Trials, Temptation and Triumph - Ch 11.2 (Charlie/Shark, NC-17)
In which Charlie gets a chance to record some of his songs.
For introduction and warnings go here
Author's Note: I'm indebted to "Cap'n Pucky" for technical help on this and the next two chapters.
11.2 - Carpe Diem
Wednesday 8th April 2004, 10 am
Charlie was just settling down to a cup of coffee and a novel when the phone rang. He stifled a curse and leaned over to grab the handset.
"Hello, Charlie speaking."
"Hey, Charlie, it's Pat, how are you?"
"Oh, hi Pat. I'm not bad. Yourself? And how's Melissa?"
"We're fine. She's getting enormous though, I think we'll be glad when it's all over."
"Er ... I hate to tell you this, but there'll be another eighteen or more years before it's 'all over'."
Pat chuckled. "Yeah, I guess. But at least she'll be able to sit comfortably again."
"That would be good. So what's new? Are you coming up any time soon?"
"Yes, this weekend - we're spending Easter with my parents. It's probably the last time we'll be able to travel without a mountain of baby stuff, and Mum is really keen to see Melissa again."
"Will you have time for a beer?"
"Of course, can't go all that way and not have a drink with my oldest friend."
"That's great." Charlie felt very happy - it was ages since he'd seen Pat, and although he had apologised for his behaviour the previous year, he still wanted to see him in person, to make sure that he was truly forgiven.
"Actually, the reason I'm ringing is that I was talking to Ben Jackson this morning."
"I don't know him."
"You do, you met him at a few of the gigs. Tall guy, red hair, freckles, glasses ..."
Charlie thought hard and came up with a vague picture of someone who might fit the description. "Yeah, maybe. So what's up?"
"Well, he works at Blueprint Studios - it's a new place in Salford, opened last year. He told me that one of their bookings just fell through and they're looking for someone who wants a couple of days of studio time."
"And?"
"And I thought of you."
"What? Why?"
"You said you wanted to record something later this year - I just thought it would be a good opportunity for you."
"But I don't have enough material."
"You told me you had four songs. Add one more and you have enough for a decent EP."
"They aren't ready to record."
"Bullshit. You said you were starting to look at gigs - if they're ready to perform, they're ready to record."
He thought about that. It was true he was starting to think about performing again, but at some indeterminate date in the future, not right now. "I don't know."
"Look, mate, think it over, give me a ring back this afternoon."
"When is the opening?"
"Next week - Tuesday and Wednesday."
"Shit!"
"Gives you a few days to work on everything."
"There's no way I can be ready in time. And even if I could, I can't afford to pay for it."
"So ask that boyfriend of yours. Tell him it's an investment."
"Yeah, right." Charlie could just imagine how that would go down with Rory.
"He'll do it for you."
Charlie thought about it some more. Rory might agree to pay for it ... but then again, Rory rather liked having him at home. He might not be keen on Charlie taking up music as a career in earnest, and he'd probably view two days in a recording studio as an expensive indulgence.
Pat broke into the silence. "Look, it's a good opportunity, mate. If you don't use it, you might not get into a studio before the end of the year, and it'll be a hell of a lot more expensive then."
"I know, and I'm grateful for you telling me ... it's just a bit sudden."
"Well, that's how we got our break to start with, remember - you just have to seize the moment when it arrives."
Seize the moment. Carpe diem, as his schoolmasters would have put it.
"I'll think about it."
"Well think about it quickly. I can't promise you it'll still be available tomorrow, they might find another taker."
"OK, OK, I'll talk to Rory and ring you back."
"Great. Good luck."
"Thanks."
Pat rang off and Charlie sat for a while, just looking at the phone in his hand, thinking about the prospect of recording.
He'd started writing again more as therapy than anything else: letting his emotions spill out in words and music; purging the pain and the tears and the heartache from his soul. He'd thought about performing of course, but it had always been in some nebulous, ill-defined future, when he was further along with his therapy. Now that he was faced with a real opportunity, did he want to take it? Did he really want to take the plunge back into the music industry, knowing all the risks that went with it? Playing songs for Rory was one thing, but playing songs for the public to hear - and buy - was very different.
