Nick’s lingering self-consciousness seemed to evaporate under the slow burn of Charlie’s pupils. They razed hotly over his broad, freckled shoulders, his gingery barrel chest and the softness of his midriff, and he no longer felt chunky and gross when the whispered wow hit his ears.

“You're just… hermosísimo.” With a quick incredulous blink of his eyelashes and a helpless shake of his head, Charlie pulled himself back into the moment. “I've been waiting to see your bare chest ever since you first walked into reception with those arms on display.” Charlie raised a hand and indulgently squeezed Nick’s upper arm, making an unidentifiable happy-squeak. “Your biceps are extremely biteable. I hope you know this?” Star-eyes trickling down, Charlie hooked a forefinger into the waistband of Nick’s shorts and lightly tugged, eyebrows soaring in unspoken question. Nick wondered how his fly hadn't bust under the strain of his cock at this point, how he had any blood left in the rest of his body from the impatient pulsing within his prick. “Por favor, déjame verte, Nick…”

It didn’t take a translator to understand exactly what Charlie was asking and, after swallowing loudly, he stood, slowly undoing his button and zip. As he pulled down the thick cotton past his large thighs, he felt the relief as his dick pranged out of its prison, large and swollen-looking in the sunshine.. Charlie was still kneeling on the towel below him, practically wide eye-to-eye with it, and Nick thought, if Charlie wasn't careful, he might rip his own bottom lip clean off with the drag of his incisors.

Charlie was right, Nick thought, there's no embarrassment. Only the freedom in stripping everything back, in showing each other more of who we are.

Nick found his right hand relishing the silken trap of Charlie's curls once again, too distracted by the sight of those impossibly pillowy lips, to be all that aware of the cool sun cream that was slowly being methodically worked into his skin. Charlie started with calves, flashing him the brazen gaze as if to remind him how close his head happened to be to his hard-on, before working his way up to Nick’s thighs. 

He could feel Charlie’s hot breath sink into his skin as his fingers glide up from his hairy hamstrings to work the sun cream into the cheeks of Nick’s bare arse. In slow deliberation, Charlie leaned even closer, planting a small chaste kiss within his leg crease before inching sideways to give another, his face practically nuzzling up to his junk and feeling him fully breathing in Nick’s scent that was trapped within the gingery hair. He noticed the impish grin far too late, all oxygen stolen away by the cool slathered fist squeezing pleasurably around his dick with Charlie waggling his eyebrows at his immediate pleasurable hiss. 

“We need this, cariño mío. Can’t be having sunburn ruining the few days we have left together, can we?”

“You fucker…”

“No darling, that’s your job. No sé cómo me debería sentir ahora, si asustado o excitado! Come here, darling.” A hand guided Nick back down to his knees, and now they were finally equal before one another underneath the cerulean sky. Eventually, when the job seemed to be done to Charlie’s satisfaction, spending a meticulous amount of time creaming up Nick’s arms and chest, he anchored his arms around Nick’s neck, bestowing the lightest pepper of kisses up and along his stubbly jawbone, happy-groaning helplessly into the humidity. 

Charlie’s slight waist felt incredible in Nick’s large hands – their dicks skimming against one another's as they held each other – but he needed, more than anything, to have Charlie's lips on his, to kiss him fucking senseless. It seemed, to Nick, like he’d been waiting a hundred thousand lifetimes. “Charlie… Could you let me in on the kissing plan, now? Please?”

Charlie threw his head back in heavy-lidded consideration, lips pressed together in long drawn out thought. “Well, first of all, I'm going to nestle myself into your big, hard lap. Then, I’m going to wrap my legs right around your waist and, after that, I promise, I’m going to give you the best fucking kiss you’ve ever had in your whole damn life…”

“Oh, I don't doubt that…” Nick murmured, skimming his lips closer and closer, breathing in the scent of Charlie’s sunlit skin until he felt like he possibly could be on the very edge of tantric madness.

“And then, after that, you’re going to fuck me right here…” Nick closed his eyes, briefly overcome by this sexy little promise and feeling his junk twitch excitedly against Charlie's. “... you're going to have me for the very first time...” 

Uh. What?!

He could hear the waves crash in the weight of the lengthy silence, seagulls calling over the thumping of his dysregulated heart. Charlie’s large eyes grew wider, suddenly more timid as he soaked up Nick’s stunned, unblinking reaction.  

“...I want you to have my virginity. I've decided it belongs to you...”

Chapter Text

“Wot?”

Mind reaching out, Nick tried to grasp hard at coherent thought but only Charlie’s words remained, reverberating around his skull like a recurring echo. “You’re… you’re…?” 

Charlie was barely blinking and Nick could feel his bare chest expanding and contracting against him as he wet a shaky, bottom lip. “Um. Yeah?”  His tanned face was slowly tinging pink, which had nothing to do with the Mediterranean sunlight that was steadily infusing everything it touched. “I mean, I’ve kissed and messed around with a few others but there's never been anyone that I've wanted to… you know, take that step with…” A flick of tongue swept across an arid lip. “And, well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. For ages, actu–”

“Charlie,” Nick interrupted, suddenly floundering in blind panic. “Sorry, but I have to check. How old are you?” Had he been heavily flirting with an eighteen year old, or something, this entire time? And, if he had, was this knowledge enough to fucking stop him?

“Twenty-two…” The blush on Charlie’s cheeks seemed to spread down his entire body, eye contact dropping, “more than fucking old enough, so please… please, don’t weird out on me…” Slumping abruptly, Charlie sat back on his calves and Nick felt a new kind of panic rearing. From the look on his face, it was clear that Nick’s reaction had shamed him. 

“No! No! I'm sorry! I promise I'm not trying to make you feel… Shit.” Nick crashed back down to sit his naked arse back on his own towel opposite, racking his useless brain on how best to explain it. “Listen, you… you’re just so bloody gorgeous. And, the idea of you never… you know, especially with how confident you’ve seemed over the past few days, well, it just blows my mind…” There was instant relief when the very edges of an appeased smile started to appear, body language relaxing slightly as Nick did his best to explain. “To be honest, I’d have thought every queer man passing through Mojacar would be tripping over their tongues to get with you...”

Tilting his head, Charlie's eye-contact turned explicit once again, shy smile growing into a coy smirk. “Well, it’s not like I haven’t had a couple of offers, cielo! Look, I’ll tell you the whole boring backstory if you really want, but just know this, it's you that I want.” 

The certainty oscillated between them and Nick, swallowing down his anxiety, tried harder to gentle his thoughts into words. “God, I want you too, Charlie but the thing is… I’d hate to feel like I'd taken advantage…”

“Well,” as he shrugged his shoulders, Charlie’s fingers found him, “all that does is prove how you're not like that at all…” Like a couple of magnets, they found themselves intuitively lessening the gap. Nick pulled his hand, bringing him closer. After a bit of bum scooching, Nick had the warm, bare bodyweight of Charlie, fully seated, in the negligible space between his crossed legs. As cheekily promised, not five minutes before, Charlie threw his nut-brown thighs over Nick's pale ones and wrapped them around his waist. Nick found it incredibly hard to concentrate on much else once their junk brushed together, side by side. “You’re so hot Nick but, more than that, I swear you’re like, the sweetest bloke to ever walk into Casa Primavera…” 

Immediately diminishing into self-consciousness, Nick was reminded of how – just like in the bar last night – Charlie’s confidence was not always this unwavering constant. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? To meet someone who’s hot and sweet and funny – let alone queer and into me – ?!”

Charlie's blue eyes closed briefly before reopening with a sigh. “I mean, I’ve snogged Mr Hot but Hotheaded. I’ve hung out with Mr Fun yet Disappointingly Cunty. I even gave Mr Cute a handjob but, shortly afterwards, realised he had the personality of a wet flannel!” As Nick let out a full belly laugh, Charlie poked him in the stomach, a Spanish sounding Oiiiii accompanying this warning before his smile rippled out into serious. “But the whole fucking package? Well, that’s never happened before.” 

Nick couldn’t help but feel buoyant, mouth opening and closing again like a fish out of water, as all the kind inferences slowly inflated his chest. Charlie’s calloused fingers seemed like the only thing that kept him tethered to the ground. “I’m going to be even more honest now,” Charlie continued quietly, eyes casting back down to their interlocked hands, “From the moment I heaved your suitcase upstairs and hung around to overexplain the mini bar and the very straight-forward air conditioning, I wondered if it might be you. If you could be my opportunity. It felt important to do it with someone who was nice and kind… someone who liked being with me.” Nick watched the bounce of his Adam's apple as Charlie paused, eyes flashing up to glance at him from beneath the black of his lashes. “And, let’s face it, if not you, who? And, if not now… when?”

At this self-made cue, Charlie started his tentative exploration, nimble fingers running lightly up through Nick’s gingery torso. It was this – as well as the fractional pressure of dick pressing up against him in a sweet almost-frot – that made it difficult to keep hold of any more logical argument. “God, Charlie, I want it to be me.” Nick forked through the soft, dark curls, resolve steadily blowing away like sand in the breeze. “I want it to be now… you've blown my mind. I've felt more connection in a few days with you than I ever have with anyone...” 

Dragging his thumb from Charlie’s hair, he ran it along the plump softness of lower lip as he considered him – enlarged pupils bleeding to black – and attempting to sear the image of Charlie’s face into his long term memory. He never wanted to forget any of the interactions they’d shared together, but he’d be distraught to ever lose this. “You've lit little fires inside me.” Nick admitted. “Each time you even look in my direction, it's like you're stoking the flames, blowing smoke into my lungs until I can't bloody breathe and I long to have you in that way, but…”

“But?” 

Charlie’s large doe eyes were transfixed, as tentative as he’d ever seen him, and Nick carefully unhooked the incisor that was clamping down on his lower lip. “But there are lots of things we need to think about… with it being your first time, I mean. Rushing into all this unprepar–”

“I’m not unprepared.” Instantly back to bold, Charlie’s solid arms lifted to hang his weight from Nick's neck. “Okay, sure. I'm a virgin but I'm not a fucking monk! I have the internet, I’ve completed all my sex homework, and I'm willing to bet you'll feel far better inside me than silicone ever has. I’m ready, Nick. Please don’t make me beg…”

It's like Charlie could tell Nick's resolve was hanging by a spider's silken thread – easily snapping under the lightest of pressure – and he took this opportunity to rear up, pressing his lips against Nick’s without so much as a seconds warning. As sweet tongue took over, his helpless brain was caught up in the delicious ebb and flow of Charlie’s mouth. 

It was a first kiss worth fucking waiting for. He let himself drown – drown in Charlie's taste, in his undulating body grinding against him – happy to be dragged in by the current, by the desire rushing in from all sides that felt as relentless as the cresting white waves that were crashing rhythmically to their left. Letting his hands explore, Nick palmed his way up Charlie’s throat, the other sliding down his washboard stomach, before gravitating towards the firmest of glutes with a needy squeeze. As their kisses intensified, moans from both mouths merging into one, Nick threw both arms around Charlie’s smooth expanse of middle and lifted him up. 

Charlie immediately understood the assignment, tightening his thighs around Nick's thick torso to allow a fluid change in position without even having to pull their lips apart. Rising onto his knees, keeping Charlie tightly held, they collapsed down upon the towel together to continue their passionate free-for-all. Holding their collective weight up by the elbows, Nick kissed him like it was the last days of Rome, like Charlie was the final person he would ever have the chance to give himself to before the world ended. Beneath him, Charlie gave as good as he got, hands never lingering for long, his eager hips bucking upwards to meet Nick’s grinds. 

Eventually, they had no choice but to come apart, separating in breathy, panting gasps. And, as Nick looked down at Charlie – his wild curls spread out like an ebony halo upon the towel – he wondered if his pupils were as glassblown as the ones looking back at him.

