FIC: Charlie Hunnam, Master of Subtlety - 1/1, Pacific Rim RPF, PG, Charlie/Idris
Title: Charlie Hunnam, Master of Subtlety
Author: Jo (jo@fadedink.com)
Fandom: Pacific Rim RPF
Pairing: Charlie Hunnam/Idris Elba
Rating: PG
Word count: 2847
Summary: Charlie thinks he's incredibly subtle. He's not. Everyone knows it but him.
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Author's Notes: My Yuletide 2014 fic for Bond_Girl. Massive thanks (as always) to Brenda for hand holding, support, suggestions, and the phone call that went something along the lines of "these two are basically Orlando and Bean only in Pacific Rim, you can write this in your sleep" and it turns out she was right. :D
Charlie first learns about the film from Ron who, conveniently, learned about it from Guillermo himself (they have a long and weird history and Charlie doesn't like to think about it too much). Ron, of course, has already signed on, and he knows Guillermo's interested in Charlie for one of the lead roles. He might have talked Charlie up a little bit, given that they've worked together for nearly six years.
But that's not the important thing. Not really.
The important thing is when Ron mentions that Idris Elba has just signed on to the film.
Idris fucking Elba. Who looks the way Charlie imagines really nice, expensive cologne smells.
Charlie tries to act normal and just says "Oh, yeah? That's cool," when inside he's jumping up and down and screaming like a pre-pubescent girl at a Justin Bieber concert. He fires off a quick text to his agent and ignores the knowing smirk that Ron sends his way.
The first time he meets Idris is also when he first meets Max and Rob and Rinko and the rest of the cast - at the table read. It's not intimidating at all. Even if Idris is one of the few people that Charlie's ever met that makes him feel small. He's taller than Charlie (even though Charlie's used to that after working with Ron and Tommy Flanagan for so long), but he's also big - wide shoulders, broad chest, blinding grin - the total package of hot -
When Idris shakes his hand and smiles and rumbles that it's a "pleasure, mate," Charlie is suddenly grateful for baggy jeans and long shirts.
They're a week into principal photography and Charlie already knows he and Rob are going to be good friends. They have the same weird sort of humor and he understands every word when Rob starts speaking in Geek.
Rob, however, is far smarter than he lets on and he lets Charlie know it one day over lunch.
"So, Idris huh?"
Charlie just gives his best blank look because, really, that's a rather loaded question. "Idris?"
"Mate," Rob says, and his face is so unimpressed that Charlie's a bit impressed. "Not that you're being obvious, but you're being really bloody obvious."
"No clue what you mean."
"Uh huh. So you don't have a thing for him."
"What? No," Charlie says and makes a face. Rob looks even less impressed if possible. "It's just, he's Idris fucking Elba."
"Yeah, I got that part." Rob takes a bite of his sandwich and studies Charlie as he chews. Then he smiles and the sight of his dimples make Charlie feel less than reassured. "Right, whatever you say."
Charlie knows that's not the end of it.
The scene in Stacker's office when Mako gets grounded goes smoothly, all things considered. They have to do a few takes because Rinko gets the giggles the first time and Charlie flubs a line the second time, but the third time is practically flawless.
Guillermo, of course, wants another take. This time with more passion. So they get set and run through it again, and this time Idris delivers.
His voice thunders through the small set, and it's deep and gruff and authoritative. The sound of it does things to Charlie - like make him wonder just what it sounds like when Idris is aroused. And that sends Charlie's blood on a mad scramble for his lower half.
At that moment, Charlie knows he's screwed.
The look Idris gives him after Guillermo calls cut tells him that maybe Idris knows it, too.
When Idris catches him one morning with a request to go over their lines and blocking for their scene together at the Wall of Life, it's too early and Charlie hasn't had nearly enough caffeine. In fact, he's barely awake.
But he agrees, because it's Idris and Charlie's pretty sure he's incapable of saying no to the man.
But he doesn't miss Rob's double take when he passes them in the hall. He just ignores it. Mostly because he's focused on Idris and the fact that he'd just offered to not only pick up the coffee, but to drive to the set if Charlie wants to ride with him.