He set the phone back in its cradle, still thinking. Eventually, he decided to give Rory a ring at lunchtime and talk it over with him. He wasn't sure how much it would cost, but two days couldn't be that much, and it wasn't as if they were hiring Abbey Road or Air Studios. Charlie gave a wry smile at the thought that he might one day record in the same studios used by the Beatles. It would be something to aim for, when he was a bit more successful ... if he was successful. If he ever got started.
Well, one way to deal with it was to get back to work on that tune that had been bugging him for a couple of days. He picked up the guitar from the chair where he'd left it the day before, and very shortly was surrounded by music paper and scribbled notes. If he could talk Pat into bringing up his keyboard, he thought, he might be able to add some more complex harmonies to two of the songs - and that would be much better than solo guitar all the way through. He wouldn't have much time to practise, but even simple chords would add a depth that the guitar couldn't match.
With a sigh he looked up and realised that it was nearly one o'clock. It was time to ring Rory, and see how he reacted to the news.
Rory sounded quite cheerful as he answered the phone, and Charlie felt encouraged as he started to pour out his tale.
"... but Pat says I have to give them an answer by this afternoon, since they're looking elsewhere as well."
"Do you want to do this?" asked Rory.
"I ... I don't know."
"If you don't know, why are you ringing me?"
"Because ... because I wanted to talk it over with you."
"So we're talking. But I can't make the decision for you. I'm not the musician."
"Maybe I should talk to Mum."
"She can't make the decision either."
"But what do I do then?"
Rory sighed heavily. "The therapist said you have to start making decisions. This is a decision."
"But what if I decide wrong?"
"Charlie, think about it. Is it really such a big deal? It's two days in a studio. It's not a public performance in front of millions of people. You go in there, you record, you listen to what you've done, and then you can decide what to do with the recordings. Is that so frightening?"
When Rory put it that way, no it wasn't, and Charlie felt a huge sense of relief. "No, it's not frightening."
"So all you have to decide, really, is if you want to hear what you sound like. No one else has to listen to it, just you. Do you?"
"Yes," Charlie answered, more confident in that answer than he had been for a long time. "Yes, I do."
"Right. Ring Pat back then and tell him you'll take it."
"I don't know how much it's going to cost."
"How much do you think it will be?"
Charlie considered that. "Two days, one engineer, self-producing ... six hundred pounds? Maybe less. Shouldn't be more."
"I can afford that."
Charlie heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I do love you, you know."
"Eejit."
Charlie could hear the fondness in Rory's voice and smiled to himself. "Yeah, I'm an idiot. But I love you anyway."
"So make sure you cook me something nice for tea then."
"I'll do that."
Rory rang off and Charlie sat and smiled at the phone for a while, just remembering the tone in Rory's voice. He might not say the words out loud very often, but Charlie knew that Rory loved him and would look after him.
Pat picked up on the second ring, and Charlie told him the good news.
Pat was delighted. "Excellent, man, I was hoping you would say yes."
"Don't be too happy - I need your keyboard. You still have it, don't you?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I want to do a couple of songs with keyboard accompaniment. Solo guitar is boring for a whole CD."
"OK, sounds fair. I have two, actually, a Roland and a Yamaha, which one do you want?"
"The Roland's the better piano sound, isn't it?"
"Yeah, the other one has some good effects though. And it's a fair bit lighter."
"I don't suppose you could bring them both?"
"You don't ask much, do you?"
"You're the one who wants me to record."
Pat gave a long-suffering sigh. "Yeah, all right, but you owe me a crate of beer. And if Melissa arcs up about it, you take the heat, all right?"
"Yeah, well, I have a feeling I'm going to be taking heat from her anyway."
"She'll be fine, just let her get it off her chest and grovel a bit and then she'll forgive you."
"I hope you're right."
"Trust me, I'm married to her."
* * *
Friday 10th April (Good Friday)
In spite of the fact that Rory had considerately turned off the alarm, Charlie woke early and couldn't get back to sleep. Pat had said they would call in around eleven on their way to Blackburn, to drop off the keyboards, and Charlie was getting more and more anxious about it all. What if Pat thought the songs were shit? What if he decided not to lend him the keyboards after all? What if he got to the studio and they laughed at his piss-poor efforts to write?
At half-past six he decided that sleep was no longer an option and went downstairs to make coffee. While the kettle was boiling, he took the methadone dose that they had brought home yesterday and rinsed the container. He was going to be so very glad when he was finally over all this, but his doctor had cautioned him that he would need at least a year on methadone, maybe two, before she would contemplate the weaning process. That suited Charlie anyway: the thought of weaning off scared him witless. At least she was still happy to adjust the dose for him when he needed it - he didn't have to be afraid of breakthrough withdrawal this year. Although, to be truthful, there hadn't been much change in the last month. Maybe he was stabilising at last.