What was bluer? The ocean, or Charlie’s irises? 

What was warmer? The Spanish sand between his toes, or the olive skin of this man’s thighs wrapped around his waist? 

How on earth could he go back to Kent knowing that his life had started right here in Spain? After realising that he’d been going through life’s motions, like the living dead, until the start of this very week? And that, in all likelihood, through the years that lay ahead, he’d never meet anyone as fucking perfect as Charlie. 

“Nick? Cielo?” The words broke the moment, and Nick recognised the lust flaring up at him from below. “I’m not sure how much time we have before we risk getting cut off by the tide. I need you inside me. And soon. Before I fucking die!” 

Charlie might have been giggling inanely at his own melodramatics, but Nick could hear the longing, how it mirrored that hot feeling that burned brightly behind his pubic bone. “I will. I want to, but my Dad and brother arrive soon. They know about me but they’re not… great about it. It would probably be better, for both of us, if we didn't draw too much attention to ourselves but, I’d hate for you to think that – if I seem different – it's because I've taken what I wanted. Or, that I'm done with you...”

To Nick's surprise, Charlie grinned up at him with an eyebrow ascending. “You think I want my parents to know I've been fucking one of our guests? I can keep our secret, and gladly, but… promise me something?”

“What?”

Charlie’s lips parted, swallowing as his pupils seemed to sweep across every freckle upon Nick’s face. “Promise that we’ll have each other again. As many times as we can? I want nothing more than to feel the ache of you while I scrape plates, or make up endless margaritas. To take the routine drudgery away with the echo of your body, so promise me that we’ll make more memories? They'll keep me company when you have to leave…”

The pang hit Nick in the chest like a bullet to the heart but, despite this, he didn't feel it was right to make any kind of promise. “I only have four days left.” He admitted, suddenly feeling like he had swapped his plane ticket for a routine stint on death row.

“You don't need to remind me, cariño mío.” Charlie shook his head, smiling despite the fact his gaze bordered on glassy. “So let's not waste time...”

Releasing one last long exhale, Nick let his eyes river down Charlie’s upper body as he half planked above him. “Unwrap your legs from me? I just need to see you…” Charlie did as he was told, lowering his hips back onto the towel, keeping his legs spread apart. “God, look at you.” 

It was official. Charlie's cock was the prettiest in human history. Better than any carved in marble or painted upon ancient Greek pottery. Trailing his kisses down Charlie’s chest, he took his shaft in hand, enjoying the girthy weight within his palm and let the crown roll firmly on the flat of his tongue. Impatience won out. It was an embarrassingly short amount of time before Nick went to work, toying and teasing his tip, licking and laving up his salty length before finally, sinking all the way down to savour Charlie’s cock closing over the back of his throat. He sounded like a sordid angel. Humming. Twitching. Moaning. So much so, Nick worried about coming untouched from listening to the echoes ringing out within the expanse of endless Spanish sky. 

One day soon, Charlie, Nick thought to himself, I’ll spend more time coaxing you repeatedly to the edge. He felt enthusiastically obligated to give the best he was capable of. Four days filled with orgasms to remember for the rest of their days. Unfortunately, there was not enough time for edging to be on the menu today so Nick sadly drew back with a gasp, feeling the saliva run from his mouth and watching as it pooled at Charlie’s base, streaming along the creases of his tanned thighs. The heavenly noises paused, seemingly grateful of the reprieve, and Charlie lifted up his curly head to catch Nick’s eye. “¡Joder! ¿Dónde carajos aprendiste a chuparla así? I didn’t know it could feel that fucking good…”

Nick wiped his chin with the back of a hand and smiled, feeling slightly smug about doing a good job so far. If he had a tail, it would surely be wagging. “How do you want to do this, Charlie?”

“I don’t know…” Charlie shook his head, laughing at the insanity of the situation. “Take the lead, cielo. I promise I’ll say if I need to stop…”

Nodding, Nick thought about it – thought about what had worked for him in the past, what had felt good – and decided that he couldn't do this without seeing Charlie’s face as he sunk into him for the first time. He couldn't possibly enjoy this without ensuring Charlie was enjoying it right alongside him. “Are you happy to stay on your back for now? Where are the condoms and lube, Char? I want them close by for when we’re ready.”

“In the front pocket of my backpack but… wait, can we…” Charlie grabbed hold of Nick's forearm as he made motions to move, wetting a lower lip and suddenly seeming nervous for the first time. “Could… I mean, is there any way that we can do this without?” Charlie visibly floundered in Nick’s wide-eyed expression. “Obviously, if we have to – if there's some voice telling you that it wouldn’t be safe without – then fine but, well, I’d give anything to feel all of you.”

Fuck me fucking sideways.

“Um,” Nick swallowed, the lumpy echo of it ringing in his ears. With Charlie laid out beneath him – curls and legs splayed with all the begging – it was getting really hard to think. Nick brought up a brown thigh to throw over his, continuing to caress between Charlie’s legs as tried to slow his racing thoughts. Properly weigh up all the risks.

Even with Sam, his longest partner of over two years, they had never had unprotected sex. Once they'd split in February, Nick had done the usual STI screenings and everything, as expected, had come back fine. There hadn’t been anyone else since but there was still a fleeting flash of worry. 

Am I an idiot to trust Charlie on his word? 

In an attempt at antithesis, he considered up the blue below. Weighing up what he had made of Charlie so far – the brashy confidence at intriguing odds with wavering tentativeness – and followed his gut. 

“Okay.” Biting the bullet, Nick grasped at a decision. “If you're… sure? I mean, I'm confident, that I’m low risk but—”

“I trust you,” Charlie interrupted, heavy-lidded eyes closing as Nick continued to touch him. “And I’m sure. I don’t want anything between us…” 

Nick lowered, kissing his enthusiasm into Charlie with a wave of wet tongue, before reaching over to grab the backpack. In the front pocket was the lube. Again, like Charlie’s sunscreen, it was more of an oily liquid and he squeezed a generous amount over one hand to slather both of them up, slickened fingers continuing their previous palming foreplay. Charlie’s reaction was as expected, spine arching with a groan to the increased pleasure that came with it, ebony eyelashes fluttering and teeth clamping down in an attempt to control his volume.

“You don't need to be quiet here…” Nick grinned, slipping a thick thumb down Charlie’s perineum and pressing lightly against his puckered ring for the first time.

“Noted, pervertido.” Eyes gleaming, Charlie moved in time to Nick's gentle firmness, eliciting an excited whine once he began to feel the very start of a breach. The lubricant was working well, so it wasn't all too long before Nick had massaged him open enough to accept him to the knuckle with Charlie keening along, piercing eyes transfixed. “Bien, un poquito más… keep going…”

Once a thumb had been fully submerged into his heat, Nick swapped to his index, and then his middle, before eventually using both together, enjoying the view of Charlie clamping tightly around his fingers. His curly head was thrown right back, eyes closed, with his lips parted. “Dios mio. Yes…”

Nick added some breath work, blossoming moist heat over Charlie’s sensitive tip in contrast with the lightness of the summer breeze that was rolling off the sea. The noises grew as he licked a long, lingering strip up Charlie's shaft, root to tip, and Nick had no idea how it was humanly possible for his own cock to have hardened even more than it had already. He felt it hang heavy, engorged between his thick thighs, and he thanked God above that he'd had a fair few wanks over the course of the last couple of days because, otherwise, Charlie might have been about to have a very disappointing first time indeed.

“Another,” Charlie encouraged Nick onwards with a gasp, “and then I want to feel your beautiful cock inside me…”

Collecting the back of his skinny knees with his right hand, Nick manoeuvred them back, aligning his legs diagonally across Charlie's chest. Everything – from his dick to his hairless taint and winking rim – was properly propped up and, from this position, Nick continued his dutiful prepwork whilst working himself up to make a proper start. 

God, I can't quite believe I get to have him. And here. Just like this…

All in all, despite Charlie being the most inexperienced of the two, Nick still felt overwhelmed at how all of this mindbending public eroticism had been masterminded. How Charlie had created the most sensual and romantic morning of Nick's entire life. The fact that Nick was Charlie's first barely mattered. Nick was experiencing a fair few firsts of his own here.

Charlie seemed entirely relaxed, one hand raised to cushion his head, exposing his trimmed dark underarm hair to the sunlight. The other hand leisurely explored his own chest, plucking and playing with his nipples, and this, alongside all the throaty gasps punctuating the warm air around them, Nick took as a good sign. He had definitely loosened, now yielding three lubed fingers, and all of Nick's mind and lower body was taken up with the imminency of the build up, the idea of breaching Charlie’s perfect body with his own overwhelming.

“Char, can… can I?” Nick was subconsciously fidgeting, his neglected cock brushing firmly against Charlie’s muscular arse cheeks in keen anticipation. Taking himself in hand – and keeping a good hold of the back of Charlie's knees with the other – Nick guided the head of his lubed up dick right down the middle of Charlie’s glistening cleft. He couldn’t resist slapping it, rubbing repeatedly against the sweet, pink pucker to test out the pliancy before committing.

“Fuck, yes. Métemela, please, Nick…”

As Nick propped up at the right angle, gently pushing his hips forward, Charlie pulled his knees apart so Nick could slowly sink down in towards him, inch by careful inch. When the sunblushed heat of their chests finally came together, a light sheen of sweat the only thing between them, Charlie lifted his shoulders to meet Nick’s mouth. Sucking in a gasp at the initial bodily overwhelm, Charlie took Nick’s humming moan deep into his lungs as he adjusted around him. 

“Char? You okay?”

“¡Hostias! Yes! Just… pause there.” With a hand clasped on the back of his neck, Charlie kissed him, throwing his thighs around the back of Nick’s glutes as they waited. 

“Fuck...” Nick was more than happy to still, to stop, exist in how it felt to be immersed in the person he’d been craving since he first laid eyes on him. Charlie felt far better than he’d even imagined. Nothing could have prepared him for the intimacy. For skin-to-skin at every point of bodily contact, and he took full advantage – suspended in time – to kiss every inch of Charlie that was in reach. “You… you are fucking everything.”

“Y tú te sientes increíble; me llenas y me completas. There’s a part of me wants to stay, just like this, all day…”

“Oh, it’s only going to get better,” Nick grinned, toying his teeth gently up the softness of Charlie’s neck, not hard enough to mark but firm enough to instil some future promise. “Plus, trying to reapply sun cream in this position might be a bit of a ballache…”

Charlie laughed, a tinkly, bell-sound that set Nick’s chest cavity off from the vibrations. “Yes, and we can’t have you burning again. Move now, cariño. I’m ready. Show me what I’ve been missing…” 

A gratified growl erupted in Nick’s throat as he sank the final quarter inch, feeling his balls fully resting against the flush of warm skin. After another pause that lasted somewhere between a heartbeat and a decade, he slid almost fully out before descending back in again, all his neurons set alight from the pleasure of the slick friction. 

As they moved together, Nick lost himself in Charlie’s eyes, in the pull of his lips – feeling desperate to taste each new sound that he coaxed out of Charlie’s mouth. He lost himself in the feel of fingertips sinking into flesh as he nudged Charlie’s prostate into life. And then, an undefinable amount of time later, they shakingly succumbed – crashing inwards as their pleasure peaked – feeling flooding through every fibre.

As their glistening foreheads met in the breathy aftermath – gasps marrying between swollen lips, clammy hands desperately searching one another out with a giddy squeeze – Nick felt it again, along with the sobering foreboding woven within it.

Lost. 

He was utterly fucking lost in the depths of this man, in every way that mattered, with no idea on how to find his way back…

Or, if he even wanted to.

Chapter Text

Toes curling, the cold, white foam sloshed over his feet as Nick dithered. His bollocks were even less keen.