Charlie agrees so fast that his brain hasn't even fully processed the offer.
Idris smiles big and pats him on the shoulder, and Charlie loses all ability to reason for a few seconds. He doesn't think anyone would blame him, because honestly. Idris' hands are huge and he's got a really good grip. Charlie tries to put that thought out of his mind immediately, because sudden and uninvited boners are not the way he wants to start the day.
They go over the lines in the car and Charlie only stutters a few times. And forgets the actual lines a few other times, which earns him an odd look or two from Idris. But again, not his fault. It's a small car and they're both fairly big guys and Idris smells really damn good.
And no, Charlie emphatically does not lean just that much closer to take a few good whiffs of him.
Then Charlie scalds his tongue on his coffee, and he tries to play it off like it's no big deal. But he spends the next five minutes with his tongue poked out of his mouth, very aware of Idris sitting beside him.
"Is that an offer or a statement?" Idris asks suddenly.
Charlie opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and just stares. Because what? "What?"
"The tongue out." Idris throws him a look at the next traffic light and a shiver runs up Charlie's spine because that look is heavy on his skin and there's not enough air in the car to breathe.
"I burned it," he hears himself say and is amazed at the sheer lack of brilliance. "On the coffee."
"Yes," Idris says, in that dry way he has when he's amused at something. "I know."
By the time they get to the set, Charlie isn't sure if the ride had gone well or not. He knows they managed to go over the scene twice from start to finish and a third time with pauses to discuss delivery and nuances. But there's the whole tongue thing. And he's pretty sure that Idris caught him sniffing at least once.
Which could be a good thing or a bad thing and it's hard to tell with the enigmatic look that Idris gives him (Idris gives a lot of those, Charlie's noticed).
Rob drags him out for dinner after filming wraps for the day, even though Charlie protests because all he wants to do is collapse face first in his bed. Being strapped inside the Conn-Pod set for ten hours will do that to a person.
But Rob insists, and Charlie's too tired to argue, so he simply shrugs and agrees. But thinks longingly of his bed on the ride over.
The second they step inside the restaurant, Charlie realizes he should have held out for his bed. Because it's not just him and Rob - half the cast is there, including the Luu triplets, Heather, Robert, Clifton, and Max.
And Idris.
And Rob, the bastard, is flashing full dimples again.
So Charlie isn't surprised when he finds himself seated next to Idris, but he does manage to give Rob and Rinko a wounded look.
"I can't believe you told Rob," Rinko says as she passes him on the way to her seat at the other end of the table.
"Tell Rob what?" Charlie twists in his chair to follow her, aware that Rob's also at the other end of the table. "I didn't tell Rob anything!"
"Or that you thought he could keep a secret," she adds, clearly pretending she didn't hear a word he said. "Or that you thought you could keep a secret."
"Rinko, I didn't tell him anything! He's lying!"
"Who's lying about what?" Idris asks as he returns from the men's room and drops into his chair next to Charlie. Right next to Charlie. With shoulders brushing and knees bumping and all that. Oh, and an arm resting along the back of Charlie's chair which makes every nerve in his body stand up and take notice.
Apparently personal space isn't a thing with Idris. That's...good to know. He thinks.
But he's pretty sure he might have swallowed his tongue. He definitely hears his teeth click together because he shuts his mouth so fast. Idris looks at him expectantly, but damned if he can put two words together at the moment.
From the other end of the table (the traitor's end, Charlie thinks), the sound of Rob choking on his laughter is all too audible.
There's a clatter of armor as Rob slides down the wall to sit on the floor beside him, but Charlie ignores him. Or, he tries to, because he's currently busy not watching as Idris and Guillermo talk about the upcoming shot.
"You really should tell him."
"Fuck off," Charlie says, with no heat in his voice. "I'm still not talking to you."
"That's cool. Because you need to talk to him," Rob says. Charlie doesn't need to look over to know that he's grinning.
"You're delusional."