The kettle came to the boil and he made himself a mug of coffee, adding milk and a single spoon of sugar. He went into the living room and tidied up the papers and books that were lying around, running the sleeve of his dressing gown over the thin layer of dust on the shelves. His music was already stacked in a neat pile on the coffee table, and the guitar was in its customary place on one of the armchairs. Everything was ready for Pat's arrival.
He sat on the edge of one of the chairs, his left knee jiggling up and down as it always did when he was nervous. Neither the coffee nor the methadone could help him with his anxiety, and he wished that he had had the strength to turn down Pat's offer. It didn't really matter if he put off recording until later in the year, or even the following year. He was stupid and greedy and it was all going to end badly.
Rory roused him from his dismal thoughts by shuffling down the stairs, yawning and stretching.
"Morning, love," Charlie greeted him with a smile. "The kettle's hot, I'll make you a coffee."
Rory nodded, and followed him into the kitchen. "How did you sleep?" he asked.
Charlie shrugged. "Not bad. Woke early - I'm a bit anxious."
Rory put his arms around him. "You'll be fine."
"Pat's going to think the songs are rubbish."
"No he won't. And you said yourself he was good at arranging songs, so he'll probably give you a hand."
"I hope so. I'm getting so fucking nervous about this."
Rory nuzzled at his neck. "I have just the cure for that."
"What's that?"
"A good hard shag."
Charlie grinned. "You might be right."
"I'm always right."
"Nearly always."
Rory grinned and took a firm hold of Charlie's backside. "Are you going to argue with me this morning?"
"Would it do me any good?"
"None whatsoever."
"Hmm, might have to settle for agreeing with you then."
"Good idea."
The kettle came to the boil and Charlie eased himself out of Rory's arms just long enough to make two fresh mugs.
They made their way back upstairs, exchanging coffee-flavoured kisses every few steps. Once back in the bedroom, mugs were set down and dressing gowns removed, and they settled onto the bed, kissing and fondling each other.
"How do you want it?" asked Rory.
"Don’t mind, what do you want?"
"I want you to tell me what you want."
"I don't care."
Rory rolled him over and pinned him to the mattress. "Charlie, I know you're nervous, but this is an easy one. There's no wrong decision here, you just have to pick whatever position you'd like us to use. Top or bottom, I don't care."
"I want it like this."
"Like this?"
"You on top of me, holding me. It feels ... safe."
"Safe."
Charlie blushed. "Yeah, I know it sounds cracked, but I like it when your arms are around me. Maximum skin contact."
Rory ran a hand over Charlie's side. "Like this?"
"Mmm."
"Sounds like you enjoy that."
"I do."
Rory reached for Charlie's cock and gave it a long, slow stroke. "You like this too?"
Charlie arched his hip up. "Yeah, you know I do."
Rory moved down his body, kissing him and stroking him, making him shiver and sigh. He parted his legs at Rory's command and allowed his lover to lick and suck on his balls and cock. Rory's mouth was on his most intimate parts, his cheeks scraping against the tender skin of Charlie's thighs and buttocks.
"I'm going to have stubble rash if you keep doing that," he murmured.
"Maybe I should keep on doing this for a bit longer then, so your bum is all red and tingly, and then I'll make you wear your tightest jeans, so you'll feel me all day."
"Fuck, yeah," breathed Charlie. Frankly that sounded great, and his cock agreed with him.
"You're a tart, Charlie Pace," said Rory, sitting up.
"Only for you."
"Only for me, eh?"
"Only you. No one else, not ever. Not any more."
Rory eyes shone, and Charlie felt happy that he'd said the right thing. It wasn't even a lie - he'd slept around with enough men (and a few women) during the previous year that he had come to appreciate the value of having one lover who cared for him, who wanted to give as well as take, and who would look after him even better than he could look after himself. And if that lover just happened to come in the form of an incredibly good-looking, forceful, sexy Scotsman with a voice that could melt stone, well, he wasn't going to complain.