There was a hard, enthusiastic shove from behind but it was unsuccessful, his tree-trunk legs planting firm within the shifting sand. “C’mon, let's go.” Charlie slapped his bare arse. “We both need a good wash...”

Beach sex, as expected, was amazing but it had some not-unsubstantial downsides.  Currently, the hand fondling Nick’s bum cheeks was exfoliating to say the least. 

Fucking worth it.

With it only just being past 8 o'clock, the morning sun had not yet warmed the lapping salt water and it's not as if Nick had ever considered himself to be a wild swimmer back in England in the first place.

“It's cold!”

“¿Me estás jodiendo? Get in, you absolute fanny!” 

In his impatience, Charlie threw both arms around Nick’s middle and heaved. To his squeaking surprise, Charlie managed to lift him completely and, with a cacophony of emasculating noises, Nick kicked his desperate legs, sploshing frigid sea water everywhere. “Ahhhhhhh, Charlie! Fuck!” 

Never – apart from maybe that time he'd got his face unexpectedly caught up in a spider's web and nearly hyperventilated – had he ever heard his voice become so high-pitched. “Char! Put me down!” 

Despite the fact he was currently being firmly manhandled towards the sea, Nick was reluctantly impressed. He wasn't light by any standards, and was immediately reminded of his first night here, when he'd underestimated Charlie's ability to lug his heavy case up a flight of stone steps. The guy was strong. Years of physical labour had obviously paid off.

Still unsteadily juggling almost fourteen stone of man-bulk, Charlie had managed to wade up to his upper thigh, giggling inanely against Nick's spine, junk slapping unceremoniously against the gingery peach-fuzz of his arse. If Nick hadn't just been completely drained dry, the sensation may have awoken something deep within him. “Don't you dare drop me…”

It was the worst thing he could have possibly said.

The impact was knife-like, the sharp attack of cold pouring in his ears and eyes and nostrils. He clamped his mouth shut in time just as his muscles tensed up in screaming protest, but Nick's flailing feet soon found sandy ground. Rising to a stand, his lungs gasped from the shock, and wetness poured from the slopes of his body like miniature waterfalls. “FUCKER!”

The sound of Charlie's laughter rang out amongst the gulls crying overhead. Before he could even wipe the water from his clamped eyelids and slick his hair back from his face, he heard another splash to his left. Blinking through the sting, he wrenched open one semi-working eye only to find that Charlie was nowhere to be seen. Scouring around him the best he could through the blur, Nick very nearly started to panic before a hand suddenly grabbed him by the ankle, wrenching his whole body sideways.

This time, the water felt less of a Baltic assault, and he managed to hold a decent breath before being pulled under. Nick could feel the water pressure changing in a rush of man-made current until Charlie was close, attempting to grab at him once again in a fresh wave of playful drowning but as he wrapped his arms around Nick's shoulders, presumably to dunk him back down, he fought back. Finding purchase on Charlie's slippery dolphin-like body, he stood them both up, their heads breaking through the surface of the water together.

Nick's kiss was almost punishing. He used his, not-inconsiderable, strength to hoist Charlie to his mouth, immediately gaining the upper hand, but Charlie didn't seem to mind losing much. They kissed and kissed with increasing furore, wet faces be damned, and it didn't matter that he was practically half blind from sea water; their cool hands meandering along one another's wet bodies painted the best picture. Slowing down, the kiss turned from fierce to lingering – cold hands less maddened, more purposeful – until they finally pulled apart. 

“Your arse crack is sandy.” Nick had observed this fact through his fingers and delivered it almost smugly, a damp grin growing up his face. He felt very glad to finally be able to make Charlie out; his dark curls were plastered flat, nipples stiff as a board, but the most obvious thing was the close up of his spectacular eye roll.

“Well, yeah. You pumped me full of cum and then threw me around on that sandy towel trying to get comfortable for a post-fuck-cuddle... I'd wager your arse is pretty gritty too, querida.”

Nick waggled his eyebrows, feeling the cheekiness slowly rise like the sun overhead. “God, I really loved pumping you full of my cum…” He kissed him again, but brief this time, letting his fingers slide further between Charlie's cleft. “Shame we need to wash the evidence away…”

“Ha!” Charlie's laugh echoed out, bouncing off the sea as they bobbed, wrapping his warm legs loosely around Nick’s waist to allow easier access. “I'll be honest, cum and sand are not my favourite combination but, if you clean me well, I might let you fill me up again later…”

“Mmmm, yes please.” As he hummed his happy accession into Charlie's dripping, salty neck – imagining all the vivid, carnal colours of later – he washed his lover carefully, gently rubbing the lingering sand-stickiness away. “Are you not sore, then?”

“Not too bad. And, it's a good ache; I like it.” Charlie worked his hand down between their torsos, returning the favour to rub clean Nick's cock. “No sand grains under the foreskin then? There’s a Spanish miracle!”

Nick winced just at the idea. They'd been relatively lucky; it could have definitely been less comfortable all round. “Yeah. I'm not saying I wouldn't have sex on the beach again, I absolutely would, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'm really looking forward to our next time being in my king-sized four-poster under the air-con…”

Smiling, Charlie rubbed him again but much less dutifully, lingering with a lecherous squeeze. “How fitting. A king-sized four-poster to go with your king-sized knob…” He leaned in for another brief kiss. “Rather vanilla of you, but you won't find me complaining!”

“Oiiii!” For his cheek, Nick half-dunked his arse unceremoniously in the sea before scooping up his legs, naked-bridal style. “For your information, I am definitely not vanilla.”

“Oh?” Charlie’s blue eyes grew round like aligning planets, his brain obviously whirring away in the background at the speed of light. “Say more…”

“Nope!”

Booping his nose teasingly with a wet finger only seemed to get Charlie more animated, fidgeting in his arms like a slippery otter. “Oh my god... are you telling me that your freak might match my – admittedly, theoretical – freak?”

“Well…” Nick raised an eyebrow, feeling the familiar fizz inside his pelvis as he contemplated all his holiday-related life choices. “I guess I’ll just have to keep that promise, won’t I? Wait around for you to finish your shifts so you can find out...” 

Turning suddenly serious, Charlie clasped a wet hand to Nick’s cheek, bringing his face in to seal this deal with a kiss which, once again, rather quickly transformed into a full-blown pashing session. “Every spare minute I get, mi vida,” Charlie nodded determinedly, as he whispered into his mouth, “my body is yours.”

Fucking hell...

As he stood there, holding this amazing man in his arms, Nick briefly ruminated with a well-controlled sigh; head and heart in silent juxtaposition. He knew damn well that in four days time – especially with the way he was already feeling – that the heartache was going to be gut-wrenching. The only sensible option, obviously, was to take a step back, to lessen the connection, and blame the new distance on his family's imminent arrival. But, of course, it was difficult not to be bowled over by the rather large dose of blue doe eyes, and he found himself instantly swooning away at Charlie’s rather intimate promise. He could practically feel his body slowly letting go of logic, his remaining sense of self preservation dissolving rapidly into the sea.

After intently watching the diamond droplets rolled down Charlie's perfect face, Nick nuzzled into his soaking neck, sucking the saltwater from an earlobe. “Shall we go dry off?”

Charlie snorted. “Might that be code for another round of naked cuddling, you raging sap?”

Nick turned to face the shore with an incredulous shake of his wet head at this piss take, wading with Charlie in his arms who was reminiscent of a dripping, helpless merman. “Sure, keep pretending you don't fucking love it. I believe you..."

The towels took quite some vigorous beating before Charlie deemed it satisfactory and Nick swore that he could feel his skin dry off within seconds beneath the sun's morning scorch. 

“¡Dios mío, pecosito! Need more sun cream?” Charlie laughed into Nick’s chest at this observation. “We’ll be reapplying every fifteen minutes at this rate…”

“Shut uuuuup.” Nick rolled over onto his side to face him, enjoying the feel of Charlie’s hot, caramel skin beneath the pattern of his lazy fingertips, the negligible weight of tanned calf thrown casually over his own. He smelled amazing – all salt and sunlight and sex – and Nick had trouble resisting the urge to scooch in and lick a possessive stripe right up his perfect neck. 

“So… no longer a virgin. How does that feel?” Nick found himself utterly captivated by a grain of sand trapped in Charlie’s long eyelashes before his gaze dropped, enjoying the view of him licking on an arid lower lip. 

“Honestly? And I hate to say this because it’s all just bullshit but… a relief?” Charlie’s light hand skirted up Nick’s arm, leaving a lingering squeeze upon his bicep. “I was really starting to worry it would never happen. I mean, I do get that some people can just have sex with anyone, whether they think they’re hot or not, but – as a bottom, anyway? – I just couldn't.”

Nick grinned at the extra insinuated compliment and nodded, palming Charlie’s nearest thigh firmly with his hand. “I'm the same, even though I mostly top. It needs to feel right, otherwise the sex is usually a bit… well, crap. I used to jump into bed with strangers when I was younger – like, during uni – but, I had a very short slag era before realising that it just really wasn't for me.”

“A slag era?!” Charlie’s dark eyebrows rose, pupils cascading all over Nick’s freckled face, trying hard to bite down a smirk. “That blows my mind. You definitely seem them the relationship type... Have you been in many?”

“Yeah, a few.” Nick nodded thoughtfully, trying not to think about how right Charlie was about that. “I've dated both men and women before but…” He found himself blinking, the words sticking like sand to his larynx as he cleared his throat.

“But?”

“Well… I've worked out that the romance side of things just really isn't there for me with women. Or, at least not with any woman I've dated so far, anyway...” Nick let his eyes rise up to read Charlie’s reaction but only found neutral waters. This, more than anything, made it easier to keep going. “A few years ago, I was trying really hard to exclusively date women – obviously, all my dad's regurgitated rubbish was getting to me more than I wanted to admit – but it never worked. It always felt like a friend's with benefits situation, you know? We seemed to have lots of fun, the sex was great, but the other side of things always felt forced. A bit like I was putting on The Romance Show for the benefit of everyone except myself? It's been three years since I realised that, although I’m bisexual…” Nick took in a large gulp of air, not yet used to speaking the words aloud, “I’m quite sure that I'm actually homoromantic.”

"Okay. That seemed like it was a big deal to say?” Charlie gave a crooked smile, continuing on when Nick could only reply with a nod. “I'm 100% pure homo, if you’re interested? Knew from the time I was about twelve and walking around the poolside, delivering drinks to semi-naked people. Women look great in swimsuits and everything, but it wasn't them I wanted to talk to, or get to know, or thought about kissing at night when I had a rare unexhausted moment to myself to think about it. It's always been boys.” To hammer his point home, Charlie cupped the back of Nick’s wet head and pulled him in, slipping a quick tongue to wrest his mouth open before pulling back and looking uncharacteristically shy about the whole thing. “And, I couldn’t have ever imagined a better first time with any other boy so, thanks…”

Grinning like an idiot, Nick leaned in to continue their unfinished kiss before mumbling into his lips. “Um, I hope you know I had a great time too? No one needs to thank anybody!”

Annoyingly, they had limited time to languish leisurely together to lock lips. After a disappointing breakfast of stale-ish pastries, and once their skin had thoroughly dried to a salty crisp, they began to scrap around for their clothes that were puddled in various heaps. Eking it all out, they slowly shook out the sand and pulled them on, gazes gravitating back to one another's flesh as it was sadly rehidden; the obvious disappointment in the need for public decency was pretty evident in their faces.

“So, what now, Char?” Nick examined his watch. “It’s almost 9am.” He tried to keep his voice steady – somewhere near casually interested – but he could hear his heart hammering like a bongo drum inside his ears. If Charlie wanted to spend the rest of the day by himself, or with other people, he wasn’t sure if he'd be able to hide his disappointment.