"You know I'm right." There's a long moment of silence before Rob reaches over to poke at the piece of black armor covering Charlie's thigh. "He said the white one looked better."
"What?"
"The white armor," Rob says, eyes flicking to Idris before slowly sliding back to Charlie. "He said he thought it looked better on you."
There's no need to say which 'he' Rob means. And Charlie can't even keep up the pretense of not knowing what Rob is talking about this time. "He did?"
"Pretty sure there was something about how the black on black didn't do your thighs and arse justice like the white on black did," Rob replies with as much seriousness as Charlie has ever seen. Still, though, it's Rob, so that's not saying much.
"Bollocks."
"Truth," Rob says and holds up one hand.
And when Charlie looks at Idris again, those dark eyes are fixed on him. It feels like an eternity before that gaze shifts back to Guillermo. "He, uh, he said something about spinning tomorrow night at one of the clubs," Charlie says. "Said I should come by, check it out. So if you're going -"
"He invited you to come see him spin?" Rob asks in a slightly strangled voice. "I mean, he actually said you should come?"
"Yeah, of course," Charlie says slowly, more than a little confused when Rob laughs softly and shakes his head. "What?"
"Mate, he hasn't invited anyone else to come see him DJ," Rob finally says, and he laughs again as he reaches over to pat Charlie's leg. "Anyone."
"Oh," Charlie says, because he can't think of anything else. Oh. Oh.
Charlie leans back against the bar and nurses a beer as he watches the crowd move and pulse around him. The music, while not something he's entirely familiar with, throbs heavy in the heated room. He's been there long enough that he's on his third beer, but he hasn't moved from that spot.
It's the perfect place to watch Idris as he works behind the decks, choosing each song with care and keeping the crown engaged. He's a master at it.
And Charlie knows that Idris has seen him, because he got a nod and a smile that had made his breath catch in his throat.
Looking around the club again, Charlie has to admit that Rob hadn't been lying. Not a single other person from the cast or crew is there. Which makes him both more and less nervous, because there's obviously a reason why Idris invited him, right? He holds onto that thought as his gaze drifts back to Idris.
The set finally ends, and Charlie hears Idris say something about coming back in fifteen minutes. He doesn't move from his place at the bar, knowing Idris will find him if he wants. He tries not to read too much into when, not three minutes later, Idris is leaning against the bar beside him and gesturing to the bartender. He crowds against Charlie, personal space once again not an issue, and flashes him a wide smile.
"What'd you think?"
"Sounded good," Charlie says, when what he wants to say is looked good. But he keeps that locked behind his teeth as he watches Idris take a long swallow of beer. He's distracted by the way his throat works, so he misses what Idris says next. "What?"
"I asked if you were sticking around for the rest of the evening," Idris says, his voice rich with amusement. He leans in close as he speaks because it's just loud enough to make conversation impossible unless you're willing to shout.
"Yeah, sure," Charlie says. He reaches over to tap his beer bottle against the one in Idris' hand. "Might even make it to the dance floor after a few more of these."
"Yeah?" Idris pauses with his beer halfway to his mouth, his eyebrows climbing his forehead as he looks at Charlie. "You dance?"
"Only if I'm well lubricated," Charlie laughs. When he realizes what he said - and more importantly, how it sounded - his face gets hot and he's glad for the dim lighting in the club. But now the thought of lubrication is paired with Idris, and Charlie's even more thankful for the low light and the fact that he'd opted to wear black jeans. They hide a lot.
Unlike the pair that Idris is wearing. The soft looking, faded denim molds to his thighs and hips, and Charlie does his best not to stare. It's a losing battle.
"I'll keep an eye out for that," is all Idris says before he motions to the bartender again and tells him to put Charlie's drinks on his tab. Charlie doesn't even have time to protest before Idris is heading back to the decks for the next set.
The next break finds Charlie back at the bar with another beer in hand. He's danced a bit, losing himself in the music (and appreciating the fact that he's not the worst dancer in the room), and flirted a bit with some pretty girls and more than one guy, and he's enjoying himself more than he thought he would.
