A/N written for vampirateslagoon who wrote me a lovely Charlie/Matthew + Matthew/Lucien fic for valentines day! warnings for very minor mentions of underage sex and prominent drug use for which im giving it a m rating.
There are two things wrong with this picture.
One: Charlie Davis is almost naked, bar his boxers
Two: Charlie Davis is high
This would normally not be an issue, as long as it wasn't a work night, and Charlie was at Lucien's place, within an arms reach of the man, lest something go wrong. But he's not. He's on his back, in Matthew's bed, where he's been most nights, for the last few months. Where Matthew won't, or rather, can't, touch him. Which isn't to say they don't touch, they do.
Knees touch while they watch Game of Champions
Pinkies touch at the dinner table, across from the Lucien and the ever unapproving Jean.
On occasion, Charlie had even deigned to put a hand on him while he slept.
But none of this is the touching Charlie wanted, craved and begged for. Which isn't really his fault, because he's only young, he only knows relationships with men as a quick drink to steel the nerve, a short round of unsatisfying sex, and then heading home feeling worse than when you arrived. Matthew has not engaged many men, or women for that matter. Not enough to form a proper opinion on the matter.
Charlie had, it seemed.
"It wasn't anything like I thought it was gonna be." He said, speaking for the first time in hours, and taking another drag from what Matthew's copper brain won't let him call anything other than a cigarette. "It was so fast. In and out. A couple of quick strokes. Then he was telling me to let myself out." Apparently mind reader can go in Charlie's skillset. "All of them. Exactly the same. I thought they might have at least wanted to know something about me. Other than my name. Maybe making sure I was twenty one. We're doing something so illegal people have died for it, and you're concerned about my age?" He asked, rhetorically. "I was twenty one when I was fifteen."
Matthew looked down at him. He doesn't like what he sees. A scared teenage boy who doesn't know how to handle what he'd been given. Men who take advantage of boys like that. He wants to find them and ruin each of them for what they'd taken from Charlie. And from him, he supposed. His own engagments with men had started with other men in his unit when he was in his twenties. Doug Ashby once or twice when he was drunk and willing to try again. None of them had left him feeling anything more than bored. At forty, he'd decided that sex wasn't for him.
"You aren't like that though." Charlie said, and he sounds further spaced out then before. Part of him knows that Charlie should be arrested for poisoning his otherwise beautiful body. He doesn't know how or when Charlie, everyone's all Australian boy next door, the fantasy of everyone everywhere, picked up such a disgusting habit. He also doesn't want to know. It breaks the illusion Charlie has built for himself. The sort of soft face and blue eyes that don't have any depth to them. The personality he never let through. Blank enough to be a fantasy. Pale skin, untouched and unsullied. Vulnerable enough to imagine in your lap, kissing your neck. Would they, that is to say, the people Charlie put this show on for, question his no doubt skilled hands? Would they question how he knows what to say? Knows what to do? He doesn't know.
"I don't know why, though. Am I not pretty enough? I've always been pretty enough for all the other boys." Never handsome, always pretty. Just barely feminine enough to turn heads, to protect himself from the man who becomes disgusted with himself. "What do you like, Matthew Lawson? What can I do for you?" Matthew's stomach flip flops. Because there's nothing that Charlie Davis can do for him. All he wants is for Charlie's smile to be genuine like it was that first breakfast, when he got cream on his chin and found it so funny. He wants Charlie's sense of humour to foil against his own lack. He wants Charlie to converse with him. He loves Charlie Davis. Not his body.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" He asked, shutting his eyes and letting out a soft moan. "Wouldn't that be nice?" He asked.
"Because I don't need or want anything from you other than your companionship."
"My companionship?" He asked, sounding almost confused. "I don't have anything to offer you there. No personality. Boys don't care for it. Just my body." He breathed, "It's all anyone ever wants me for. Don't you like my body, Matthew? Would you like it better if I called you Chief Inspector? Do you want to handcuff me to the bed?"
"No. I don't. I love your body, it's very beautiful-"
"Then why won't you take it? It's yours for the taking, every inch of it. I don't mind, if you want to leave marks. You could humiliate me, if you like. Some men like that." Matthew's stomach flip flops again and he very seriously considers joining Charlie on his cloud. He's never heard him talk like this. So….Far away. From his body, and from Earth. "You have such strong hands. I love them, when you put one in my hair. It was so good. People aren't usually so gentle with me." He commented. Matthew had stroked his hair once or twice, when Charlie put his head on his shoulder while they watched tv. Once, in bed.
"You're so gentle, Matthew." He said, off on another tangent. "I bet afterwards, you'd be real gentle with me. Maybe you'd even hold me afterwards, rather the be disgusted. I'd love that. I bet your arms feel real nice. So strong. Keep me close to your chest, and tell me you love me. Because everyone loves me, after I give them what they want. I'm only useful when I'm being used. Only loveable after I spread my legs. I bet you'd be so good to me. So warm. You might even like to say you love me, and I'll say it back, I will I promise. I'll say it back till I'm blue in the face. You can do anything you want to me, so long as you touch me afterwards." He breathed, and the penny drops. Before Matthew can assess the penny, he continues. "But I wouldn't blame you, if you did push me away. I'm just a disgusting pervert after all. Is it because I've been with other boys? You'd never know. I'm a real good actor. I'll pretend just for you. I'll pretend to be clean. I'll pretend I'm good. Just like you." He doesn't like how that sounds, coming free from Charlie's mouth "You're so good. Like…The pinnacle of goodness. You're so good and gentle with me. I love you so much…" He murmured, looking over at him, his pupils blown wide. "And I just want to be around you….Forever." Matthew is struck again by a mental image of young Charlie, searching desperately for affection and intimacy in married men. That was all he wanted. Affection to be returned.
"You don't disgust me." Matthew assured him, and took the white paper from Charlie's otherwise pliant fingers. He put it out in the ashtray near the bed, not sure if that's really how to do it but feeling that it was the safer option then letting it burn and losing the house. He gathered Charlie up into his arms, and he breathed out a small, pleasant sigh at the sensation, he presses his face up against Matthew's neck, his eyelashes flicker shut. "I love you very much." He promised Charlie, knowing it was mostly for moot since he either wouldn't comprehend, or wouldn't remember. "And I'll hold you every night, if that's what you would like."
"Yeah…I'd like that…." He breathed, and that was how they lay. Matthew put one hand in Charlie's hair, gently moving his fingers through dark curls until Charlie was asleep.
"How long do I have?" He asked the sleeping man softly. "Before you realize I can't give you what you want?" Predictably, Charlie has no reply. "How long will you stay with me, where I can protect you? How long will you let me smile with you? How long will I be allowed to know the real you?" He asks, swearing he's not on the verge of tears.
After all. He's fifty two. Charlie is barely scraping thirty. He's practically old enough to be his father. Charlie would be better off to leave, he supposed. Find someone a bit less broken, and a bit less sharp. A nice girl, who he can marry and have children with. Have his own white picket fence ending.
But then he thinks of when Charlie laughs, a real laugh, not his usual scoff. And he's lost again. Fallen back in love with him. He shut his eyes and listened to the soft breathing pressed up against him. Charlie Davis is his fantasy, just like he is to everyone else. He wonders, falling asleep, if he's truly any better than the other men Charlie Davis has been with, if even he can't separate that boy from the one that is lying in his arms.