David sighed as Charlie slid another finger into him, twisting them in a way that he knew would make David see sparks. David obliged, gasping and arching his back, all inhibitions long discarded.
Charlie loved this.
He loved the way that David was so responsive once he’d given himself over to it, wordless, desperate sounds spilling from his lips in an almost constant stream, the arch of his body begging for more better than words ever could. Charlie loved that he was allowed to do this, could make composed, uptight David Mitchell fall apart so spectacularly.
He pulled his fingers out, ignoring the noise of protest David made. He wiped his sticky fingers on the bed, before grabbing the lube and slicking up his aching cock. He didn’t need to look up to know David was watching him, his eyes wide and dark and hungry, like bottomless black pits, waiting to swallow Charlie whole. He couldn’t resist looking anyway, the visual far too tempting to resist. Charlie isn’t known for his willpower, after all. That’s what got him into this mess in the first place, his utter and woeful lack of willpower and self control.
He lined himself up and slid home in one smooth motion, groaning as he felt David open up to him, so hot and tight and fuck, so perfect. David let out a noise, starting somewhere near a whimper and ending like a sigh as his body adjusted to Charlie filling him.
Charlie hated this.
He hated that he first came creeping to David’s door in the dead of night, half drunk with both alcohol and guilt, the howl of his self-loathing more persistent than usual, desperately seeking some way to just forget it all, a warm body to just lose himself in. He hated that he still came creeping around even after he and Konnie got together, even after their quickie wedding in Las Vegas. He still sneaks out, claiming he’s going out for a drink with friends (Other friends, never David) and he’ll crash at someone else’s house that night.
He hates how David never tells him no.
Sometimes he thinks Konnie knows, from the looks she shoots at him as he scurries into the night, his self-loathing hanging over him like an almost visible fog. She’s always been good at reading him, seeing through the bullshit he spews as a shield between him and the rest of the world. When he comes home the next morning she’ll ask him how his night was, and the tone of her voice makes him pause, every single time.
He loves her, he knows that for certain. He’s never had someone who doesn’t want to change him, who loves him for the misanthropic cynical romantic bastard he is. And equally he’s never looked at someone and loved them for their flaws, not despite them. He knows that’s rare, not something to be just thrown away.
He knows he and David should have stopped when Konnie came into the picture, should never have really started in the first place, but Charlie is a greedy, masochistic, selfish little boy at heart. He knows one day this will all come crashing down around him, and they will both end things, leaving him sat in his flat nursing a doubly broken heart while two fucked-up relationships burn down around his ears. He knows he’ll deserve everything that he gets in the end.
But as David yelps and comes, the squeeze of his inner muscles dragging Charlie with him, almost violently so, he can’t bring himself to care.
He’s not known for his willpower, after all.