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If you haven't seen or read Chilly Scenes of Winter, I highly recommend doing so. I tried explaining the major points of the movie throughout the fic, so even if you haven't watched it, hopefully it's not too confusing to follow. Basically, Charles falls into this obsession with a married woman, Laura, who leaves her husband and Charles in the end. This is what I'd like to happen afterward.

"So this is what crazy's like."

It was 1981, Salt Lake City. Charles was in the bathtub, the warm water up to his chest, seeping through his suit. He dragged the fifth of vodka from the edge of the porcelain bathtub and brought the mouth of the bottle to his own, depleting it into an eighth, and then a tenth, but who was keeping track? Charles's mother would regularly threaten to kill herself, and Charles would find her in the bathtub. All he was missing was the laxatives, his mother's go-to suicide attempt route she'd exhausted her family with countless a time. If he could be any less apathetic, he would've laughed at the idea.

"You think I'm that great, there must be something wrong with you." Laura, Laura, Laura.

Five letters in a row, and they used to mean everything to him. Even now he felt that familiar swell of blinding need fill and torment him. It was the impulsivity that had him filling up the bathtub and removing only his shoes before stepping inside. It was the same madness that had him drinking his liver to death. Oh, he was killing himself, but in a different way.

"I can't live up to this thing that you have about me."

The first day he'd met Laura, he'd jokingly asked to marry her. Well, not so jokingly. In the span of that same day, he suggested they should live together. He could admit he was a little neurotic about Laura, to the point of sitting in his car outside of her A-frame, watching the flicker of lights go out in hers and Ox's bedroom. When that had turned into a nightly ritual, his jobless roommate Sam had sarcastically asked him, upon his return, how Laura looked through the window. She'd put up with his eccentric behavior, to an extent.

"I'm gonna rape you." He'd loosely threatened her the last day they'd lived together.

"Stupid, stupid." His face flushed with humiliation, or intoxication, he wasn't keeping count, letting the dead, chilled glass of liquor cool his forehead, wondering how long he'd pout in the bathtub.

A little longer, it seemed. He heard the front door open and close, followed by a small voice. "Charlie?" It wasn't Sam's voice, and the lack of familiarity almost had him sinking. Sam had since moved out and started living with his pregnant girlfriend, who was soon to become a pregnant fiancee, and then a pregnant wife. Charles had a new roommate, one that actually halved bills with him.

He stopped drinking to answer, between a throaty cough. "In here."

Footsteps, light and reluctant, stopped outside the door.

"Come in." He called after a moment of silence.

"Do I dare?"

He was all grins, sloshing around in the water until he was sure the man outside could hear it. "I'm wearing clothes. Just come in already."

Charles had been known to tease him before, but not over something like being naked. The door opened and there stood Richard, short in stature but probably just as tall in sarcasm as the man in the bathtub was.

"Just what are you doing?" He leaned against the doorway, his coat and scarf slipping down his arm, caught by his hand as he watched Charles lift up his bottle.

"Hey Rick." He nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Wanted to see if my Mom was onto something." He drank, Richard stepped forward, cocking one hip out to the side.

"Looks really uncomfortable." Then, decidedly, Richard leaned over, taking off one leather shoe, then the other. "I wanna try, too."

Charles didn't stop him, bunching up his legs as Richard's clothed figure slowly dipped into the heated water. He had a funny look on his face, nose wrinkled with slight disgust and excitement, before he too was sharing in Charles' mirth. Richard's face was boyishly round, and looked like he hadn't grown a day past high school. Make no mistake about it; he was twenty-two, just a few years behind Charles with no less the amount of silliness.

"Feels weird... move your legs to one side," Rick tried to create room for himself, though he didn't need much, and he laughed as the water spilled out over the edge of the bath.

"You could just come sit on my lap."

Charles said outlandish things sometimes, and waited with a straight face. Most of the time, Richard humored him with a laugh, but it was becoming increasingly hard to figure out whether or not Charles was serious.

A smile spread from the shock on Rick's face. "Nah."