The break also finds Idris back at his side. "If you're not doing anything after," Idris says in his ear, pressing close even though there's a little space around them, "you should come back to mine, have a drink or two."
"Why?" The question slips out before Charlie realizes he's said anything, but it's not his fault. He cannot be blamed for his brain not working correctly when Idris is pressed against him, wearing snug jeans and a see-through white t-shirt that's plastered across his chest and shoulders and is soaked with sweat, and Jesus Christ, he smells fucking amazing. Honestly, Charlie's only human and he's definitely not a saint.
And, to put it bluntly, Idris is really fucking hot.
But now he's looking at Charlie like he's suddenly started speaking ancient Greek. "How are you even...?" Idris stops and looks at Charlie for another moment. "You having me on?"
"Um," Charlie says, because he can't think of anything else. Or at least, anything else that won't make him sound like a complete idiot. Which is definitely not the impression he'd been trying to give the last few weeks.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Idris says and rolls his eyes. Charlie opens his mouth to reply as a hand closes in the front of his shirt and yanks.
He might have let out a rather undignified squeak, but he isn't sure because the next second Idris' mouth is on his, and holy fucking hell. Charlie's toes curl in his shoes and he pops a boner so fast that he gets a little light-headed from the sudden shift of blood to his crotch. Of course, the light-headedness could also be due to the fact that Idris is, for lack of a better phrase, kissing him senseless.
Right there at the bar in front of everyone.
When Idris finally pulls back, Charlie sways towards him before he can catch himself. His lips are numb, but the rest of his body is shrieking for more, more, more. And he's fairly certain he's seeing stars.
"That answer your question, mate?" Idris asks as he smoothes out Charlie's shirt once more and gently pats his chest.
Charlie nods and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. So he keeps nodding. "Yep," he finally manages to say once his brain catches up with current events. "That, uh, yeah. No questions here. My, uh, yeah, holy fuck, can you do that again?"
Idris' laugh booms out, and the wink he gives Charlie says that yes, he can definitely do that again as well as a whole lot more.
Charlie's grin is wide and a bit giddy when Idris kisses him again and says "just one more set."
Author: Jo (jo@fadedink.com)
Fandom: Pacific Rim RPF
Pairing: Charlie Hunnam/Idris Elba
Rating: PG
Word count: 2847
Summary: Charlie thinks he's incredibly subtle. He's not. Everyone knows it but him.
Disclaimer: Fiction, folks. But if you believe this really happened, I've got some prime real estate I wanna sell you…
Author's Notes: My Yuletide 2014 fic for Bond_Girl. Massive thanks (as always) to Brenda for hand holding, support, suggestions, and the phone call that went something along the lines of "these two are basically Orlando and Bean only in Pacific Rim, you can write this in your sleep" and it turns out she was right. :D
Charlie first learns about the film from Ron who, conveniently, learned about it from Guillermo himself (they have a long and weird history and Charlie doesn't like to think about it too much). Ron, of course, has already signed on, and he knows Guillermo's interested in Charlie for one of the lead roles. He might have talked Charlie up a little bit, given that they've worked together for nearly six years.
But that's not the important thing. Not really.
The important thing is when Ron mentions that Idris Elba has just signed on to the film.
Idris fucking Elba. Who looks the way Charlie imagines really nice, expensive cologne smells.
Charlie tries to act normal and just says "Oh, yeah? That's cool," when inside he's jumping up and down and screaming like a pre-pubescent girl at a Justin Bieber concert. He fires off a quick text to his agent and ignores the knowing smirk that Ron sends his way.
The first time he meets Idris is also when he first meets Max and Rob and Rinko and the rest of the cast - at the table read. It's not intimidating at all. Even if Idris is one of the few people that Charlie's ever met that makes him feel small. He's taller than Charlie (even though Charlie's used to that after working with Ron and Tommy Flanagan for so long), but he's also big - wide shoulders, broad chest, blinding grin - the total package of hot -
When Idris shakes his hand and smiles and rumbles that it's a "pleasure, mate," Charlie is suddenly grateful for baggy jeans and long shirts.