Finding his fingers, Charlie pulled him along towards the rocky crags they needed to climb over to get back to the cliff path. “How do you fancy a trip to Almería town? I need to be back for dinner service at 5pm…” he grimaced at Nick’s surprised face, “yeah, okay so it’s not actually a full day off is it, but we do have a decent chunk, unless… well unless, you’d rather get dropped back?”

“No!” Nick almost laughed at Charlie’s anxious expression as it transformed into pure sunshine in front of his very eyes. “Let’s hang out in Almeria. Wanna be my personal tour guide?”

“Sí,” Charlie cocked his head in almost perfect professionalism, except for the twinkle in his eyes that he had seen that first night he’d arrived. “It would be my pleasure, señor.”

It took almost an hour in the heat of the heavy morning traffic. 

At least, on Charlie's moped, they managed to cut off about an extra twenty minutes from weaving in and out of the backed-up, beeping cars with the dusty exhaust fumes only adding to the sticky heat. 

The thin shirt billowed in the wind once again as they drove toward the bustling town centre, and Nick’s heart felt like it was in his mouth the entire time as he held tightly onto Charlie's torso. He was having many close encounters with fast-moving vehicles, more than he appreciated, and felt very grateful to slow down to park up under the shade of a humongous palm tree and get off. 

The plaza was lined with palm trees, their large leaves rustling in the breeze overhead, and they framed the whitewashed buildings in a welcoming wave. After clipping their helmets onto the handlebars, Charlie led him by the hand, through the sea of tourists, towards the bustling magnificence of the main square. Nick was immediately captivated, looking up at the impressive stone fortress; all artillery towers, buttresses and castellated walls. 

“It’s a cathedral as well,” Charlie explained with a smile, when Nick voiced his architectural awe, “built in the seventeenth century, but yeah, the mix of gothic, baroque and renaissance construction always seems to throw people. It’s called Catedral de la Encarnación, designed as a place of worship as well as military defence, against pirates, of all things…”

“You’re shitting me…” Nick felt his jaw drop, looking back at the cathedral and then to Charlie in unflattering disbelief. “Pirates?!”

“It’s true!” Charlie’s laugh was a blaze of gold and Nick remembered with a jolt that history had been his degree choice. If anyone would know, it’d be him. 

As they meandered leisurely around the shadows at the base of the cathedral’s thick walls, Nick craned his neck to examine all the carvings and crests, as well as the stone statues of lions and gargoyles, while Charlie free flowed within historical explanation. In fact, Charlie seemed so impassioned by his retelling of the victory of La batalla del Golfo de Almería that, in the end, Nick was having a hard time pulling his eyes away from his clever, pretty mouth. 

“What?” Charlie suddenly stopped, a smile pricking up at the corners and his blue eyes narrowing to a point.

“Wot?” Nick mirrored, pursing his lips and shaking his head in feigned, wide-eyed ignorance.

Slumping a shoulder against the cool of the fortress wall, Charlie’s head tilted in appraisal. “Do you, uh, like it when I regurgitate Spanish history at you?”

“S’fine.” Nick shrugged his shoulders, leaning too, letting his gaze get ensnared upon soft lips as he slowly squeezed Charlie’s fingers. The beach seemed a hundred-thousand lifetimes ago and he found himself closing in like a magnet. “It’s cool…”

At that moment, a bicycle bell rang sharply out three times, a shout directed at them as it shot past at speed. “Maricas!”

“¿¡Por qué no me la chupas!?” Charlie shouted at his back, dropping Nick’s hand like he’d just been burnt. “¡Gilipollas! Hopefully, he’ll get flattened by a passing coach...”

“What? What did he say?” 

“Nothing worth repeating.” Nick hadn’t even seen the guy properly but the look on Charlie’s face pretty much said it all. “Sorry. I didn’t even check if holding your hand was going to be alright in such a public place… I don’t mind if you’d feel happier being more lowkey.”

“Huh?! No! I don’t mind…” To prove his point, Nick hooked Charlie’s index finger back in his and swayed their linked arms gently between them. “I didn’t even understand the gay jibes anyway, so fuck him… and his mum.”

Charlie snorted before his eyebrows soared to meet in the middle. “You really don’t care?”

Nick shrugged again, feeling suddenly all-powerful in his nonchalance. “Nope. It’s not like I know anyone around here. Do you?”

“No…”

“And, to be honest, even if I did, you’re literally the cutest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, so…” Nick pressed his keen lips together to stop himself talking. 

Hi, have you met chill? 

Smiling at the compliment, Charlie chewed down thoughtfully on his bottom lip. “It doesn’t bother you if people stare, or shout, or look disgusted?” He was now almost vibrating with anxious energy. “If they assume that we’re… together?”

“No,” Nick clenched Charlie’s fingers even tighter, thumb skimming the back of his knuckles in reassurance and meeting his eye dead on, “Don't give a flying fuck.”

“Um,” Chest inflating, Charlie took a deep inward breath, shifting about on his feet before his eyebrows furrowed. “Would you…? Uh, I mean, how would you feel about us… and just for the day, obviously… pretending that we’re, like…" The pause that stretched out could have crossed lightyears and Charlie squeezed his eyes shut in deepseated cringe, suddenly looking as if he wanted to smash his head repeatedly against the ancient brickwork to put a premature end to this awkward conversation. “It’s just that I’ve never had a boyfriend before…” Charlie rolled his eyes at himself, “well, that was fucking obvious, but—”

“Okay.” Nick couldn’t help but cut him off mid ramble, zooming in on Charlie’s incredulous face as he caught up with the breezy response. “How much affection would you feel comfortable with? You know, while we’re pretending…”

“Uh,” Charlie gave a perplexed shake of the head, curls bouncing in sudden gay bewilderment. “Just… the standard level of boyfriendiness, I think? Nothing too gropey, but um… yeah.”

“So, I could kiss you?” Nick raised his eyebrows, examining every micro-expression he could find within the creases by Charlie’s eyes, feeling the looming pressure of getting this shit right. “Have my arm around you? Stay close? That kind of thing?”

“Yeah,” It was a breathless whisper. “I’d like that.” 

Charlie’s eyes were large, almost unbelieving. There might have been a minimal divide between them but Nick crossed it anyway in less than a heartbeat, reaching out to guide him gently by the cheek towards his waiting mouth. They kissed softly under the shadow of the looming turret. Long enough to make a statement but brief enough that – unless someone was already staring – they’d probably miss it. 

When Nick pulled back, he grinned flagrantly at the fact that Charlie looked more than a little punch-drunk, cocking his head smugly to the right. “Let’s go then, novio,” he teased, thoroughly enjoying the fact that Charlie looked as if he was about to keel over from the shock of Nick knowing, not to mention using, the Spanish word for boyfriend. “We haven’t got all day, remember?”

“Lord, I will never get over you speaking Spanish to me,” Charlie stammered, following him along like a puppy on a string. “Even if your accent’s a bit shit…”

“Hey!! That's mean...”

It felt good to wander through the town with his arm flung around Charlie’s shoulders. He kept catching sight of their huddled reflection within the shop windows and it felt as if he was getting a glimpse of an alternative universe; one where the relentless sands of time weren’t siphoning off swiftly beneath their feet.

The rising humidity meant they found themselves scuttling like a couple of cockroaches from the shade of one shop to another, mostly pretend-window shopping through the eclectic collection of shops and colourful markets. Some of them were pricey boutiques – local craft shops with glassware, artwork and pottery – where others were filled with the more touristy-style crap. And it was here – in such a shop, surrounded by 62% commercialised tat – whilst Charlie was distracted by the rude fridge magnets, that Nick quickly handed over a twenty euro, pocketing his purchase in his back pocket with a covert wink. 

“Come on,” he took Charlie’s hand and whisked him out before there was a chance for anything to give him away. “I need to rehydrate before I pass out from heat exhaustion.”

“You want a beer, don't you…” Charlie sniggered knowingly, wrinkling his nose and flexing his fingers like he couldn't get over the fact he had him held in his hand. “You do realise it's €7 a pint in this part of town?”

“Uh, so? Have you forgotten that we're on holiday, babe?” Nick grinned as they paused beneath the shop’s shaded exterior. He was quite enjoying this game, along with all the new expressions revealed behind Charlie’s eyes. This one happened to be his favourite yet. “And, while we're on holiday, why wouldn’t we push the boat out and have a little lunch date? Spend some of our well-earned cash on beer and tapas? Hmm?”

Charlie suppressed a smile before playing along. “I guess we’ll end up going home without a single euro to our name, again, just like that time we flew out to Paris on a whim.” He huffed out an exaggerated long-suffering sigh. “We’re never going to be able to save up for that car at this rate…”

“Ah, mais…” Nick paused, lowering his voice to a whisper, “qui a besoin d’une nouvelle voiture quand on est fou en amour?” 

The lovey-dovey French seemed to emerge out of nowhere and, to hide his set of growing blushes on either cheek, Nick pulled Charlie in by the belt loops, burying his face in his neck. Shit. Heart rate spiking, he internally groaned as Charlie froze in his arms, the obviousness hitting him like a grenade to the face. “You, uh, probably speak French too, don’t you…” Nick grimaced into his skin, without moving a muscle. 

“Erm,” He could feel Charlie’s hot breath as he giggled somewhat nervously against his shoulder. “Well, I know a fair few common words, you know… the kind of ones that everyone knows?!” 

Attempting to style it out, Nick untucked his chin from Charlie's shoulder and retracted his head only to find blue eyes glinting at him in ill-disguised mirth. “Too far?”

“Uhhhmm?” Charlie pursed his lips, head bobbing side to side in drawn out thought before squinting adorably through one eye. “Hard to know without a word for word translation…”

“Not fucking happening!” Nick laughed, throwing his arm around his neck before planting a smacking kiss on his temple and steering them back into the crowd. “You don’t translate ninety-nine percent of the bloody Spanish you throw in my direction so, now you know how it feels.”

“Ouch,” Charlie mimed an arrow to the heart but didn’t argue, instead changing the subject back to lunch and led them back into the heart of Almería town to get lost amongst its side streets. They soon found a small, colourful tapas bar tucked away from the crowds, and were lucky enough to get a table outside, under the shade of a yellow pergola. Stomachs protesting, they enthusiastically poured over menus with Charlie, as if to make up for past wrongs, dutifully translating the Spanish and making various recommendations.

When the waiter came by – a guy in his early thirties – and interrupted their very obvious flirting, Nick noted that the tops of Charlie’s ears turned pink and his voice shook slightly as he blurted out their order in a rush of under-enunciated Spanish. At first, he was a little worried that Charlie was flustered because he fancied him but, once the bloke wandered out of earshot, it all became immediately clear. 

“Sorry, I… being on a lunch date with another guy feels odd…” Charlie’s eyes widened before panic struck. “God, sorry! That didn’t come out right! Not odd. Just... new?"

“It’s fine.” Luckily, Nick found Charlie’s flapping rather endearing. “I remember that feeling. And don’t make yourself uncomfortable on my account. I thought you wanted this?” He asked again, eyes lowering to where their fingers were interlaced upon the bright red table. “But it's fine if you’ve changed your mind…”

Charlie shook his head, fingers tightening as if worried that Nick was about to pull back. “I’ve not changed my mind. It feels incredible too, so don’t worry.”

“Um, so what’s different, just out of interest? Compared with wandering around together…”

“I don’t know? I wasn’t expecting to feel this nervous…” Charlie thought about it for a bit longer, gaze zoning out for a second. “I guess, if people are dickheads, it’s harder to escape from it if you still have a load of food piled up in front of you? I’ve seen some guests be absolutely fucking vile to gay couples a few times – my sister is the absolute best at dealing with that shit, by the way, she’s such a legend, –  so… yeah, maybe that’s it?”