But Richard ended up sinking further into the bath, his legs barely bobbing over Charles, pressing his sock covered feet against Charles' chest, wearing a mischievous smile that was small and endearing, for a guy. Charles calmly placed the bottle onto the floor beside them, and his hands darted for Richard's feet, pulling him by the legs and dragging his head underwater. He released Richard's ankles soon after, watching his small head of dark hair pop out of the water, a gasp of amused surprise leaving him, before he was reaching for Charles for payback.

Richard was gay. Like Laura, he was small, and he liked guys taller than him. Men around Charles' height had come over a few times, and from there he guessed Charles might've fit into his type. However, for as long as they'd lived together, Richard had never shown any interest in him as a man. They'd always had a silent understanding between them, but Richard kept his preference out of Charles' business as much as he could, until Charles insisted he could bring guys over, and that it didn't bother him. He remembered the look of utter shock on Rick's face.

"I don't mind if you bring guys over."

This stopped Richard right in his tracks, nearly dropping the brown paper bag filled with groceries. He looked like he'd been caught in a terrible secret, an endearing habit of his. "Huh?" He asked, not quite sure he'd been hearing right.

Now Charles felt a little embarrassed, scratching the tip of his nose. "No, it's just, Sam, my old roommate. He used to bring girls over, so. I don't mind." He made a lot of gestures with his hands, already clammy with anxiety. This was the first time they'd ever acknowledged Richard's sexuality out loud. Richard's disposition relaxed. "Ohh. Well, I mean..." Richard's eyes lowered. "Thanks."

If Richard did bring any men home for that, Charles never knew about it. Sometimes different men would drop him off, but nothing interesting ever happened. Charles expected a long, drawn out kiss thought to be hidden from public view within the confines of a car, but rarely would there be anything longer than an inaudible 'goodbye' from Richard's mouth before he left the car, and the driver was quickly tearing away from the respectable neighborhood, as if the whole transaction between them was a crime itself.

Sodomy was probably illegal in Utah. Charles wasn't sure, he'd never had to worry about it before. Did the FBI regularly slam gays in jail like commies or other convicts? Was this why Richard seemed so secretive?

The few times that Richard did bring guys over, Charles' over-protective behavior flared up, and he felt responsible for this small, giggly roommate.

"How does it feel, committing a crime every time you have sex?"

Charles was good at making people feel uncomfortable. The man opposite Charles on the couch was very uncomfortable, waiting for Richard to come back with drinks. The man was instantly set off edge, his hands gripping the knees of his bellbottoms.

"I don't... uhh... get where you're headin' with this."

"So." Charles changed the subject, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back as Richard brought in the three glasses, one held in the crook of his arm, the other being offered to both of them. "What do you do for a living?"

Sensing the sudden change of subject due to their third occupant, the man answered as calmly as able. "I'm a taxi driver."

Taxi. Charles grit his teeth; the last guy Laura went out with drove a taxi. Why were they so involved in his life? He'd be surprised if Sam's pregnant girlfriend wasn't a taxi driver also trying to take him away from Charles.

"But we met at that bar I told you about," Richard sat next to the guy whose name Charles had already forgotten. "Georgie does drag there."

A big guy like Georgie here, dressing up like a queen? Charles smiled.

"Now look, man," Georgie shifted his eyes suspiciously to Charles, then back at Richard, who looked as innocent and openminded as ever. "I don't think you wanna be saying stuff like that around him."

"Oh? Why?" Rick's eyes flickered nervously over to Charles.

"Yeah, why?" Charles was all amusement, hand covering his mouth.

"'Cause he's a fuckin' shifty-ass homophobe asking way too many goddamn questions, and- -"

That was probably the most riled up Charles had ever gotten someone yet, and that was saying a lot. He'd once gotten Ox, Laura's husband, to kick him out of his A-Frame. Laura hadn't appreciated the attention then, and Richard wasn't really appreciating it now.

Charles was still laughing by the time Richard finally came back inside after calming his friend into driving back home for the evening. The laughter died down at the sight of him, and Charles was counting how long Richard stood, facing the door.

Without turning around, Richard spoke. "You said I could bring guys around."