Rory resumed his actions, giving long slow licks to Charlie's balls and perineum, making sure that his cheeks were rubbing up against the skin. Charlie spread his legs as wide as he could, wanting to feel Rory's mouth everywhere. He could never get enough of this, he would happily spend the next few years right here in this bed with Rory's mouth on his cock, sucking and licking and making him moan with pleasure. Even the sound of it was making him hotter.
He looked down his body, at the sight of Rory with his lips stretched taut over Charlie's cock, taking him in as deeply as he could and sucking so hard it was almost painful. One hand was around the shaft, pumping in time with the movements of his mouth, bringing Charlie closer and closer to his climax. It rushed through him so suddenly that it took him by surprise - he arched up and cried out as he came into Rory's mouth.
"Want you inside me," he murmured as soon as he was able.
"I know you do," Rory smiled at him and reached for the lubricant. He spent the next few minutes stretching Charlie, spreading the lube liberally, before coating his cock and lining himself up.
Charlie sighed as Rory eased himself slowly into his body. It really did feel different, doing it bareback, and he promised himself that he was never going to do anything that might force them back into using condoms. He wanted to be able to feel every tiny movement, every vein and wrinkle, and above all he wanted to be able to feel Rory coming inside him.
Rory wasn't in any hurry this morning. He moved slowly, allowing Charlie to savour every moment, giving his cock a few leisurely strokes as he hardened once more, bending him up so that his cock was brushing over Charlie's prostate.
"Feels good," whispered Charlie.
"Aye," Rory smiled at him. "You always feel good to me."
It was a long, slow, sensuous shag, and Charlie was drifting in a haze of pleasure and lust for what seemed like an age before Rory finally speeded up his thrusts. He looked at Rory's face, contorted with effort and red with exertion, and thought that he had never seen anything lovelier in his life. Then he felt his second orgasm starting, and pumped his cock vigorously until he spurted over his belly. Rory followed a few seconds later, and then they collapsed into a heap on the bedclothes.
It was at least a minute before Charlie had breath enough to whisper, "You were right, you know."
"Hmm?" Rory sounded like he was barely awake. Well, after all that effort, Charlie couldn't blame him for wanting a nap, he was exhausted himself.
"I'm too shagged to feel nervous now."
"Good."
Charlie smiled, and nuzzled his head into Rory's shoulder as he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 11.3
This entry was originally posted at http://alassenya.dreamwidth.org/85947.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
For introduction and warnings go here
Author's Note: I'm indebted to "Cap'n Pucky" for technical help on this and the next two chapters.
11.2 - Carpe Diem
Wednesday 8th April 2004, 10 am
Charlie was just settling down to a cup of coffee and a novel when the phone rang. He stifled a curse and leaned over to grab the handset.
"Hello, Charlie speaking."
"Hey, Charlie, it's Pat, how are you?"
"Oh, hi Pat. I'm not bad. Yourself? And how's Melissa?"
"We're fine. She's getting enormous though, I think we'll be glad when it's all over."
"Er ... I hate to tell you this, but there'll be another eighteen or more years before it's 'all over'."
Pat chuckled. "Yeah, I guess. But at least she'll be able to sit comfortably again."
"That would be good. So what's new? Are you coming up any time soon?"
"Yes, this weekend - we're spending Easter with my parents. It's probably the last time we'll be able to travel without a mountain of baby stuff, and Mum is really keen to see Melissa again."
"Will you have time for a beer?"
"Of course, can't go all that way and not have a drink with my oldest friend."
"That's great." Charlie felt very happy - it was ages since he'd seen Pat, and although he had apologised for his behaviour the previous year, he still wanted to see him in person, to make sure that he was truly forgiven.
"Actually, the reason I'm ringing is that I was talking to Ben Jackson this morning."
"I don't know him."
"You do, you met him at a few of the gigs. Tall guy, red hair, freckles, glasses ..."
Charlie thought hard and came up with a vague picture of someone who might fit the description. "Yeah, maybe. So what's up?"
"Well, he works at Blueprint Studios - it's a new place in Salford, opened last year. He told me that one of their bookings just fell through and they're looking for someone who wants a couple of days of studio time."
"And?"
"And I thought of you."
"What? Why?"
"You said you wanted to record something later this year - I just thought it would be a good opportunity for you."
"But I don't have enough material."
"You told me you had four songs. Add one more and you have enough for a decent EP."
"They aren't ready to record."
"Bullshit. You said you were starting to look at gigs - if they're ready to perform, they're ready to record."
