Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic…except for Neal, Dean, Haldon, Peters, Mr. Crocelli, Steven, Jeffery. If I DID own the characters (Uh, DPS ones, obviously!), I'd have Charlie all to myself! And it would be me in that Indian cave making out with Charlie! ME! YOU HEAR ME? ME! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA
This chapter is more flashback than actual. It's a little more slash than I like to write…hope it's not too much. Hope you like. Flashbacks are bolded and italicized.
Charlie woke up the next morning and wondered how he got to bed. The last thing he remembered was grabbing the letter, Whitman's poetry, five stolen bottles of whiskey and his flashlight. He remembered being in the cave, but everything else became a blur to him. He saw Peters sleeping quietly in the bed across the small room. He quietly stood up, feeling the room spin as he did and he sat back down. Peters shifted in his bed and Charlie looked at him. Shit! He thought as he saw mud on Peters' forehead. He was there. What did we do? What did we…Charlie fell back as the memory of the night before flooded back. He read the letter and he saw me cry. Jesus! He'll never let me live it down!
Peters woke up and looked at the hung over Charlie Dalton. "You okay?"
Charlie sat up. "What happened in that cave last night, Peters?"
Peters sat up. "You don't remember?"
"No. I remember you being there. Well, I vaguely remember that. I remember you reading a letter from my brother and that's it. That's all I can remember."
Good. He doesn't remember the kissing. "We simply talked, Charlie. Well, Nuwanda, I should say."
"How'd you know?"
"Well, not only was it mentioned in the letter from W.B. Dalton, but you asked me to call you by that name as well." Peters didn't want to give away the excitement he felt at knowing that the night before, his dream of kissing Charlie Dalton had come true. Now, if I can just make love to him. Get him drunk enough. He joked in his head. "You don't remember anything else?"
Charlie shook his head, causing the room to violently spin. "No, I don't."
"Well, I shouldn't wonder. You had about five bottles of whiskey there and you said you had drunk about two and a half bottles." Peters made a promise to himself to not tell Charlie about the kissing. Even if Charlie didn't remember, Peters would. "Maybe you should go back to sleep and try to sleep off the whiskey. I'm going to go shower." Peters grabbed his stuff and headed off to the showers, images of the night before playing like a movie in his mind.
"Just relax, Charlie." Peters murmured into Charlie's neck. "It's like kissing a girl." He gently nipped at Charlie's collarbone, leaving a small mark. He felt Charlie tense up again and gently nuzzled the soft neck he dreamt of kissing for so long.
"Only you're not really a girl." Charlie, though unsure of the situation, made no attempt to stop Peters from kissing him. Instead, he found a small part of him enjoyed Peters shyly nipping at his neck. There was something comforting about it, something he couldn't explain. Charlie knew he loved women and yet, he found himself attracted to Peters and not sure if he wanted to stop or continue. He thought about the book his father had at home and thought that maybe Kinsey was right. Maybe there was a part of men that enjoyed being with other men in this manner. Maybe it had nothing to do with the gender of the person, but the connection. Whatever it was, Charlie was still uncertain of what was going on.
Peters read into the uncertainty of his beloved Nuwanda and stopped. "Maybe we should just get you back to the room and get you in bed." Charlie backed up from Peters. "I don't mean it like that. I mean that you need to get some sleep because you're terribly drunk and you'll feel it in the morning." He stood up, helping the now dazed, drunk, and confused Charlie Dalton up. "Come on."
Charlie didn't move. "Look, Peters. Before we go anywhere…" Charlie slurred.
"I know. You like girls. I like guys. I won't say a thing. I promise."
"Dead poets honor?" Charlie remembered Knox using that when his honor was challenged.
"Dead poets honor." Peters promised, even though at this point, he didn't know what that meant.
"Okay." Charlie stepped towards Peters and gave him one final kiss, sending Peters back on his heels. "I need sleep."