"I did," Charles replied coolly, his voice low. Richard turned in the space between them, eyes finally looking up to Charles' as if he was trying to figure him out. Finally he sighed and moved passed his roommate. "If you're uncomfortable with it, then don't extend the dang offer in the first place." His shoulder bumped into Charles' softly, his footsteps heavier than they'd been before as he walked away.

They'd met at Charles' work. He'd worked in his own room, typing up reports based off of information the office's typists brought him. One, his least favorite, was gone on maternity leave thanks to a certain stupid roommate of his. She was replaced with Richard.

Richard's desk was closest to Charles' office, and he could see him through the glass walls. He'd been interested to see who'd replace her. After all, he'd met the aforementioned love of his life, Laura, at work, too.

Male typists were pretty rare. It was sexist, but the meticulous work of a typist belonged to that of a woman, while the men had the more difficult jobs, like copying said notes and writing a report based on them. What a load, right? When Richard looked up, Charles kept a cool stare.

Both of them were listening to music on headsets. With a glance downward, Richard removed his earbuds and picked up a day's compilation of notes, bringing them to Charles' office as he'd been instructed to earlier.

"Richard Guiles, sir." There was something stiff about the way Richard held out his hand and looked at Charles. The latter kept his stare immovable, wondering why Richard felt the need for politeness and handshaking now. They'd already met each other that morning. Oh. Richard was just nervous.

"Charles." He removed one earbud and took Richard's hand in his own, giving it a few firm shakes.

Charles didn't think much about how small Richard's hand felt in his own, or how small he looked in general compared to his big desk. Instead, he was wondering why the young looking typist was still there.

His eyes seemed to concentrate on the tape player on Charles' desk, leaning forward a bit before he recognized the faint tune coming in from the unused ear bud. "Pearl! I thought that's what I heard. Far out!"

So the new guy liked Janis Joplin. Charles felt his superficial grin come to light without even meaning to, trying his best to humor this stranger's excitement. "What a coincidence, right? Two people in the same vicinity happen to like the number one artist leading the billboard charts. That's one in a million." The sarcasm dripped from him, but to the unseen eye, it could've been jovial optimism.

Richard wasn't fooled.

For a second, Charles thought this new employee would scowl. There was certainly an unfamiliar look in his eyes that he hadn't seen in anyone. But Richard's smile only relaxed, and his shoulders shrugged in a quick affirmation. "You're right," he spoke and it wasn't full of spite or passive-aggressiveness. Who was Richard to see through Charles' sad, lonely life and decide that it wasn't worth the energy it took to call him out?

Moments passed and the two were still gauging each other, their once careful expressions pulled into thoughtful lines of their lips. Instead of giving some generic excuse like he should be getting back to work, Richard simply turned away and left Charles' office.

Well that was boring. Charles pretended to go back to work, reaching down in his desk for the vodka he'd had haphazardly stashed in the bottom drawer, pouring it into a Styrofoam cup. He brought the drink back up to his desk, shutting the drawer with his foot, and his eyes landed on the new typist. Richard was stuffing his headphones off of the desk and into a drawer, his fingers trembling. Even though it was the reaction Charles was going for, he still felt like shit for doing it.

People were flooding out of the building around eight o' clock, and Richard was one of them. Charles could pick out his head in a crowd, which was saying something because usually only Laura filled that spot, but since they'd officially or unofficially ended it, his single-minded determination currently latched onto someone else. He dove through the crowd, hooking his hand around the crook of Richard's elbow before he stepped outside. Startled, like a thief who'd stolen something and was about to be caught, he turned and looked up at Charles, his headphones slipping from his small head.

"I'm sorry," Charles blurted, despite the angry voices beside him that reminded rush hour was still in full force.

Richard looked around them, confused, before looking back up at Charles. "W-What?"

"For this morning. I was being a spaz." His hand was still secured around Richard's elbow, so when he was bumped into from behind, he took Richard with him. Now they were stuck in the corner of the building, Charles' arms extended on either side of his new coworker, essentially backing him into the wall.

Richard looked uncomfortable; no, not that. Unsettled? His cheeks were flushed bright red now, but it was the dead of winter in Salt Lake, which meant cold rain and snow. Maybe the heat from the room dense with bodies? Or was it just Charles' body that he felt up against him?