He thought about that. It was true he was starting to think about performing again, but at some indeterminate date in the future, not right now. "I don't know."
"Look, mate, think it over, give me a ring back this afternoon."
"When is the opening?"
"Next week - Tuesday and Wednesday."
"Shit!"
"Gives you a few days to work on everything."
"There's no way I can be ready in time. And even if I could, I can't afford to pay for it."
"So ask that boyfriend of yours. Tell him it's an investment."
"Yeah, right." Charlie could just imagine how that would go down with Rory.
"He'll do it for you."
Charlie thought about it some more. Rory might agree to pay for it ... but then again, Rory rather liked having him at home. He might not be keen on Charlie taking up music as a career in earnest, and he'd probably view two days in a recording studio as an expensive indulgence.
Pat broke into the silence. "Look, it's a good opportunity, mate. If you don't use it, you might not get into a studio before the end of the year, and it'll be a hell of a lot more expensive then."
"I know, and I'm grateful for you telling me ... it's just a bit sudden."
"Well, that's how we got our break to start with, remember - you just have to seize the moment when it arrives."
Seize the moment. Carpe diem, as his schoolmasters would have put it.
"I'll think about it."
"Well think about it quickly. I can't promise you it'll still be available tomorrow, they might find another taker."
"OK, OK, I'll talk to Rory and ring you back."
"Great. Good luck."
"Thanks."
Pat rang off and Charlie sat for a while, just looking at the phone in his hand, thinking about the prospect of recording.
He'd started writing again more as therapy than anything else: letting his emotions spill out in words and music; purging the pain and the tears and the heartache from his soul. He'd thought about performing of course, but it had always been in some nebulous, ill-defined future, when he was further along with his therapy. Now that he was faced with a real opportunity, did he want to take it? Did he really want to take the plunge back into the music industry, knowing all the risks that went with it? Playing songs for Rory was one thing, but playing songs for the public to hear - and buy - was very different.
He set the phone back in its cradle, still thinking. Eventually, he decided to give Rory a ring at lunchtime and talk it over with him. He wasn't sure how much it would cost, but two days couldn't be that much, and it wasn't as if they were hiring Abbey Road or Air Studios. Charlie gave a wry smile at the thought that he might one day record in the same studios used by the Beatles. It would be something to aim for, when he was a bit more successful ... if he was successful. If he ever got started.
Well, one way to deal with it was to get back to work on that tune that had been bugging him for a couple of days. He picked up the guitar from the chair where he'd left it the day before, and very shortly was surrounded by music paper and scribbled notes. If he could talk Pat into bringing up his keyboard, he thought, he might be able to add some more complex harmonies to two of the songs - and that would be much better than solo guitar all the way through. He wouldn't have much time to practise, but even simple chords would add a depth that the guitar couldn't match.
With a sigh he looked up and realised that it was nearly one o'clock. It was time to ring Rory, and see how he reacted to the news.
Rory sounded quite cheerful as he answered the phone, and Charlie felt encouraged as he started to pour out his tale.
"... but Pat says I have to give them an answer by this afternoon, since they're looking elsewhere as well."
"Do you want to do this?" asked Rory.
"I ... I don't know."
"If you don't know, why are you ringing me?"
"Because ... because I wanted to talk it over with you."
"So we're talking. But I can't make the decision for you. I'm not the musician."
"Maybe I should talk to Mum."
"She can't make the decision either."
"But what do I do then?"
Rory sighed heavily. "The therapist said you have to start making decisions. This is a decision."
"But what if I decide wrong?"
"Charlie, think about it. Is it really such a big deal? It's two days in a studio. It's not a public performance in front of millions of people. You go in there, you record, you listen to what you've done, and then you can decide what to do with the recordings. Is that so frightening?"
When Rory put it that way, no it wasn't, and Charlie felt a huge sense of relief. "No, it's not frightening."
"So all you have to decide, really, is if you want to hear what you sound like. No one else has to listen to it, just you. Do you?"
"Yes," Charlie answered, more confident in that answer than he had been for a long time. "Yes, I do."
"Right. Ring Pat back then and tell him you'll take it."
"I don't know how much it's going to cost."
"How much do you think it will be?"
Charlie considered that. "Two days, one engineer, self-producing ... six hundred pounds? Maybe less. Shouldn't be more."
"I can afford that."
Charlie heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I do love you, you know."