They're a week into principal photography and Charlie already knows he and Rob are going to be good friends. They have the same weird sort of humor and he understands every word when Rob starts speaking in Geek.
Rob, however, is far smarter than he lets on and he lets Charlie know it one day over lunch.
"So, Idris huh?"
Charlie just gives his best blank look because, really, that's a rather loaded question. "Idris?"
"Mate," Rob says, and his face is so unimpressed that Charlie's a bit impressed. "Not that you're being obvious, but you're being really bloody obvious."
"No clue what you mean."
"Uh huh. So you don't have a thing for him."
"What? No," Charlie says and makes a face. Rob looks even less impressed if possible. "It's just, he's Idris fucking Elba."
"Yeah, I got that part." Rob takes a bite of his sandwich and studies Charlie as he chews. Then he smiles and the sight of his dimples make Charlie feel less than reassured. "Right, whatever you say."
Charlie knows that's not the end of it.
The scene in Stacker's office when Mako gets grounded goes smoothly, all things considered. They have to do a few takes because Rinko gets the giggles the first time and Charlie flubs a line the second time, but the third time is practically flawless.
Guillermo, of course, wants another take. This time with more passion. So they get set and run through it again, and this time Idris delivers.
His voice thunders through the small set, and it's deep and gruff and authoritative. The sound of it does things to Charlie - like make him wonder just what it sounds like when Idris is aroused. And that sends Charlie's blood on a mad scramble for his lower half.
At that moment, Charlie knows he's screwed.
The look Idris gives him after Guillermo calls cut tells him that maybe Idris knows it, too.
When Idris catches him one morning with a request to go over their lines and blocking for their scene together at the Wall of Life, it's too early and Charlie hasn't had nearly enough caffeine. In fact, he's barely awake.
But he agrees, because it's Idris and Charlie's pretty sure he's incapable of saying no to the man.
But he doesn't miss Rob's double take when he passes them in the hall. He just ignores it. Mostly because he's focused on Idris and the fact that he'd just offered to not only pick up the coffee, but to drive to the set if Charlie wants to ride with him.
Charlie agrees so fast that his brain hasn't even fully processed the offer.
Idris smiles big and pats him on the shoulder, and Charlie loses all ability to reason for a few seconds. He doesn't think anyone would blame him, because honestly. Idris' hands are huge and he's got a really good grip. Charlie tries to put that thought out of his mind immediately, because sudden and uninvited boners are not the way he wants to start the day.
They go over the lines in the car and Charlie only stutters a few times. And forgets the actual lines a few other times, which earns him an odd look or two from Idris. But again, not his fault. It's a small car and they're both fairly big guys and Idris smells really damn good.
And no, Charlie emphatically does not lean just that much closer to take a few good whiffs of him.
Then Charlie scalds his tongue on his coffee, and he tries to play it off like it's no big deal. But he spends the next five minutes with his tongue poked out of his mouth, very aware of Idris sitting beside him.
"Is that an offer or a statement?" Idris asks suddenly.
Charlie opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and just stares. Because what? "What?"
"The tongue out." Idris throws him a look at the next traffic light and a shiver runs up Charlie's spine because that look is heavy on his skin and there's not enough air in the car to breathe.
"I burned it," he hears himself say and is amazed at the sheer lack of brilliance. "On the coffee."
"Yes," Idris says, in that dry way he has when he's amused at something. "I know."
By the time they get to the set, Charlie isn't sure if the ride had gone well or not. He knows they managed to go over the scene twice from start to finish and a third time with pauses to discuss delivery and nuances. But there's the whole tongue thing. And he's pretty sure that Idris caught him sniffing at least once.
Which could be a good thing or a bad thing and it's hard to tell with the enigmatic look that Idris gives him (Idris gives a lot of those, Charlie's noticed).
Rob drags him out for dinner after filming wraps for the day, even though Charlie protests because all he wants to do is collapse face first in his bed. Being strapped inside the Conn-Pod set for ten hours will do that to a person.
But Rob insists, and Charlie's too tired to argue, so he simply shrugs and agrees. But thinks longingly of his bed on the ride over.
