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Charlie stands, hands on his hips, looking at his ancient computer. Bella is out with Edward on a date to a fancy dinner in Seattle. Charlie rolls his eyes. Doesn’t the kid know that’s not Bella’s speed? Whatever.
Determinedly, Charlie pulls out the desk chair and sits down. Carefully he types “p o r n”into the search engine. His finger hovers over the enter button before reluctantly going back and typing “g a y” before it. He clicks onto the first video he sees, and watches for only a minute before quickly exiting out of the tab, heart pounding and body tingling.
Well. That’s enough of that.
———
His palms are sweaty and he frantically rubs them against the legs of his jeans, pacing back and forth on his living room rug. Carlisle had texted earlier.
May I come over?
Charlie had quietly panicked for about five minutes before replying tersely.
Sure.
Why did he think this was going to be a good idea? They kissed once and immediately parted. What if he’s changed his mind about them. Whatever they are. What the fuck could beautiful, otherworldly fucking Dr. Cullen see in a middle aged divorced cop with a drinking problem?
Was this one of those friends with benefits things you see in movies? Charlie has no idea what the fuck he is doing. Hysterically, he thinks back to his sex ed teacher, decrepit Mrs. Norbit who had said, “if you can’t talk about it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”
A demure knock startles him out of his reverie. Fuck. The moment of fucking truth. He makes his way to the door in a daze. Carlisle is on the other side. Of course he is. You knew he was coming. Carlisle is giving him a confused look, and Charlie realizes he has been standing there gaping at him for a good thirty seconds. Jesus Christ . Hurriedly, Charlie moves aside to let him pass and he enters carrying a fragrant take out bag.
“I was not sure if you had eaten, so I picked up something,” his smile is so fucking pretty. “Edward recommended this place, so I thought we could give it a try.”
Charlie had never been less hungry in his life, but he smiles weakly and retreats to the kitchen to get cutlery, pointedly ignoring the liquor cabinet. When he returns, Carlisle is opening some containers of Italian food and blithely watching the Mariners game. Charlie stops dead in his tracks.
You can do this. You’re still friends with the guy.
He gingerly sits down next to Carlisle and numbly starts to shovel ravioli into his mouth, eyes fixed on the TV screen. Carlisle seems relaxed next to him, reclined on the couch with his arm casually slung over the back, seemingly absorbed in baseball. Fractionally, Charlie begins to loosen the tension in his shoulders and sink back into the lumpy furniture.
———
Charlie moans as Carlisle sucks a bruise into his collar bone, t-shirt gaping at the neck. He feels overheated and out of control, practically in Carlisle lap, fingers curled into his fine silky hair.
Charlie can barely think, trying to process how they got here. He remembers darkness creeping in through the windows as the game progressed. He remembers feeling Carlisle’s fingers gently brush his shoulder from their resting place on the couch back. He remembers turning his head and finding Carlise already staring back. He remembers…
Charlie sucks in a breath as Carlisle switches their position, pushing Charlie down onto the couch head barely missing the arm. Charlie feels dazed as he looks up into the man’s face.
“Is this alright?” Carlisle says lowly.
Charlie nods dumbly, barely able to catch his breath before Carlisle’s lips are on his again, his hands wandering down his chest, pausing as Charlie gasps when he rubs at his nipples through his t-shirt. Well that’s new. Carlisle’s fingers come to a stop, resting delicately on the button of his jeans.
“May I?” His voice is pleasantly rough.
“Fuck yah,” Charlie’s voice morphs into a moan as Carlisle hastily unzips his pants and shoves his hand inside his boxers, cool fingers wrapping around Charlie’s throbbing cock.
Maybe this doesn’t have to be complicated.
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