Charles' eyes could've bore holes into Richard's head from the way he stared. Why was Richard so red? For a second, it was lost on him.

"... You were being a total jerk."

Now Richard was pouting. An actual pout on an eighteen year old. He couldn't have been older, not with the way he frowned, or how the whole world seemed redeemable in his eyes.

Charles was bumped into again, and Richard started pulling Charles out of the busy doorway and toward the back parking lot.

The two leaned up against the barren wall, Charles' car a few spots away. He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered Richard one.

"Apology accepted." The cigarette was accepted too, the younger male holding it between his lips as Charles held a match against the tip. Richard was slow and deliberate when it came to smoking, like he loved every goddamn puff he took. Charles nearly neglected his own in order to watch the other.

"Sure you're old enough for that?" Charles' teasing side was rearing its ugly head back into play. "Can't be letting a minor smoke."

"I'm twenty-two in a month." Richard blew out the irritant in a steady, cool stream, his head falling back against the brick wall in a soft thud. "More smokers here than I thought there'd be. Waaay better than my dumb home town."

Charles grinned, lighting his own cig. "Innocent, wide-eyed kid from a podunk little town trying to make it big in the city? Cliche much?" He asked, earning a soft laugh from his counterpart. "Strict parents?"

"Mormon parents."

"That's the pits." Charles wouldn't know, having liberally Catholic parents himself. But the whole state was practically founded by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, so it was hard to live in without at least learning a little about it.

"Last time I checked, the LDS church didn't approve of its members smoking." Charles was already halfway finished with his, and Richard was taking a second or third drag. "The church doesn't approve of a lot of things," Richard replied with a small glance, smiling as his little nostrils flared slightly with smoke. It was almost inhumane to give someone as young as he looked one of these, but then again Charles had a feeling that Richard left the church and his hometown for more than just smoking.

They'd talked a little more around their smokes. Richard was staying with a friend, but from the way he spoke, Charles had guessed that it was a lover. The location was temporary until he could find something better, and coincidentally, Charles had something better. He owned his late father's house, and was currently devoid of his roommate and the object of his obsession. However, he was still coming up with excuses not to just suggest they live together right away.

They enjoyed the same music, and no, not just Janis Joplin. Richard didn't drink, but he didn't mind that Charles did. He no longer accepted Charles' sarcasm without at least a laugh or a quick jab back at him. Charles was starting to have fun like he used to.

This was limited to work, however, and even that didn't come without some suspicion. One of the typists that'd been there longer, Marsha, pulled Charles off to the side during lunch one day. She looked like she had something important to tell him, but there could be little to shock Charles at this point. "You're getting really friendly with Richard, but... I'd watch out if I were you."

What could she possibly have to say about him? Charles' interest was a little piqued, and he swayed a little, head poking around the corner to catch the dark haired, smaller individual at his desk. "Watch out for what? The square couldn't hurt a fly." When he called him a square, it sounded uncharacteristically delicate out of him. He probably could've called him sweetheart with the same effect.

"No, not like that..." She trailed off, and Charles wished she'd just get to the point. "I mean, he's gay."

His eyes returned to hers suddenly, with all the seriousness of a life and death situation. No, not even that would wipe his silly smirk off his face. She started explaining about something she'd overheard, something about another female coworker seeing Richard with a few guys, and another being turned down by him because he wasn't interested. But Charles wasn't paying too much attention to this, because it felt like everything he knew was changing.

He wasn't angry or scared, but... gay? Charles had so many questions, but with a few more moments of thought, he'd started piecing things together. Mormons abhorred gays; Richard might've picked up smoking afterward. Richard never gave any of the pretty office girls a second glance. He was always very secretive and vague about past relationships.

Richard started coming over to Charles' home. Richard was reclining back on Charles' couch after a dinner that had him sighing happily. "Gee that chili was super good. Thanks, man!" It's Laura's recipe. This far into their friendship, pre-roommateship, he hadn't said much about Laura. As far as Richard knew about Charles' love life, there'd been a girl that got away. Richard didn't know how far the obsession had gone, but there were still little traces of it lingering.

