Title: Whiskey Lullaby
Summary: Undressing. Peter is drunk, and Charley puts him to bed. (Written for the Kink Meme at frightnight2011)
Charlie is never sure how he finds himself in these situations. But, they have become something of a pattern over the past few months. It's not an easily distinguishable pattern - the nights like this are actually few and far between - but it's there, and he's grown somewhat used to it.
Peter is sitting across from him, eyes staring glassily up at the ceiling, and Charlie knows how the evening will end. He'll help the older man to bed, settle him in, and they won't talk about it in the morning. It's just the way it is.
"C'mon," he says, pushing himself to his feet. Peter gives no notice of having heard. He flinches away as if expecting to be struck when Charlie reaches for his shoulder, and something constricts painfully in Charlie's chest. He's learned more than he ever expected about the other man's life during these nights. Too much. All of it either whispered or inferred in the soft drunken haze of the wee hours of the morning.
It makes him feel very old sometimes. And very, very grateful for his mother and their home.
"Come on," he says again, softly, and helps pull Peter from the chair. "Let's get you to bed."
They wend their way slowly, shuffling into the other room. Every so often, Peter staggers against him, and Charlie steadies him. After a small eternity, they make it into the bedroom, and Peter flops gracelessly onto the large bed.
Charlie turns him over gently. His hands move carefully to the buttons on the older man's shirt. This has long since ceased to be strange or awkward, and his fingers deftly slide each button free. As he works, the shirt slides open, revealing pale skin and the shadowed arc of ribs - too prominent from years of too much alcohol and not enough food. The ribs contract as Peter breathes in sharply, startled by the sudden burst of cool air against his torso. With the ease of practice, Charlie slips the shirt off the thin shoulders, and out from under his limp charge.
Long hands tangle themselves in Charlie's curls, and he's pulled in for a kiss. The kiss is messy and pleading and very much a bad idea, and Charlie pulls himself away.
"No," he says firmly, keeping his voice soft.
After a moment, Peter nods, and he lets his hands drop back onto the mattress. There is a grateful light in the magician's eyes, and Charlie smiles reassuringly.
"Get some sleep," he whispers, pulling the soft blanket over the older man. He places a soft kiss on Peter's forehead, a brief reassuring touch of the lips. "It's alright."
He waits until the other man's eyes have drifted shut, breath evening out into the deepness of sleep, before he removes his own shirt. Toeing off his shoes, he climbs up onto the other side of the bed and crawls under the quilt.
In the morning, it will be as though this has never happened. They'll drink coffee and complain about hangovers they don't have, before going about their daily lives.
But, for now, this is exactly what both of them need.