"Eejit."
Charlie could hear the fondness in Rory's voice and smiled to himself. "Yeah, I'm an idiot. But I love you anyway."
"So make sure you cook me something nice for tea then."
"I'll do that."
Rory rang off and Charlie sat and smiled at the phone for a while, just remembering the tone in Rory's voice. He might not say the words out loud very often, but Charlie knew that Rory loved him and would look after him.
Pat picked up on the second ring, and Charlie told him the good news.
Pat was delighted. "Excellent, man, I was hoping you would say yes."
"Don't be too happy - I need your keyboard. You still have it, don't you?"
"Yeah, why?"
"I want to do a couple of songs with keyboard accompaniment. Solo guitar is boring for a whole CD."
"OK, sounds fair. I have two, actually, a Roland and a Yamaha, which one do you want?"
"The Roland's the better piano sound, isn't it?"
"Yeah, the other one has some good effects though. And it's a fair bit lighter."
"I don't suppose you could bring them both?"
"You don't ask much, do you?"
"You're the one who wants me to record."
Pat gave a long-suffering sigh. "Yeah, all right, but you owe me a crate of beer. And if Melissa arcs up about it, you take the heat, all right?"
"Yeah, well, I have a feeling I'm going to be taking heat from her anyway."
"She'll be fine, just let her get it off her chest and grovel a bit and then she'll forgive you."
"I hope you're right."
"Trust me, I'm married to her."
* * *
Friday 10th April (Good Friday)
In spite of the fact that Rory had considerately turned off the alarm, Charlie woke early and couldn't get back to sleep. Pat had said they would call in around eleven on their way to Blackburn, to drop off the keyboards, and Charlie was getting more and more anxious about it all. What if Pat thought the songs were shit? What if he decided not to lend him the keyboards after all? What if he got to the studio and they laughed at his piss-poor efforts to write?
At half-past six he decided that sleep was no longer an option and went downstairs to make coffee. While the kettle was boiling, he took the methadone dose that they had brought home yesterday and rinsed the container. He was going to be so very glad when he was finally over all this, but his doctor had cautioned him that he would need at least a year on methadone, maybe two, before she would contemplate the weaning process. That suited Charlie anyway: the thought of weaning off scared him witless. At least she was still happy to adjust the dose for him when he needed it - he didn't have to be afraid of breakthrough withdrawal this year. Although, to be truthful, there hadn't been much change in the last month. Maybe he was stabilising at last.
The kettle came to the boil and he made himself a mug of coffee, adding milk and a single spoon of sugar. He went into the living room and tidied up the papers and books that were lying around, running the sleeve of his dressing gown over the thin layer of dust on the shelves. His music was already stacked in a neat pile on the coffee table, and the guitar was in its customary place on one of the armchairs. Everything was ready for Pat's arrival.
He sat on the edge of one of the chairs, his left knee jiggling up and down as it always did when he was nervous. Neither the coffee nor the methadone could help him with his anxiety, and he wished that he had had the strength to turn down Pat's offer. It didn't really matter if he put off recording until later in the year, or even the following year. He was stupid and greedy and it was all going to end badly.
Rory roused him from his dismal thoughts by shuffling down the stairs, yawning and stretching.
"Morning, love," Charlie greeted him with a smile. "The kettle's hot, I'll make you a coffee."
Rory nodded, and followed him into the kitchen. "How did you sleep?" he asked.
Charlie shrugged. "Not bad. Woke early - I'm a bit anxious."
Rory put his arms around him. "You'll be fine."
"Pat's going to think the songs are rubbish."
"No he won't. And you said yourself he was good at arranging songs, so he'll probably give you a hand."
"I hope so. I'm getting so fucking nervous about this."
Rory nuzzled at his neck. "I have just the cure for that."
"What's that?"
"A good hard shag."
Charlie grinned. "You might be right."
"I'm always right."
"Nearly always."
Rory grinned and took a firm hold of Charlie's backside. "Are you going to argue with me this morning?"
"Would it do me any good?"
"None whatsoever."
"Hmm, might have to settle for agreeing with you then."
"Good idea."
The kettle came to the boil and Charlie eased himself out of Rory's arms just long enough to make two fresh mugs.
They made their way back upstairs, exchanging coffee-flavoured kisses every few steps. Once back in the bedroom, mugs were set down and dressing gowns removed, and they settled onto the bed, kissing and fondling each other.