“Makes sense. I’ve not had too many issues at restaurants. Bars, definitely, can get a bit dodgy…” Nick admitted, thinking back over some close calls with drunken, chavvy assholes. “But, on the whole, I really enjoy going on dates. I like food and I like being romantic so… what’s not to love?”

“I’m feeling okay, now.” Charlie admitted, looking more relaxed. “And obviously, it’s not always been like that… I’ve served some really cute queer people that look like they’re having the best time together, too. In fact, some are so into one another that they make you feel incredibly bloody lonely just looking at them. It's nice to know how it feels to be on the other side of that for a change, even if… uh…” Charlie’s sentence dwindled off into a self-conscious swallow.

… even if it's not real. 

That's what Charlie was going to say. Nick just knew it, and he stroked over his knuckles gently, hoping to relay his own nonverbal message. 

Feels real enough to me. 

The thought of Charlie feeling lonely whilst surrounded by holidaying couples caught up in their own happiness – queer and straight alike – everyday, made so much sense that it hurt. “So, what about friends then?”

“Uh, I don’t really have any? Or any time to see them, even if I did...” Charlie grimaced. “I lost touch with most of my friends when I left school. I was only ever on the periphery of this group anyway because I couldn't really hang out with them properly, like a normal teenager. And then I did my degree online from my bedroom and… met precisely no one.”

“Fuck!” Nick could feel his eyebrows vanish into his hairline, acknowledging this was a side of Charlie he’d not met before. “I never would have guessed? You seem so happy, so confident and–”

“Well, I am confident. Especially at work at work.” Charlie confirmed with an easy smile. “I’m good at what I do. And there is definitely some happiness to be found, some genuinely great conversations to be had with nice people but…” Nick saw the hesitation laced on his lips before he brought his eyes back up with a shrug. “I bring them drinks and I take their plates. I show them where the towel room is and I listen to their complaints but, mostly? Well, I’m a cog in a machine, aren't I? People rarely get to know me.”

“God…” Nick felt stunned, Charlie’s reality hitting him like a swinging bag of bricks to the face. “Yeah, that… that must be hard.” 

Their beers arrived and they both sipped thoughtfully in the extended silence, Nick still slightly recovering from the spoken truth. “Tell me about you?” Charlie smiled, flattening his mouth, self-consciously. “I didn’t mean to hijack the conversation...”

“No, you didn’t!” Nick furrowed his brow and shook his head. “And I don’t mind, plus you already know about my family, and about my weird bisexual-but-homoromantic thing…”

“That’s not weird, Nick.” Charlie insisted. “What about your job? Where do you live? What’s your life like, cielo? Are you fluent in French?”

So Nick talked. Talked about his French heritage. About his father’s chronic disappointment of many, many things, not just his penchant for boys but also his apparent lack of drive and direction in life. How he still had his share of his grandmother’s inheritance just sitting around, uninvested, and how this caused arguments every time they spoke. He talked about how his brother had recently been made co-director of their dad’s company, about how they were constantly angling for him to move to Narbonne to join them… and how Nick would rather do literally anything in life other than that.

“I live and work in Canterbury.” It felt like a relief to start talking about the good stuff. “I'm in love with my third floor flat even though it's a bit cramped and I still have a few boxes lingering around since March. It’s only fifteen minutes away from my mum too – she’s fucking awesome, by the way… makes up for my dad by about 200% – and the view’s stunning. It’s even got this tiny balcony that I sit out on an evening sometimes, watching the canal glimmer under the city lights. It's really nice.” 

“It does sound nice,” Charlie agreed, face unreadable as his gaze dropped back onto their fingers. “Perfect, actually…”

“Nearly,” Nick admitted quietly, thinking about the fact that a nice boyfriend – someone he could talk to every day – would make it fuck loads better. 

Guess I'm a bit lonely too, Char.

Was it mad to want to have him in his life, in one form or another? He knew it was ridiculous to want Charlie to want more – and properly more –  after going back home but he was struggling to imagine just forgetting that this had ever happened. Surely, talking on the phone would be better than nothing? But, then again, Charlie had already explained how he had next to no time, even for friends…

His dour musings were interrupted by the arrival of steaming tapas, the colours and aromas a full-on feast for the senses, and it felt like the gloom spell had suddenly been thoroughly broken. Charlie was instantly back to spirited, making a big song and dance about Nick having to close his eyes to ‘really get the flavours’ and – because Nick wasn't sure he could deny him anything at this point – he played along, clamping his eyes shut and allowing Charlie to hand feed him morsels from across the table to take a stab at what was what.

They made their way through the small plates. The tortilla española practically melted on his palate. The deep-fried fish croquetas with their crispy breaded outer and fluffy potato middle were incredible. The pan con tomate, which was basically a bruschetta topped with tomatoes, garlic and red onion made him worry about his breath but then there was the patatas bravas, cubed sauteed potatoes smothered in spicy tomato sauce and aioli, and Nick knew they were both doomed to taste garlicky for the rest of the day. It was all incredibly delicious, even if he was mostly a terrible guesser, but when his teeth crushed through what was obviously a plump olive, he made an indecent little noise that was definitely unfit for outside the bedroom and watched as Charlie’s face lit up.

“You liked that?” A top tooth dragged along his lip as he leant forward, bringing his own up to pop into his mouth, sucking the oily marinade from his thumb.

“I did.” Nick admitted with a small smirk. “It sort of reminds me of how salty your skin tasted earlier...”

He could hear Charlie’s hitched breath from across the table, could almost see all the filthy things they did on that beach together reflected back within the dark onyx of his pupils. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about it,” Charlie whispered, with an air of someone giving confession. “I can still feel you, where you were, as I walk. It makes me miss you…”

“You don't need to miss me, I'm right here," Nick teased, keen feet finding Charlie’s beneath the table in understated yearning. “But, yeah. I already want you, naked and in my arms, again and it's only been…” Nick made a big deal of looking at his watch, “three and a half hours. God, is that all?!”

“Can you hear that king-sized bed calling?” Charlie’s face was shamelessly direct, gaze so smouldering Nick was worried he might catch on fire. “Do you… want to go back?”

“Soon.” Nick nodded slowly, feeling himself chubbing up in his shorts just at the thought. “But you haven't hand-fed me any churros yet, so…”

“I'm up for that!” Charlie laughed, an eyebrow soaring like a seabird. “Then we should go. I want to hand-feed you my dick, feel your wet mouth around me again… and, maybe, it's my turn to return the favour too, bombón.”

“¡Señor!” Nick immediately turned in his seat to grab the attention of the waiter about four tables away, Charlie's chuckling ringing in his ears. “Can we get some churros to go please, and the bill? Muchos gracias.”

They teasingly fed one another from a paper bag on the quick walk back to the bike, lips a little sticky with sugar and the occasional chocolatey kiss when they thought they could get away with it.

Driving back to the hotel felt endless, more like two hours rather than the one. Every bend in the road, every stop, made Nick's groin push further into Charlie's back, and he had to exercise some great self-control not to grope at each and every red light, not to thumb his nipples underneath that billowy shirt as they weaved in and out of slow moving traffic.

By the time they'd got back and were walking towards reception, Nick wondered how fucking obvious they must look and, after raising this point, deliberately policed how closely they were walking together. Charlie also made the effort to button his shirt up properly, which Nick could only cope with by remembering that, soon, it was going to be a puddle of cotton abandoned on his hotel-room floor.

“You also really need to stop looking at me like that if we're going to fool anyone!” Charlie laughed as they passed beneath the shade of the pink oleander tree.

“Erm, actually, I'm pretty sure I've been looking at you like this from the day I arrived?!” Nick grinned. “Don’t really see why I should stop now?”

“Because!” Charlie punched him flirtily in the pec. “We're trying to be lowkey, remember?”

“Ah yes… and that looked platonic as fuck, mate…”

“Shut up…” They laughed and joked right through the sliding doors and into the sweet relief of the air conditioning, only for Nick to take a sudden misstep.

Fuck.

His dad and brother were in the foyer, luggage surrounding them. They were gazing about the place with mirrored looks of cautious apprehension, almost matching in navy chino’ed shorts and shiny boat shoes.

“Ah, Nicholas, te voilà! That is fortunate!” Stephane seemed pleased to see him at least, stepping forward for a brief shoulder slapping man-hug. “I've just been told we have been placed on opposite sides of the hotel, would you believe it? C'est ridicule.”

“Yeah,” David took a few steps in besides his old man, glaring at Tori who was filing her nails indifferently behind the desk. “How has that happened? Seems like a complete cock up to me.”

“Well, not all rooms have a sea and mountain view. That was one request, correct, señor?” Charlie piped up, much to Stephane and David's immediate confusion as they looked him over, right down to his dusty, flip-flopped feet. “And, two of you also requested a double superior sea view?" He didn't wait for confirmation, sounding confident in his recollection. "So, yes… I can absolutely see how this has happened.”

The silence that followed this could have cut through steel and Nick willed his face not to look pinker than it already did from his two day old sunburn. “Uh, Dad, David, this is Charlie. He works here too but he took me on an excursion today. Almeria town…”

“Très bien,” Stephane stiffly inclined his head, holding out his arm for the shortest, most awkward-looking, handshake in history. “Nice to meet you.”

David grinned, his lazy gaze flicking back and forth between them as he stuffed both hands in his pockets. “Sounds like you’ve been keeping busy!”

Trust him to think that every man I hang out with I must be dicking… Nick felt rather cross despite the fact that, on this occasion, David was absolutely right.

“Well, I just had to get on with my holiday didn't I? It's not like you guys have been great at filling me in on what's going on. Excuse me if I didn't just lie around waiting for you to show up...” He internally winced when it dawned on him just how much attitude had just burst out of him. He usually knew much better than to give David a sensitive string to pull on.

“Defensive, much?”

Nick's uncontrollable fuck you glare was obvious – even Tori grimaced awkwardly over David's shoulder – and Stephane did his best to mediate, putting a hand on both of his sons shoulders and steering them into his embrace.

“Right, enough boys. You are not teenagers anymore and I am on holiday. If I wanted to listen to endless bitching I'd have stayed at home with Martine, c'est compris? Nicky, come back and help us with our bags and show us around the hotel? We could have a quick beer, oui? You must have found your way around by now…”

“Oh, uh yeah. Okay. I do need to just quickly…” Nick looked around to make eye contact, hoping to make up an excuse to go back to his room, and that Charlie might get the hint to meet him there – even if it was just for a quick kiss and a rain-check – but he was now nowhere to be seen.

Nick's heart sank into his sliders. 

It sank not just because Charlie had just slipped off without a word but also because the next two perfect hours with him had just been completely fucking ruined. Because he had no idea when they would next get an opportunity to see each other without work, or families, getting in the way.

Keeping the heavy sigh tightly locked up in his chest, Nick turned back to his Dad and forced a smile. It was the smile he knew that he’d have to wear, eventually. “Never mind. Let's go...”

The sooner their cases were dropped off and Nick could get a fucking drink in his hand, the better...

Chapter Text

Never had sipping a cold beer on a sun-soaked veranda ever felt so much like prison.

The drop off of all the luggage and, subsequently, the room inspections had gone as well as could be expected, with Stephane becoming highly aggrieved about the inadequacy of the mini bar. Nom de dieu! This thing only fits about two beers and a sparkling water. Bloody pointless! His brother, meanwhile, was rather disgruntled by the lack of hangers and about the fact that he’d only been provided the standard amount of pillows – What if I bring back a girl? I’m not fucking sharing!  

Since then, Nick had shown them the way to the bar, bought a round of drinks and sat them down. They had vaguely glanced and grunted quasi-impressed towards their left – at vast panorama of mountains, ocean and blue sky – and, yet, all they had seemed to talk about so far was work.