The second they step inside the restaurant, Charlie realizes he should have held out for his bed. Because it's not just him and Rob - half the cast is there, including the Luu triplets, Heather, Robert, Clifton, and Max.
And Idris.
And Rob, the bastard, is flashing full dimples again.
So Charlie isn't surprised when he finds himself seated next to Idris, but he does manage to give Rob and Rinko a wounded look.
"I can't believe you told Rob," Rinko says as she passes him on the way to her seat at the other end of the table.
"Tell Rob what?" Charlie twists in his chair to follow her, aware that Rob's also at the other end of the table. "I didn't tell Rob anything!"
"Or that you thought he could keep a secret," she adds, clearly pretending she didn't hear a word he said. "Or that you thought you could keep a secret."
"Rinko, I didn't tell him anything! He's lying!"
"Who's lying about what?" Idris asks as he returns from the men's room and drops into his chair next to Charlie. Right next to Charlie. With shoulders brushing and knees bumping and all that. Oh, and an arm resting along the back of Charlie's chair which makes every nerve in his body stand up and take notice.
Apparently personal space isn't a thing with Idris. That's...good to know. He thinks.
But he's pretty sure he might have swallowed his tongue. He definitely hears his teeth click together because he shuts his mouth so fast. Idris looks at him expectantly, but damned if he can put two words together at the moment.
From the other end of the table (the traitor's end, Charlie thinks), the sound of Rob choking on his laughter is all too audible.
There's a clatter of armor as Rob slides down the wall to sit on the floor beside him, but Charlie ignores him. Or, he tries to, because he's currently busy not watching as Idris and Guillermo talk about the upcoming shot.
"You really should tell him."
"Fuck off," Charlie says, with no heat in his voice. "I'm still not talking to you."
"That's cool. Because you need to talk to him," Rob says. Charlie doesn't need to look over to know that he's grinning.
"You're delusional."
"You know I'm right." There's a long moment of silence before Rob reaches over to poke at the piece of black armor covering Charlie's thigh. "He said the white one looked better."
"What?"
"The white armor," Rob says, eyes flicking to Idris before slowly sliding back to Charlie. "He said he thought it looked better on you."
There's no need to say which 'he' Rob means. And Charlie can't even keep up the pretense of not knowing what Rob is talking about this time. "He did?"
"Pretty sure there was something about how the black on black didn't do your thighs and arse justice like the white on black did," Rob replies with as much seriousness as Charlie has ever seen. Still, though, it's Rob, so that's not saying much.
"Bollocks."
"Truth," Rob says and holds up one hand.
And when Charlie looks at Idris again, those dark eyes are fixed on him. It feels like an eternity before that gaze shifts back to Guillermo. "He, uh, he said something about spinning tomorrow night at one of the clubs," Charlie says. "Said I should come by, check it out. So if you're going -"
"He invited you to come see him spin?" Rob asks in a slightly strangled voice. "I mean, he actually said you should come?"
"Yeah, of course," Charlie says slowly, more than a little confused when Rob laughs softly and shakes his head. "What?"
"Mate, he hasn't invited anyone else to come see him DJ," Rob finally says, and he laughs again as he reaches over to pat Charlie's leg. "Anyone."
"Oh," Charlie says, because he can't think of anything else. Oh. Oh.
Charlie leans back against the bar and nurses a beer as he watches the crowd move and pulse around him. The music, while not something he's entirely familiar with, throbs heavy in the heated room. He's been there long enough that he's on his third beer, but he hasn't moved from that spot.
It's the perfect place to watch Idris as he works behind the decks, choosing each song with care and keeping the crown engaged. He's a master at it.
And Charlie knows that Idris has seen him, because he got a nod and a smile that had made his breath catch in his throat.
Looking around the club again, Charlie has to admit that Rob hadn't been lying. Not a single other person from the cast or crew is there. Which makes him both more and less nervous, because there's obviously a reason why Idris invited him, right? He holds onto that thought as his gaze drifts back to Idris.