"Your pad's pretty groovy too." Richard was looking around it as Charles sat next to him, his arms stretched out on the couch's top. His eyes flickered to Richard's hands stuffing in his pockets.

"But... it's missing something."

Richard pulled out a little tin box and opened it proudly, almost like he was proposing with a ring. Instead of jewelry, however, Richard was proposing a snugly rolled joint that had Charles beaming. No, he wasn't that excited for weed. He was more interested in how Richard had managed to get it. "You slick sunnuva' gun," ripped Charles' voice deep from his chest. Rick wiggled closer onto the couch, sitting up on his knees in slacks and a dress shirt he'd worn for work that day. He was busily working on lighting the end of it as Charles shook his head. "How did such a respectable little boy turn into this?"

Rick sat taller than Charles just this once, his fingers reaching into Charles' hair to tilt his head back with a gentle tug. "You wanna hit it or what, Charlie?" He asked... well, sexily. Charles didn't know how to describe it, and he never thought he'd be using that term for a dude. But Rick's eyes were on him expectantly, holding the hand rolled, illicit drug right up to Charles' lips.

"Hit it? Aren't you cool." Charles closed his lips around it, barely brushing over Richard's fingers. His eyes closed, feeling Richard's other fingers tighten in his hair. By the time he opened his eyes, smoke was already billowing out before them, and the pinched joint was being directed into Rick's mouth this time. The younger male released his own toke and quickly lost face, coughing into his hand. Charles couldn't remember when his hand had wrapped around Richard's waist.

If they were stupid sober, they were even stupider high. It amped up Charles' agitation, but his kind of hyperactivity was fun up to a certain point. That point had yet to be reached that night, and in affect, Rick was laughing harder than he'd ever during their time together. Charles wanted to milk even more laughter out of him, but as Richard lazily sank into the couch, so did Charles.

"It's even better with sex," Richard lamented suddenly, before his face slowly turned into a gentle smile, seeing Charles suppress laughter. "What's so funny?"

"Dude, everything about you screams silver bullet. There's no way you've done it before." Charles had been convinced that his new friend was a virgin. There's no way he had experience; women wanted men, and Richard just wasn't... that. Maybe if he grew into his body a little, but still. If Richard had done it, then it was with another man. Probably bigger than he.

"You've prolly screwed someone at least once." Richard surmised with a slump against the couch, cheeks rosy with the topic at hand. "You're, like, forty after all."

Charles couldn't help how much his face lit up. "You're full'a cheek, you bastard." He tossed the nearly finished joint into the ashtray and tackled Richard back onto the couch.

"Guh- -ahaha! S-Stop!"

Charles wasn't stopping. He was tickling and pinching his coworker until the other was forced off the couch, sliding off with Charles following on top of him. Richard reached for Charles' hands with frantic, boyish giggles, too swept up in the drug and his ticklish spots to notice how hard Charles was against him.

Charles finally had Richard's wrists pinned above his head, now that they were on the floor. Their breathing was the only thing audible between them then.

Things were sinking in for Richard, whose eyes briefly flickered lower, then zapped straight up to Charles' face as if looking down would confirm what was between them. Charles grin was still on full force, but it hadn't quite reached his eyes.

Charles wanted Richard so badly that he couldn't stand it.

With Laura, he'd gone for it right away. He'd suggested they married and move in together on the first day they met, and only half of that was a joke. And none of that had gone well, exactly. So naturally, Charles blamed himself.

And he didn't know what he'd do if he lost Richard, too.

"Come live with me." Charles said breathlessly, easing up on the weight digging between Richard's thighs.

And for some reason, Richard did come live with Charles. Charles, who was pent up and not really thinking with his brain there.

"So, you've found someone to replace me?" Sam asked him one time when they were hanging at the bar. Richard didn't come on the account of visiting another friend. In accordance, Charles wanted to get as drunk as possible in as little a time as possible.

"Someone to replace Laura, too." Charles took another shot and made a sour face after it, jabbing the air with his fists a few times just to knock it down. "Another, Wally." He knew the bartender, but pretty much every regular in this town knew him.

