Disclaimer: I don't own Dead Poets Society. I just may or may not have Charlie hidden under my bed.
A/N: This was inspired by one… interesting conversation with CorkyConlon so I have to give her a lot of the credit and dedicate this to her. I'm pretty sure we can claim the rights to the pairing of 'Chameron' because we're probably the only people crazy enough to think it up. And like it. A lot. This is really my first attempt at writing anything humorous so I hope I succeed and that you all enjoy it. Reviews are always appreciated!
"No! For the last time Charlie, no, I will not have sex with you!"
In response to Cameron's sudden outburst, Charlie freezes where he stands- shirt half pulled up, head cocked and eyebrow raised. "Uh. I wasn't asking you too, Dick." He gives a bewildered shake of his head and finishes tugging off his shirt, tossing it haphazardly onto his bed. "Yet," he tacks on with a smirk.
Cameron clenches his jaw. No, he hadn't asked but Charlie Dalton doesn't have to verbally ask for sex because when he just stands there half undressed with perfectly tanned skin and sculpted muscles and slightly mussed hair, the question just radiates off of him.
Hey, I'm a sex god. Wanna fuck?
It frustrates Cameron to no end- in every sense of the word. His eyes roam and his mind wanders and within seconds, he has to grab his notebook and place it on his lap to cover up the evidence of his attraction. The attraction he swears up and down does not exist because Dalton is the scum of the earth- asshole wrapped up in jerk wrapped up in complete and utter douche bag- and Cameron shouldn't want to touch him. Not even with a ten foot pole.
Except, he does, because he's Charlie. Charlie who has perfect hair- that hair!- and who smirks and paints lightning bolts on himself and gives you this look that automatically makes you want to get naked and let him do naughty things to you.
Cameron's about 99% certain that Charlie could charm the pants off of anyone- literally- and he hates himself for being one of those people. They had fooled around on numerous occasions the year before and just thinking about the things Charlie could do- and had done many, many times- sends a rush of blood flooding into his cheeks. And to other parts of his body but he's trying not to think about that.
He's done his best to ignore Charlie's advances so far this year but it's becoming increasingly more difficult with each passing day because even though it's wrong, he just can't resist it. Just like a good majority of the school, and surrounding town, seems to be unable to resist it. Cameron sometimes wonders if Charlie has some kind of hypnotic, mind fuck ability that cons you into having sex with him but then he remembers he probably wouldn't need that. Most people seem to just cave automatically. Just like he's starting to.
Charlie seems to have realized how quickly Cameron's resolve is crumbling and he certainly isn't shy about making a spectacle of himself to get what he wants.
He casts all sorts of looks in his direction and makes endless sexual puns. Just last week he had ruined a perfectly good discussion of baseball by piping up with, "I always like to be the pitcher" and the wink he added for extra emphasis resulted in Cameron having to literally run for the bathroom with his books held over his lap. However, the worst is when Charlie walks around their room naked because Cameron tries so hard not to look, he really does, but he just can't help himself because fuck, Charlie Dalton has one nice ass.
One that is currently just inches away as Charlie makes a show out of shimmying and wiggling his way out of his pants, looking over his shoulder with a lecherous grin.
Cameron narrows his eyes and lets a growl slip out from between his clenched teeth. "Fuck you," he grumbles.
Charlie just laughs. "I know. You want to."
Seething, Cameron pulls the now useless notebook off his lap and tosses it as hard as he can at the adjacent wall. But as irritated as he is- or is trying, and failing, to be anyway- his eyes remain glued to Charlie as he continues with his little strip tease and he lets out a very quiet whimper when his boxers hit the floor.
"You gonna give in now, Dick?" Charlie asks as he saunters over, putting extra, and in Cameron's opinion, completely unnecessary emphasis on the word dick.
"No," he sneers, even though he knows that's a pretty empty declaration. Charlie's finally going to seduce him and he's going to give in and he doesn't have much of a say in the matter. But somehow, that's okay.
Charlie just rolls his eyes as he climbs onto the bed. "Right," he scoffs, pulling back the blankets and reaching forward to palm Cameron's now very prominent erection through the fabric of his pajama pants- nearly causing the other boy to jump out of his skin.
"Fuck," he groans, letting his head loll back against the wall behind him.
Charlie just laughs again. "Patience, Dick."
Cameron glares at him. Bitch. "Shut up."
Charlie, surprisingly, doesn't have to be told twice. He quickly tugs off Cameron's pajamas- earning one very disgruntled huff when he tears the fabric of his shirt in his haste- before he stands up and makes his way over to his desk, digging through the bottom drawer for a few moments before producing a tube of lube. Cameron doesn't even want to think about how many times that's been used or exactly who it's been used on.
Charlie hops back up on the bed and quickly pushes Cameron over onto his stomach, who once again just huffs in response. "Who said you were topping?"
"Have you not learned anything, Dick? I'm always pitcher, remember?"
And even though Cameron kind of minds and he hates being on the bottom, Charlie makes him forget it. Very easily.
They don't kiss and they hardly touch and the whole thing is rushed and rough but Cameron knows he was stupid for resisting this for as long as he had because he kind of, sort of liked it. A lot.
But when Charlie collapses onto the bed next to him, sweaty and panting, Cameron elbows him sharply in the ribs. "Get off me, Dalton."
"What? No cuddling, sweetheart?"
Cameron wishes looks could kill because if they could, he's certain Charlie would be dead in about five seconds. "I hate you," he grouses, earning a grin in response.
"Keep telling yourself that."