Charlie sighed. He hated Trig and this test was going to give him fits. As he rolled his head, searching for an answer, his eyes settled on Peters, a couple chairs ahead of him. He couldn't help but feel more had happened in the cave than Peters was saying.
Charlie felt an excitement rising as Peters snaked their tongues together. He knew he shouldn't want it, especially considering it was a guy. He felt maybe it was the forbideness of it all. Maybe, there was a part of him that knew there'd be trouble if they got caught. But, Charlie lived for trouble. For as long as he could remember, he was always pushing the boundaries. Still, as Peters' fingers softly intertwined themselves in Charlie's hair, the latter didn't know if he was ready for this sort of trouble. And the former felt it and pulled away.
Charlie hit his head hard on the desk. He suddenly remembered what happened in the cave. I cannot believe I made out with Peters!
"Mr. Dalton, I am not grading you on whether or not you can sleep." Mr. Harrington's voice rang out.
"Sorry, Sir." Charlie sat up and finished his test, finding it hard to concentrate. He still had two classes with Peters and then…Jesus! He's my roommate! How can I face him now? What will he say? What will he do? Will he think I'm…that I want…Charlie found it harder to concentrate on anything else. All I have to do for now is survive these last two classes.
Peters gently rubbed his fingertips on the back of Charlie's neck, reveling in hearing the moans of pleasure. This was what he dreamt of as he watched Charlie sleep and walk. Shit. Every time he saw Charlie. The lips were just as full and soft as Peters imagined they would be. And the hair…that luxurious crop of brown hair that was often mussed because of nervous fingers running through it as Charlie sat, trying to figure out the assignments. Now, it was Peters' turn to muss it up and he gently did.
He knew he would push the limit, but he was interested in seeing just how far he could go before Charlie said anything or moved. He pulled away and looked into Nuwanda's brown eyes. Nuwanda. Now, that name had a certain shy sexiness to it that Peters would have stamped in his mind. He leaned back in, leaving a trail of kisses from Charlie's lips to his collarbone. Despite the cold, Peters pulled back the sweater Charlie was wearing to reveal soft skin. How a rower and a soccer player could have skin so soft, Peters knew he would never know, but he enjoyed the softness of it.
He could smell the vague scent of a cologne under the alcohol and Peters found himself intoxicated from just the scent of Charlie. He knew he couldn't have him and it was driving him insane. Kissing is all he could get from Charlie Dalton and Peters argued with himself that if that was all he was going to get, then that was what he was going to get and he was fine with it. As long as he got to kiss Charlie Dalton.
And what a kiss it was. Peters had never been kissed so gently. He had never been kissed with a soft want from anyone and the one person he never expected to kiss was giving him the type of kisses he only dreamt of. Charlie was, despite being drunk, still a little shy about returning the kisses, but there were moments of sheer ecstasy for Peters when Charlie became a little braver and kissed him back with such passion that Peters felt the world spinning.
He felt on top of the world and ready to explode as Charlie's lip expertly sucked on his neck. There was a silkiness to it that made Peters want to scream, but he softly moaned instead, as to not give away his secret; his fantasy come true.
Charlie felt like exploding as well. He had never really kissed a guy. He and Neil had, at one point, kissed on a dare from Cameron sophomore year, but it was really more like a peck on the lips than a kiss. Charlie recalled the look in Neil's eyes after that and as he stared at Peters, he saw that same look of wanting more. He hadn't given it to Neil, but he was going to give it Peters. He leaned in and almost forcefully kissed his roommate. Not that Peters cared. He found it intoxicating that Charlie would be almost forceful.
Peters caught his breath as Charlie sat back. He wanted to say something, but couldn't. He was finding it hard to breath. He made no argument as the drunken young man pulled him to his side. Peters looked over at Charlie and smiled, and to his surprise, Charlie smiled back. There was an inviting look in Charlie's eyes and the kissing began again.