Sam was still trying to piece it together, but it wore subtly on his place. Replacing his roommate and his obsession in one go? "You told me he was gay, but... doesn't mean he'd go for just anyone. You say he hasn't been jumpin' your bones this whole time?"

"I walked in on him masturbating once." Charles interrupted, taking a long swig of beer as he waited for the next couple shots. "I mean, it wasn't an accident. I knew what was going on in there," he continued, sounding just a little guilty. But that was better than nothing.

"That's just plain grody, man." Sam shook his head, frowning toward Charles' profile. "Haven't you ever heard of invasion of privacy?"

"He uses his fingers. In his ass." Charles replied again, another thing to rock Sam's core. He made a small noise of acknowledgement and curiosity. "Oh. I guess that would make sense." Neither of the two knew much about gays and what was normal. But it didn't feel normal not being on the receiving end of Richard's attention.

"I say you just go for it, before it drives you crazy." Sam was drinking more lightly, because he knew he'd have to look after this steadily drunken bozo. "You'll end up saying or doing something really dumb again, if you don't." Charles knew what'd happened before in his desperation. It was precisely the reason he'd been trying to hold back.

"Ask him to the movies or something. Normal stuff." Sam was unsurprisingly okay with this, though he never met the new roommate himself. Charles let out a dry laugh.

"Normal stuff. Pretty sure he'd laugh in my face."

"But it could make him happy."

That was the bottom line, wasn't it? He'd just wanted Laura happy, and Sam. But he wasn't able to make them happy. Maybe he could make Richard happy.

"I'll ask 'im. After he gets home from being fucked." He croaked, sullenly draping over the bar counter.


Charles vaguely remembered being carried outside from the warmth of the bar and out into the cold. He was in his own car, in shotgun, but Sam was sitting in the back. Who was driving?

"Thanks for drivin' us home. I'm Sam, childhood friend extraordinaire." Even with his eyes closed, Charles knew who that was.

"Oh, it's no problem! Charlie'd told me where you'd be tonight, and I stopped by on my way home just in case." Richard. "Call me Rick!" Damn him and his cute little nickname.

"Yeah, this guy was drinking himself stupid tonight." Damn Sam, too. Hah. That rhymed. Damn drunk me. "Any idea why?" Sam inquired, hoping to dig up some dirt. Charles feigned sleep just to get an answer too.

Rick laughed quietly, probably for Charles' sake. "... Work's okay, so. I'm not sure." Richard lied, not knowing Sam well enough to divulge any secrets. Sensing this, Sam cleared the air for him.

"He said he walked in on you."

"Oh." Richard laughed nervously. "That. Right. That did happen." As if he would've forgotten. Some more silence transpired between them as Richard drove, taking a few directions toward Sam's new home. "Did it bum him out that much?" Richard finally asked, his voice quiet and unsure. To anyone, it sounded like he was solely concerned for their friendship. But Sam sensed something.

"Not at all. He says he walked in on you, on purpose."

Damn, damn, damn him! There was no way Charles could wake or do anything other than feign sleep. He wanted to hear Richard's reaction so badly he couldn't stand it. How he had the self control to remain still was beyond him.

There was a shaky breath, devoid of the usual humor that laughter held. "Charlie says weird stuff just because," Richard excused, trying to shrug it off. Why was he denying something like this so badly, instead of letting it go?

"He does." Sam agreed, and even with Charles' closed eyes he could feel a stare boring into the back of his head. "But I think he likes you."

Richard kept silent, like he wasn't sure what to do with this information.

"Do you like Charles, Rick?" Sam pressed, leaning forward a bit, all cheek with a flat expression. Their eyes met briefly in the car's mirror.

"He told you I was gay." Richard surmised, trying to sound casual but coming off more nervous in affect. "You're worried that I'm hitting on your friend. I promise you, 'm not."

"That's not what I'm asking," Sam's voice got a little louder, but his tone was calm and nonchalant, like he was talking about groceries and white picket fences, not at all how he should've sounded. "I'm just asking if you like him. I think you two get along just swell."