About the last disastrous board meeting. About how the general incompetency of their middle management team. About everything would, almost undoubtedly, shortly implode into steaming piles of shit in their absence.

The obvious upside was that Nick wasn’t expected to join in on this riveting conversation. He was somewhat free to zone out behind his sunglasses, hmm-nod in the right places, and propel his mind through time and space until he was back on that beach, making incredible love to the Spanish guy of his dreams. 

Just as he was getting to relive the lubing up of Charlie’s pretty, pink taint – remembering how the sheen instantly warmed between the heat of his olive skin and his thumb – he got rudely dragged back into the present by the scruff of the neck.

“Nicky?”

“Huh?” Lifting his bottle to his lips, he slugged back a big swig. As it lowered on the table between them, he was immediately distracted by the fact this was the same brand he and Charlie had been drinking in Almería that afternoon – Cruzcampo – and, instantly, there was a small pang in the region of his diaphragm.

“Etienne.” His dad was looking at him intently, wire-bushy eyebrows raised. “And his retirement.”

“Etienne?” Nick could feel his face crease up in confusion. “Sorry, don’t know him…” 

David snorted in full one-upman-ship. “We know that. We were talking about how his retirement means movement.” He started gesticulating one-handedly around his beer bottle, attempting inspirational but just delivering standard Corporate Twatbag. “A flow upwards. Creating gaps. Opportunities. Well, for someone with a bit of grit and drive, anyway…” 

Nick smooshed his lips together, cottoning on, and repeated his earlier Hmm with a similar level of enthusiasm. Buzz words were coming. Possibly a fucking flock of them if he didn’t shut this shit down, and quickly.

“I won’t leave Mum. You know that.” He had about a hundred thousand reasons but this one was the least offensive and most unarguable… 

Well, usually.

“Ah but Nicky! She’s been in remission for over a year now!” His dad's face was having a good old stab at ‘clinically sympathetic’ whereas David couldn’t even meet his eye. Clearly they'd been carefully planning this emotional ambush on the plane. “And you can always visit her! We give a generous holiday allowance!”

“Wot? No!” Nick blinked, struck by whole-body bafflement that either of them thought this would be any kind of a compromise. “You really don’t think it’s that simple, do you?”

“Well,” Stephane coughed, looking sideways at David who was, impressively, keeping schtum and gazing at his lap for once, “It is as simple as you make it, Nicky. She’s not alone, n’est pas? It’s not your job to–”

“No, Dad, you’re right. It's not my job.” Nick could almost feel the anger running over his skin in static bursts. “Believe it or not, she matters way more than a fucking job… not that I’d expect you two to be able to get your heads ‘round that.”

Stephane made a noise at the back of his throat, something akin to a gurgling-grumble, before raising both hands in placation. “I don't want to turn this into an argument so I'll say no more except, think more on it. You never know, she might consider moving to Narbonne?”

This seemed like a record. Less than 50 minutes? Nick snorted derisively as he stood, downing the last few mouthfuls of lager. Fucking delusional, selfish, shithead, wanker.

As they only had a few days together and he needed to keep things civil, Nick held his tongue, swallowing the spikiness of what he wanted to say where it sat there uncomfortably in his stomach, pricking at his guts. “I need a shower. See you at dinner.”

As Nick stalked off, he attempted some level box breaths whilst walking the long way back – through the gardens, behind the hotel and circumnavigating the very top of the sloping orchard – before heading to his room. He had hoped that some air and peace, as well as keeping his frantical feet busy, would help him to reregulate but, in reality, it only gave him more time to stew over the last three years. Neither of them had any fucking idea how difficult it had been. Nor cared enough to try and find out. 

Once Nick opened the door to his room, blood pressure feeling somewhere near normal again, he found a folded piece of paper that had been carefully fed through the gap underneath. 

His somersaulting stomach knew immediately – before he’d even opened it up to reveal the Casa Primavera header and the curling script beneath – that the note was from Charlie.

Midnight, Cariño?

I’ll wait beneath the apple trees with hope.

x C x

Feeling the relief wrestling with his excitement, he read it five more times with a giddy grin but, as he put it away, his fingers brushed upon something else in his pocket; the folded edges of a small paperbag. It was the present he’d bought Charlie in Almería earlier today; the one that he had, almost instantly, forgotten about.

Tonight?

No. I'll save it. It might end up giving us away.

Instead, his thoughts flew back to the note, feeling elated that their time together tonight had not been completely railroaded. The apple trees had to be somewhere obvious within the orchard, surely? And midnight shouldn’t be too difficult; Nick planned to lay the groundwork from the get go, drip feed in his tiredness so that, when the time came around, it would seem like he’d made enough effort.

Now, I just have to make it through fucking dinner.

After a luxurious Hollywood shower, one where a thorough de-sanding and manscaping had taken place, Nick felt a hundred times better. It was easy enough to replace that knot of lingering bitterness with happier thoughts under the powerful jets, and the growing magnet inside his chest seemed to hum ever harder as he imagined all of tonight's possibilities.

He wouldn’t let his dickhead family dampen anything else. Whatever they said, however they said it, he’d be untouchable. Shielded by the fact that he’d be with Charlie later – holding him and kissing him as much as humanly possible. 

Pondering over his choice of shirt, in the end he went with a really light shade of blue – leaving one more button open than he was used to – and combined it with a pair of off-white tailored shorts. As he played about with his hair, eyeing his gingery stubble, he had to admit, he felt good. His sunburn had calmed right down, freckles out in force, and although he couldn’t describe himself as tanned under any reasonable definition of the word, he looked… glowy? 

But then again, he smiled, spritzing himself with aftershave, that might not actually have anything to do with the sun.

As he was ready a little early – not to mention, hyperactive on copious amounts of surplus energy – he made his way down to the cool of the courtyard. After spotting Abuelo in his fedora hat under an orange tree – carefully laying out playing cards with the most serious concentration face that Nick had ever seen – he made a decision, spinning on his heel to order them both a drink.

“Nick!” Abuelo looked pleased to see him as he took the seat opposite and vigorously shook his hand. “You look rather, what’s the word? Smiley. Had a good day?”

“Yeah! The best…” Nick admitted, feeling his face break out in beams. Not even that shitty hiccough this afternoon could spoil it. “It was Charlie’s day off. He took me to the beach on the back of his ancient moped and then, from there, he showed me around Old Almeria town.”

Abuelo’s pale, blue eyes widened. “Ohhh! That does sound like a good day!” Abuelo gave Nick a look – part cheeky, part serious – before leaning in conspiratorially. “He’s a good boy, mi nieto, Charlie. You be nice to him, eh?!”

Nick felt his face fire up like a furnace as he nodded, unable to suppress his smile at the fact nothing else really needed to be said. “Um, of course?! I’d have hoped that would’ve gone without saying?!”

“Ah, sí, sí. I think you look like a good boy too, o eso parece.” Abuelo said this with a wink before going back to his cards, which Nick was glad about as he was probably starting to resemble a pickled radish.

“Uh,” Nick’s eyes baulked in sudden fluster, remembering his and Charlie’s earlier conversation as they laid together upon the sand. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? We, um… well, we just want to keep it to ourselves…”

Abuelo looked up, bristly eyebrows jumping animatedly for a second before hmmphing in confirmation. “Sounds wise. Holiday romances are hard enough when they come to an end without the world and their dog knowing all about your business.” That was enough to take the smile off Nick’s face for a second but then the waiter arrived – Not Charlie – who carefully placed their drinks down beside them.

“Are you winning again, Abuelo?” The younger lad laughed, his broad smile free and easy as he took the empty glass that was still there. 

“Of course, atrevido! Against myself. Against English boys. I am always winning.” Abuelo looked between them with an analysing expression on his craggy face. “Nick, have you been introduced to mi nieto, Oliver?”

Nick said No at exactly the same time as Oliver said Not exactly but the innocent guise that came with it could have come straight out of the Professional-Charlie Handbook. They shook hands, which felt overly formal coming from a fifteen year old, before Abuelo changed the subject. “You do spoil an old man, Nick! What is this?!”

“An apple-whisky sour,” Oliver jumped in with a smile. “Nick was quite interested in our apple trees and what we do with them, for some reason, so… ¡Aquí tienes!”

“Looks delicious!” Nick attempted to commandeer his face and sound casual until Oliver drifted off and Nick was faced with the old man smacking his crinkly lips together after a swift swallow. “Tart, sweet and bitter all at once. If I have had that before, it’s been a long, long time. Muchas gracias.”

“De nada.” Nick grinned, taking his own sip, thinking about how he’d like to keep learning Spanish once he got home. Just in case. “So, um… where do you grow your apple trees?”

And please be specific because Oliver, bless him, was fucking useless.

“Manzana Helada. They grow to the west of our orchard, just behind our familial apartments. They spend the whole summer soaking up the sunshine before they are harvested in the autumn. We then crush them, filter and pasteurise before bottling, and I am very grateful to you for reminding me how great they taste. I will definitely be ordering this again. ¡Salud!”

Nick raised his glass in Abuelo’s direction, celebrating yet another small win. “¡Salud!”

Drinking a few apple-whisky sours with Abuelo certainly helped Nick mentally prepare for getting through the next few hours. 

He found them both inside, seated near the buffet by the window, looking like they had made a concerted effort. His dad was in a beige, cotton jacket, and appeared to be about half way through a bottle of red – if he could accurately judge by the burgundy tide line – whereas David was in yet another designer polo shirt, drinking some kind of clear spirit in a tumbler.

On the right side of tipsy – feeling like he gave a much lesser degree of fucks than usual – he sat himself next to his brother and gave them both an acknowledgement much warmer than the one he left them with. “Alright?”

David echoed his Alright? with an upwards tilt of the chin. “We waited for you.”

“Cheers, yeah, sorry.” Nick falsified his best apologetic face. “Got caught up drinking in the courtyard and lost track of time.” David blinked, looking like he wanted to challenge this but then seemed to think better of it. 

“No matter.” His father shrugged jovially, smiling wide. “We are all here now. And here’s to our first night on holiday. Santé!”

Nick tipped what was left of his third glass before rising to his feet. “I’ll grab us some starters to share, shall I? A bit of everything?” Without waiting for an answer, he made his way over to the stack of plates, eyes searching out across the throngs of milling people to suss out the situation. 

Tori was taking drinks orders from guests with her usual indisputable zest for life. Julio was collecting plates alongside some teenage waiters a little older than Oliver, gliding in and out of tables and stopping for brief conversations in between hospitable smiles. 

No Charlie, as yet. Maybe that was for the best.

He returned with a selection of antipasti, spread across two plates, and they immediately began to tuck in. There was no outright groaning about any of what Nick had picked, so he took that sign as an absolute win. “So,” he attempted, after a prolonged silence that was starting to steadily slip into unease, “How have you guys been? How’s Martine?” He was very much hoping not to get another deep dive into their working world.

“Ah, you know,” Stephane swallowed, throwing his fork about animatedly. “She's here and there. So many interests, it’s hard to keep track these days. Mostly they revolve around interior design.” He waggled his fingers mysteriously around the word, like he was talking about voodoo, before continuing. “She complains about how much I work but does not complain about spending the money, which is about right…”

Nick managed to contain a little eye roll as Dad and David smiled at whatever misogynistic inside joke they’d just shared. “The kitchen does look good, I must admit. Shame she refuses to cook in it.”

“I’ve just bought my own place,” David offered up, “In Languedoc-Roussillon? It’s an old mansion that was renovated and split into three separate flats about five years ago. The top one just came back onto the market and I've just sorted out the new mortgage.  Ah, the view, man; it’s insane. Should complete sometime in the autumn.” 

Nick managed to nod midchew whilst emitting the kind of noise which made him sound much more impressed than he felt. 

“Are you still renting that town house in Canterbury with… with…” David’s fingers started rotating, clicking, like it was helping his brain to turn over. “God. What’s the name of that fella you’re shacked up with, again?”