"How do you want it?" asked Rory.
"Don’t mind, what do you want?"
"I want you to tell me what you want."
"I don't care."
Rory rolled him over and pinned him to the mattress. "Charlie, I know you're nervous, but this is an easy one. There's no wrong decision here, you just have to pick whatever position you'd like us to use. Top or bottom, I don't care."
"I want it like this."
"Like this?"
"You on top of me, holding me. It feels ... safe."
"Safe."
Charlie blushed. "Yeah, I know it sounds cracked, but I like it when your arms are around me. Maximum skin contact."
Rory ran a hand over Charlie's side. "Like this?"
"Mmm."
"Sounds like you enjoy that."
"I do."
Rory reached for Charlie's cock and gave it a long, slow stroke. "You like this too?"
Charlie arched his hip up. "Yeah, you know I do."
Rory moved down his body, kissing him and stroking him, making him shiver and sigh. He parted his legs at Rory's command and allowed his lover to lick and suck on his balls and cock. Rory's mouth was on his most intimate parts, his cheeks scraping against the tender skin of Charlie's thighs and buttocks.
"I'm going to have stubble rash if you keep doing that," he murmured.
"Maybe I should keep on doing this for a bit longer then, so your bum is all red and tingly, and then I'll make you wear your tightest jeans, so you'll feel me all day."
"Fuck, yeah," breathed Charlie. Frankly that sounded great, and his cock agreed with him.
"You're a tart, Charlie Pace," said Rory, sitting up.
"Only for you."
"Only for me, eh?"
"Only you. No one else, not ever. Not any more."
Rory eyes shone, and Charlie felt happy that he'd said the right thing. It wasn't even a lie - he'd slept around with enough men (and a few women) during the previous year that he had come to appreciate the value of having one lover who cared for him, who wanted to give as well as take, and who would look after him even better than he could look after himself. And if that lover just happened to come in the form of an incredibly good-looking, forceful, sexy Scotsman with a voice that could melt stone, well, he wasn't going to complain.
Rory resumed his actions, giving long slow licks to Charlie's balls and perineum, making sure that his cheeks were rubbing up against the skin. Charlie spread his legs as wide as he could, wanting to feel Rory's mouth everywhere. He could never get enough of this, he would happily spend the next few years right here in this bed with Rory's mouth on his cock, sucking and licking and making him moan with pleasure. Even the sound of it was making him hotter.
He looked down his body, at the sight of Rory with his lips stretched taut over Charlie's cock, taking him in as deeply as he could and sucking so hard it was almost painful. One hand was around the shaft, pumping in time with the movements of his mouth, bringing Charlie closer and closer to his climax. It rushed through him so suddenly that it took him by surprise - he arched up and cried out as he came into Rory's mouth.
"Want you inside me," he murmured as soon as he was able.
"I know you do," Rory smiled at him and reached for the lubricant. He spent the next few minutes stretching Charlie, spreading the lube liberally, before coating his cock and lining himself up.
Charlie sighed as Rory eased himself slowly into his body. It really did feel different, doing it bareback, and he promised himself that he was never going to do anything that might force them back into using condoms. He wanted to be able to feel every tiny movement, every vein and wrinkle, and above all he wanted to be able to feel Rory coming inside him.
Rory wasn't in any hurry this morning. He moved slowly, allowing Charlie to savour every moment, giving his cock a few leisurely strokes as he hardened once more, bending him up so that his cock was brushing over Charlie's prostate.
"Feels good," whispered Charlie.
"Aye," Rory smiled at him. "You always feel good to me."
It was a long, slow, sensuous shag, and Charlie was drifting in a haze of pleasure and lust for what seemed like an age before Rory finally speeded up his thrusts. He looked at Rory's face, contorted with effort and red with exertion, and thought that he had never seen anything lovelier in his life. Then he felt his second orgasm starting, and pumped his cock vigorously until he spurted over his belly. Rory followed a few seconds later, and then they collapsed into a heap on the bedclothes.
It was at least a minute before Charlie had breath enough to whisper, "You were right, you know."
"Hmm?" Rory sounded like he was barely awake. Well, after all that effort, Charlie couldn't blame him for wanting a nap, he was exhausted himself.
"I'm too shagged to feel nervous now."
"Good."
Charlie smiled, and nuzzled his head into Rory's shoulder as he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 11.3
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