The set finally ends, and Charlie hears Idris say something about coming back in fifteen minutes. He doesn't move from his place at the bar, knowing Idris will find him if he wants. He tries not to read too much into when, not three minutes later, Idris is leaning against the bar beside him and gesturing to the bartender. He crowds against Charlie, personal space once again not an issue, and flashes him a wide smile.
"What'd you think?"
"Sounded good," Charlie says, when what he wants to say is looked good. But he keeps that locked behind his teeth as he watches Idris take a long swallow of beer. He's distracted by the way his throat works, so he misses what Idris says next. "What?"
"I asked if you were sticking around for the rest of the evening," Idris says, his voice rich with amusement. He leans in close as he speaks because it's just loud enough to make conversation impossible unless you're willing to shout.
"Yeah, sure," Charlie says. He reaches over to tap his beer bottle against the one in Idris' hand. "Might even make it to the dance floor after a few more of these."
"Yeah?" Idris pauses with his beer halfway to his mouth, his eyebrows climbing his forehead as he looks at Charlie. "You dance?"
"Only if I'm well lubricated," Charlie laughs. When he realizes what he said - and more importantly, how it sounded - his face gets hot and he's glad for the dim lighting in the club. But now the thought of lubrication is paired with Idris, and Charlie's even more thankful for the low light and the fact that he'd opted to wear black jeans. They hide a lot.
Unlike the pair that Idris is wearing. The soft looking, faded denim molds to his thighs and hips, and Charlie does his best not to stare. It's a losing battle.
"I'll keep an eye out for that," is all Idris says before he motions to the bartender again and tells him to put Charlie's drinks on his tab. Charlie doesn't even have time to protest before Idris is heading back to the decks for the next set.
The next break finds Charlie back at the bar with another beer in hand. He's danced a bit, losing himself in the music (and appreciating the fact that he's not the worst dancer in the room), and flirted a bit with some pretty girls and more than one guy, and he's enjoying himself more than he thought he would.
The break also finds Idris back at his side. "If you're not doing anything after," Idris says in his ear, pressing close even though there's a little space around them, "you should come back to mine, have a drink or two."
"Why?" The question slips out before Charlie realizes he's said anything, but it's not his fault. He cannot be blamed for his brain not working correctly when Idris is pressed against him, wearing snug jeans and a see-through white t-shirt that's plastered across his chest and shoulders and is soaked with sweat, and Jesus Christ, he smells fucking amazing. Honestly, Charlie's only human and he's definitely not a saint.
And, to put it bluntly, Idris is really fucking hot.
But now he's looking at Charlie like he's suddenly started speaking ancient Greek. "How are you even...?" Idris stops and looks at Charlie for another moment. "You having me on?"
"Um," Charlie says, because he can't think of anything else. Or at least, anything else that won't make him sound like a complete idiot. Which is definitely not the impression he'd been trying to give the last few weeks.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Idris says and rolls his eyes. Charlie opens his mouth to reply as a hand closes in the front of his shirt and yanks.
He might have let out a rather undignified squeak, but he isn't sure because the next second Idris' mouth is on his, and holy fucking hell. Charlie's toes curl in his shoes and he pops a boner so fast that he gets a little light-headed from the sudden shift of blood to his crotch. Of course, the light-headedness could also be due to the fact that Idris is, for lack of a better phrase, kissing him senseless.
Right there at the bar in front of everyone.
When Idris finally pulls back, Charlie sways towards him before he can catch himself. His lips are numb, but the rest of his body is shrieking for more, more, more. And he's fairly certain he's seeing stars.
"That answer your question, mate?" Idris asks as he smoothes out Charlie's shirt once more and gently pats his chest.
Charlie nods and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. So he keeps nodding. "Yep," he finally manages to say once his brain catches up with current events. "That, uh, yeah. No questions here. My, uh, yeah, holy fuck, can you do that again?"
Idris' laugh booms out, and the wink he gives Charlie says that yes, he can definitely do that again as well as a whole lot more.
Charlie's grin is wide and a bit giddy when Idris kisses him again and says "just one more set."