Nick could sense his Dad across the table, stilling as he reached for another piquillo pepper with his eyes fixated on the table cloth. 

“Uh, if by shacked up, you mean living with, and by that fella you mean Sam, my boyfriend of over two years, then no.” Nick sighed, quickly having the strong urge to go looking for another stiff drink. “We split up in February, I moved out shortly after and I’m pretty sure you already knew all of that…”

“Did I?” David did seem genuinely surprised, eyebrows raising in baffled tandem.

“Uh, yeah?” Nick shrugged, spearing some fried aubergine and hoping that he was coming off more blasé about it than he felt. “You video-called Mum on Mother’s Day. I was ‘round to take her out for lunch and we chatted briefly, you asked me how I was and… yeah. I told you then.”

“Oh. Well,” It was almost amusing watching David flounder around desperately for something to say that didn’t make him look like a self-absorbed arsehole, “I had rather a lot going on in March, so…” 

Nick nodded as he chewed, eyes strained wide and mouth pursed under the pressure of unspoken thoughts. Of course you fucking did.

“Ah but this is good news, oui?” Stephane interjected. At least this was his first time hearing this story. “Now that bit of nonsense is over with, you can start looking for a nice girl and start growing up a bit? Ay?”

Nick realised everyone could probably see the contents of his mouth and quickly swallowed. “Uh, Dad? Firstly, I don’t think you quite get how bisexuality works? It’s not really something you grow out of. And secondly…” Nick paused, mid flow. 

Can I do this? Have this conversation now? 

Might as fucking well.  It wasn’t as if he wasn’t already aware that he was a languishing disappointment. 

“... and secondly, well, I think I've realised something… as much as I–”

“Excusez-moi?” Nick found himself almost immediately drowned out but it seemed Stephane wasn’t talking to him. “I would very much like you to bring me another bottle of red? But not this one again. Personally, I don’t rate Spanish wines. Do you have any Châteauneuf-du-Pape? Or, possibly a Bordeaux? David? Nick? Another drink, seen as this lovely young lady is passing by?” 

Stephane had clearly hijacked Tori by the wrist on her way past and it seemed, by the look of it, that he was lucky not to have received a soup spoon to the eye for the gall of putting his hands upon her person. 

“I'll have another vodka on the rocks please, angel.” David gave his best debonair smile whilst giving her the lecherous once over. She, meanwhile, gave him her best withering deadpan, like he was a dead mouse she had found floating upside down in the gazpacho.

“And you?” 

She gave Nick a pointed look he could interpret plainly. Do these fucking morons belong to you, then? And Nick answered this with an embarrassed grimace. Yes, unfortunately, and I am so fucking sorry.

“Another apple-whisky sour please, Tori. No hurry. And thanks.”

“Tori,” David repeated, and he turned on his seat 180 degrees so he could continue watching her ass as she stalked purposefully off. “She's fit as fuck… in a cold bitch kind of way. I dig it. You seem to know her? Maybe we can tag team later…”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Nick baulked at the thought. Privately, he thought David was more likely to be lured back to her room to get ritually castrated.

“What about the nightlife here, then?” David continued, like a dog with the sniff of a bone. “We should go out-out in a bit, check out the scene in Mojacar… looks like it could get messy!” By the disgusting eyebrow waggle, Nick presumed he was talking about all the girl goop he could slip his dick into.

“Uh. No.” Realising how abruptly that sounded, he attempted to smooth it out. “Not tonight, anyway. I'm shattered after sightseeing in the scorch all day.” Nick felt annoyed that this was his first attempt at laying this incredibly important cue card. “I’ll be having an earlyish one, for sure.”

“Tomorrow then.” David conceded easily enough. “I'm having a bit of a dry spell that needs quenching since that situationship with Aurélie fell through and, forgive me, Dad, but you are not the best wing man.”

Stephane Oiiiii'ed along in a jolly-but-partially offended way. “Your old man still has the moves! Les femmes l'adorent toujour! I just set my sights on a higher class of woman.”

Despite feeling distinctly nauseous, not to mention highly uncomfortable, with the casual ease Stephane spoke about cheating on Martine, Nick decided it was time to get his mains. Just as he was hovering over the vegetable paella, he felt a presence lurking behind him and, when he turned, he found himself practically chin to nose with her. “Jesus, Tori.”

“I've told my dad that I will not be serving your table again tonight, by the way,” she stated, a perfect eyebrow arching. “It's for the best. He probably wouldn't sack me even if I did publicly maim anyone, so there's nothing really in it for me except personal gratification.” 

“Yeah, I'm sorry,” Nick whisper-nodded, as he turned back to spoon a load of saffron rice onto his plate. “I do, absolutely, descend from a long line of French, sexist douchebags. My mum managed to cancel all that shit out with me somehow, thank Christ. Listen, he will hit on you again. He thinks he's God's gift so… be ready.”

“I own a flick knife. He should be ready.” And, with a look of deepest derision, she swooped off, fully embodying the masochistic spirit of Jessica Jones. 

Nick started to head back but had to, almost immediately, stop in his tracks, very nearly slopping paella all over his trainers at the unexpected sight of Charlie standing to the right of his father, show-casing two different bottles of wine. 

Fuck. He looks so good. 

Sure, he could only see the back of his curly head from this angle but the slim fit of that white shirt against his tanned skin and his delectable arse in those tailored trousers – the same arse Nick had buried himself up to the hilt in earlier – made him instantly dizzy.

Gaining tight control over his breathing, he made his way over, carefully sitting himself back down whilst trying hard not to stare, just in time to catch the end of the conversation. 

“... Merlot seems like the best choice overall, I suppose.” His dad stood up looking vaguely disappointed with life before drifting off, presumably towards the buffet, whilst Charlie uncorked the bottle effortlessly, pouring out a large glass.

“So,” David started, a flash of amusement in the hitching of his lips as he reached for his new tumbler, “Is this not the same young man going out of his way, on his day off, to show you around Almeria today?!” Charlie raised his gaze up to meet Nick’s eyes briefly before starting to carefully stack the appetiser plates, his mouth pressed together in an apprehensive smile. “Not going to say hello, little brother? Seems a bit rude…”

Nick internally kicked himself at being so weird. David had a good point, and now it all looked suspicious as fuck. Recovering, he let his smile relinquish his face whilst simultaneously reigning it back ten notches as best he fucking could. “Buenas noches, Charlie. ¿Cómo estás?”

A shadow of a dimpled smirk was instantly hidden by the professional incline of his head. “Bien, gracias. I hope you enjoyed seeing all the sights today?” His twinkling eyes were so piercing, Nick felt like they might have just pinned him to the wall and then, of course, all the sights of their morning filled his mind like an influx of porny bubbles, popping everywhere behind his eyeballs.

“I really did, thank you. I'm not sure I could pick a favourite to be honest."

“That surprises me.” How Charlie contained his face was masterful. “Hasta luego. Espero.”

He glided smoothly off without a backward glance and, miraculously, David managed a whole three painful seconds before losing himself in a loud, full-bodied guffaw. “CHRIST ALIVE! You are fucking the help around here! Jesus wept!”

Nick didn't hold back in kicking him in the shins beneath the table like he was twelve again, stomach lurching. “Shut the fuck up, David. I am not!”

“Well, you either are, or you want to. One or the other! I can read between allllll the rainbow lines and I know where I'd lay my fucking chips!!”

“Okay? I think he's cute. So what?” Nick said, shrugging in an attempt at nonchalance, hoping he'd believe the latter of the two. “I do have eyes.”

“And so does Dad,” David snorted, contemptuously. “Better start working on subduing that homo-heart gaze around him if I were you. You are so fucking obvious…”

Nick gave another kick under the table to punctuate his point. “And he's coming back, so shush your goddamn mush...”

He felt a bit nauseous now and wondered how obvious it might be if he feigned sudden illness to get the fuck out of here – struck by a sudden bout of gastroenteritis – and how plausible he might look whilst feigning the urge to vomit…

God, no. Imagine the food quality complaints. 

Nope. Unfortunately, Nick was just going to have to suck this one up for a few more hours.

Chapter Text

Luckily, for the rest of the evening, Julio was the member of staff most at hand, whereas Charlie was seemingly responsible for looking after the opposite end of the restaurant. 

Even so, Nick imagined that even from all the way over there, his dad could clearly be heard; the more glasses of wine he knocked back, the louder he became, seemingly enjoying the sound of his own timbre as it tenor’ed its way around the restaurant. He had boasted during dessert – describing the exceptional pomme tarte tatin he’d had during a recent trip to Paris where, apparently, the pastry chefs were some of ‘the best in the world’ and, after, gave a lengthy analysis about almost everything like he was some Masterchef critic; the lack of decent choice in wine, how Spanish food is incredibly oily in general and how they don’t know how to make decent bread. 

He was so annoying, that Nick had to bite hard onto his tongue to stop himself suggesting that he should jump on the next flight back to France but, somehow, Julio - who was clearing up around them nearby - managed to completely tune it all out. Nick, quite quickly, decided that Charlie’s dad must have been bequeathed with the patience of some Spanish patron saint at birth.

As the time ticked away, and more and more guests slowly filtered out in groups – off to the bar, down into Mojacar strip, or to their rooms for the evening – they were now one of the few tables left. Nick, casting his eyes around the room, then realised that he hadn’t noticed the point where Charlie had finished the last of his sweeping before he, too, had slipped out. 

How long ago had that been? Did he have more jobs to do until midnight? Or, was this him done? Finished and waiting for Nick to come and find him? Hard to know.

Finally, at about five to midnight, Nick put on a bit of The Yawning Show and made his final excuses, feeling anything but tired. In fact, he practically cascaded down the veranda steps with all the vigour of a fresh mountain stream and off into the moistness of the starlit night, trying hard to stop his impatient feet from sprinting.

The orchard, once he’d got there, was almost eerie. Away from the bustle of the hotel bar and restaurant, the cicadas were the most noticeable sound, their inescapable song’s only competition was with the ever rhythmic rush of the sea. Nick could see the indigo swell of it through the endless, sloping treeline on his left, highlighted with rippling silver as it undulated under the pull of the moon in a hypnotic lull.

Once he did manage to draw his eyes away from the incredible view, he found it hard to distinguish fruit-shapes with any reasonable certainty but continued on, ducking beneath low hanging branches of fruit in the dark, the crunch of debris underfoot making him feel like a trespassing scrumper with every rustling step.  Abuelo had mentioned the familial apartments, so he tried not to stray too far from the white building to his immediate right – leaning on his heavy assumptions that this was it – but keeping far enough off the path to not come across anyone that might be heading to bed after a long shift. The idea of bumping into Charlie's mum on this side of the hotel, quite frankly, scared the living shit out of him.

Just as he was carefully considering the pros and cons of whisper-shouting Charlie's name through the endless gaps between the trunks, a hand grabbed him by the wrist and he felt himself practically leap out of his skin. Letting out a startled yelp as he was pulled in against the nearest tree, Nick was relieved to find that Charlie's lithe body made an excellent buffer and he swiftly found himself nose deep in sweet-smelling curls, hands grasping at him, preventing him from falling arse over tit upon the root riddled ground.

“Charlie!” he hissed like a disgruntled goose. “Jesus, you scared me!” Eyes adjusting in the midnight gloom, he zoned into the close up of Charlie's left hand side, all angled features at pleasing odds with his full, plump-looking mouth. “I thought this was going to be a romantic, moonlit rendezvous rather than the creepy build-up of being inadvertently murdered…”

“Sorry!” Charlie giggled, hot swathing breaths hitting him along the side of his face. “I wasn't trying to scare you, cariño, just being careful.”

Heart rate levelling out, he found himself swiftly back to overwhelmed; Charlie was so close again, and it felt like his every atom was vibrating from that fact. “God, was it really only this morning that we had one other?!” After staring into the reflection of his eyes, Nick reached up to run his fingers through Charlie's hair, exposing the side of his neck from the weight of his hand. Nick didn’t hesitate, diving in to kiss up and along his throat and enjoying the barely-there moans as he was grabbed roughly by the front of his shirt and dragged in closer still. 

“Seeing you at dinner was the purest form of torture.” Charlie gasped, shutting his eyes as Nick kissed and licked and nuzzled up to the back of his ear, his body quivering beneath every gentle drag of teeth whilst Nick’s shorts quickly filled out. “Not knowing if you'd be able to make it here tonight…”

Nick paused his feasting and pulled back, locking his eyes in to emphasise his point. “Um, you do know that nothing could’ve stopped me, right?”

There was an elongated moment, framed within pounding heartbeats, before Nick slowly and carefully descended towards Charlie's mouth. He found his lips partly open, waiting and willing, so slick and soft that he thought he might, one day, unpack and live there. This kiss was no feast. There was no more devouring. It was an amuse bouche, a tasting menu, a chance to become intrinsically aware of every diminutive lick in five full dimensions.

Lips barely touching now, they reopened their eyes to hover in one another’s breathlessness. “Wow,” Nick whispered, still only a fraction away. “How does this just keep getting better? I swear, it feels like you're melting my brain and turning me into a functionless mess…”

Charlie cocked his head, a crooked smile illuminated under the moonlight. “Well, that was kinda my plan.”

“And,” Nick tilted his head back to look all around them, at the branches and bowers and dark, spherical shapes overhead, “was part of the plan to have another alfresco experience, tonight?” 

A hand palmed his groin – smoothing over the outline of his increasingly large cock that was straining against the zip – and he couldn't help but release a gruff groan against Charlie’s cheek. “That depends on what you want, mi vainita de vainilla, I could blow you?” The tooth that was biting down on his lower lip was utterly mesmerising. “Suck and lick and swallow, until you’re spurting down my throat?” Charlie squeezed his cock harder through the cotton twill and Nick vaguely wondered how his knees were still holding him up. “As much as I want to feel you inside me again, I haven’t yet tasted you on my tongue.”

“Fuck.” It was the only working word left in his depleted repertoire as Charlie, with the trunk of the tree keeping him balanced, slid south – knees spread in something resembling a squat – and began undoing the top button of his shorts. Eyes wicked, smirk widening, Nick could only succumb as he watched his dick spring out into the clammy night air, relinquish as Charlie rubbed his cheek down along his shaft before placing barely-there kisses at the root of his base. 

With one of Nick’s arms propping outwards against the tree, the bark rough beneath his splayed palm, the other contrasted itself within the confines of Charlie’s soft curls, fingertips grazing across scalp, as warm wetness began to wrap itself around him. Nick didn’t want to close his eyes but, as the sensations grew and grew, it seemed the only way to keep the burgeoning sounds tightly suppressed. The only way to stop the echoes of his moans from flying on high as Charlie attempted to swallow him down. Toes tingling, the neurons started to fire up on all cylinders until a gagging gargle brought him back and Nick found wide, blue eyes watering below. 

“Oh fuck, Char, it's okay, you don't have to…” he whispered, pulling himself partway from Charlie’s slippery mouth. “Here,” Taking a hand from off his thigh, Nick dragged it up, wrapping it round his length and guiding Charlie’s fist for the first few beats. “Fuck yes, that feels… Jesus.” He mumbled out more encouragement as Charlie took back over, increasing the suction over what his mouth could realistically reach whilst keeping all the explicit eye contact going. Fingers bit into Nick’s hairy leg as he felt the flickering tension build behind his pubic bone, and he brushed his thumb up firmly along the sharpness of Charlie's jawline, losing himself – slowly but surely – within the wet heat of his mouth and the rhythm of his sliding fist.

“God, you're so beautiful and… and I'm close already, fuck…” 

Nick, addled as he was from the pleasure pouring in from all sides, was struck with sudden velleity – picturing exactly how he wanted this all to end – and it spurred everything along so much that he had to hold himself back from plunging fully into the depths of Charlie's spit-slathered mouth.

“Shit, I'm gonna…” he moaned, as he watched his dick disappear over and over again in the depths of pretty pinkness. “I'm gonna cum, Char. Don't swallo–” Calves cramping up, hips propelling forward, he full-body-shuddered, turning his orgasm noises into mumbled semi-coherent begging as he emptied himself out. “Fuckdon'tswallowdon'tswallowChar, fuck, pleasedon'tswallow…”

Nick was surprised how many aftershocks came, riding each one out with a fresh spurt as Charlie's mouth held him, suspending him there within slowly diminishing bliss. “Wow, fuck wow… wow.” Stroking Charlie's face with his free hand, he soaked up the sight of him still chock full of cock, a small amount of opacity leaking from the edges of his lips. “That was incredible. So, so good. Did you swallow?”

As best he could, Charlie shook his head and Nick caught a fresh escaping dribble with his index finger. “Good boy, good boy. I'm gonna pull out now. You keep as much of it in as you can for now, okay?” Slowly, he tipped Charlie's back by the curls until his head gently hit the tree trunk, watching as his glistening dick slid out of the cum-spit cocktail they'd made together before it was finally clamped away. “Fuck me, what a sight.”

After quickly dragging up his own shorts, Nick caressed Charlie's cheek and pulled him back onto his feet, roughly palming his neglected hard-on. “Your turn.” He kissed his forehead, his temple, his cheekbones whilst continuing to tease him through his work trousers, quite enjoying the fact that – with his instruction not to swallow, nor spill his seed – Charlie was unable to voice any complaints. As Nick unbuckled Charlie's belt, unpeeling him slowly of his layers, he savoured each glimpse of skin – hipbones, tanned abdomen, glorious leaking prick – until Charlie's trousers were hailing somewhere near his knees and it was his turn to be exposed to the night sky. 

“God. Fucking gorgeous…” Running a hand up Charlie's twitching body, ghost-palming the reddened crown of his dick, he eventually cupped it right beneath the indecently full mouth. “Spit,” he whispered. “It's your turn to feel good now…” 

Blue eyes wide, Charlie did as he was told, spitting all the salty contents of his mouth into Nick’s upturned hand, finally able to give an overwhelmed smile at the fact he'd worked out exactly what was to come. 

“Good boy.” The firm wetness of Nick’s fist working him over clearly pushed Charlie straight into the deep-end, and Nick grinned as he watched his pre-wrecked mouth instantly cry out at the relief of finally being serviced. Nick nuzzled in, kissing and licking at the cummy edges of his mouth as he messily pulled Charlie off, enjoying the thrill of using himself as lube to heighten his handjob. “I can taste myself on you, darling…”

Charlie made a stalwart effort to kiss him back, struggling through the wracking gasps, back arching against the bark as he thrusted himself into Nick's slickened, tight clench, over and over. “Do you like that? The feel of my cum all over your cock?”

“Fuck, Nick I…” Charlie's hips were moving frantically now, bucking upwards. “I need your mouth on me… shit… before I…” Nick dropped down, enveloping the whole of Charlie's salty dick down his throat with relative ease. He grinned around the thickness of Charlie's base when he was suddenly grasped by the back of the head – fully enjoying being mouthfucked and the sound of the staccato chokehold – until, with a buried grunt, Nick was finally drowning. 

He swallowed and sucked Charlie through every wave, eking out every pulse of pleasure, until he became overly sensitive – squirming fruitlessly against Nick's tongue – before collapsing back into the tree trunk in a boneless, weary mess. “¡la puta… dios mío… qué carajos!” Straightening up, Nick came in close again, hand holding his clammy throat, kissing his eyelids, his forehead, his nose as he slowly recovered. “What the… Nick? What the actual fuck was that?”

“Are you… okay?” Nick froze, suddenly worried – maybe it was all too fast? Did he read it wrong? Had he not checked in enough? – but only until Charlie grabbed him by the face and kissed him hard with surprising vigour for someone who was in the midst of regrowing their bones.

“I'm okay,” Charlie sighed. “So, so okay. In fact, I am, quite possibly, the okayest I have ever been, cielo. Fuck wow. I don't think I've ever cum that hard, or fast…”

Nick grinned, pride floating up and expanding inside his chest. “I'm glad. You had me worried that I'd pushed too far…”

“No, no.” His curls shook with his head. “Not at all. I loved it. And, now I can taste us both and it's… well, it's deliciously filthy; my brain might've exploded…”

“Well, that was kinda my plan…” Nick smirked. Chewing down on his lower lip, he soaked up the sight of his lover's post-orgasm face – the breathless bliss, the lack of energy to do more than weakly smile up at him – wanting to hold onto this sight forever. “So, still think I'm vanilla?”

Charlie groaned, seemingly embarrassed at the fact Nick had worked out his teasing Spanish earlier and had been inadvertently punished for it in the best way. “No. Not at all… fuck, I’m going to have to start watching what I say around you, aren't I?”

“Weirdly, I quite like the fact that you underestimate me…” Nick kissed him again, soft and sweet, desperate to stretch out their time before Charlie had to leave. “It means that I'm only ever going to impress you…”

“Well, I want to work on impressing you…” Charlie smirked, eyes suggestively streaming down Nick's body and back up again. “Think we can work on my gag reflex while you're here? Maybe I'll become a dick-sucking professional by the time you fly home…”

This comment, although meant to be hornily humorous, seemed tinged with sadness at its very edges. Nick could feel it hovering – the unsaid – and he swallowed the bitter comment about which lucky, mystery guy would benefit from all this practice and, instead, kept it light. “You're already way better than you think, especially if that was your first time…”

Charlie shrugged his shoulders, suddenly shyly elusive. “Might have been.” 

Heart heavy, Nick dropped down to grab the tops of Charlie’s trousers, helping to buckle him up for no other reason than he just wanted to do it, that he needed it to be him. It was coming; the parting of ways. There was no real need for Charlie to keep him around now all the jizz-fireworks had been spectacularly let off for the night.

“So…” he started, bracing himself for the conversation and feeling the strain of everything he didn’t want looming over his head.

“So,” Charlie echoed softly, eyes refusing to relinquish their hold.

Suddenly they were both chuckling, tension dispersing around their heads. “Why are we being like this?” Charlie smiled, shyly. “It feels sort of crazy to be nervous after all the wild things we've shared today…”

“Um,” Nick shook his head, hoping to send the lingering doubts flying from his ears, “I guess, I'm just not quite ready to say goodnight?”

Eyes narrowing, Charlie raised a hand to Nick’s head, sweeping across and into his hairline with a heavy sigh. “You know, a good pretend, secret boyfriend would at least offer to walk me home? Make sure I get there safely?”

“Yeah,” Nick smiled, finding Charlie's free hand within his, “And I do pride myself on being a really, really good pretend, secret boyfriend so I was, in fact, just about to suggest this…”

“Oh, were you?! Well, this is good news.” Nick watched Charlie’s incredulous grin sprint up his face. “I mean, I do have to be up early, mi vida, obviously but, uh…” His voice was just wavering on high pitched and Nick wondered if he was now holding onto his breath. “Maybe, you might want to pretend all night?”

Nick dropped his forehead down to come to rest on Charlie's, all major muscles relaxing at the mere thought, as he huffed out the full contents of his lungs. This was the best solution he didn't even dare to fucking hope for. “I'll keep pretending to be your boyfriend for as long as you want, Charlie, if you promise to keep pretending to be mine…”

Smiles taking fully over their faces, Charlie pulled him out from behind the tree by the hand, squeezing his fingers, to lead the way as they stepped over leaf litter, twigs and roots, trying best not to turn an ankle in the dark. “Is that so...”