Richard became more flustered than Charles had ever heard him, and the two lifelong friends knew they were close to breaking him. "Look, I don't feel comfortable talking about this with you, and- -Goddammit Charlie, I know you're not asleep, 'cause you snore like a leafblower." This shocked Charles, though he didn't move from his seat. Silence followed, and then the start of a snore came from Charlie.


"How'm I supposed to stay asleep at this point?!" Bellowed Charles from his seat, effectively shocking Richard and pulling a grin on Sam's face. "I wanna hear how you feel too!" Yes Charles was drunk and tired and a little pissed off that Richard had shared the evening with someone else, but he was at least feeling something.

"No." Richard sputtered, his face red. "You walked in on me on purpose?! How exactly should I feel about that?" Richard's face whipped from the road to look over at Charles, and what was supposed to be a momentarily glance steeled into a few lingering moments when Charles grabbed him by the face and kissed him.

While he was driving.

The car swerved on the road into another lane, nearly hitting another car before Richard evaded the crash quickly and shoved Charles off of him, returning to his lane and panting profusely. "We could've crashed, Charlie!" His voice was weak under the radiant laughter coming from the back seat, Sam apparently getting a kick out of their antics. "I don't care," Charles breathed, determined to feel Richard on his lips again. "Pull over."

"Uh-uh. Not with me in the car." Sam was wiping tears from the corner of his eyes, slumped back in his seat. "Take me home first. Keep your dick in your pants for five minutes." There was a sort of finality in that, and Charles folded his arms across his chest, his knee impatiently bouncing as he waited for Richard to drive Sam home.

Sam quickly exited the car when his stop came, and Charles waited until Sam was on his front porch before pressing forward. He leaned over into Richard's seat, menacingly. Richard turned toward him, shyly.

"This kinda thing... it just doesn't happen." The younger of the two whispered in disbelief, unbelievably happy disbelief.

"Don't be cliche." Charles hated cliches. But he loved how they sounded coming out of Richard's lips. "It is happening."

Richard's lips parted for Charles', accepting his kiss and sighing into it, seatbelts and the partition making it difficult for the two to properly reach each other. Charles tried in vain, eliciting gasps from the other with his tongue, pressing into Richard's until the other could taste the liquor.

"Home, probably." Richard whispered into Charles' lips, already bruised with kissing. The driver pulled back and settled into his own seat, feeling his reddened cheeks with the cool of the back of his hand. He shifted gears and started back towards Charles' house. Charles was leaning on his hand, thoughtfully. Richard's eyes flickered from the road onto Charles' form.

When they got out, Charles was a little unsteady on his feet, so Richard hooked the larger male's arm about his shoulders and helped him up to the doorstep, fumbling with his keys to unlock the door. Remembering himself, Charles started kissing over Richard's neck, earning a few laughs.

"C'mon, w-we're outside." It was night time, but a few porchlights were still on. Charles growled, making Richard drop his keys.

"I don't care if we're outside." Charlie slurred over Richard's shoulder as the latter bent down for his keys, coming back up to turn toward Charles. The thought of him not minding that they were in public shocked him. And thrilled him at the same time. Richard wrapped an arm around Charles' shoulders, the other reaching behind him as he fumbled blindly sliding the key into the lock. Charles' hands were sliding over Richard through his clothes, holding his body up flush against his own. Richard's leg curled up and over Charlie's waist, displaying natural flexibility.

The door gave way and slammed against the wall, shuddering as Charlie rushed them in. They pulled away from intoxicated kisses as Richard halfheartedly scolded him to close the door.

"It's cold."

But the door was soon shut, and Charles was rejoining him on the couch, wedging himself in between Richard's legs with another happy purr.

Richard's neck was a mess of pink little bruised spots, gussied with spit before Richard's fingers tugged the others face upwards, locking him in another kiss. Charles was perpetually moving in between his legs, creating a steady rhythm on the couch. Well, half on the couch. Richard's back was on the couch, but his hips were angled upward, legs in the air and hanging off the armrest of the couch, while Charles stood above him, making it impossible for Richard to move away from him and seek a more comfortable position. Richard almost didn't care that Charles was good an drunk. But he sort of did, and it had Richard pushing him off.

"Hm? Shy?"

"No." Richard replied, breathlessly, hating how much he loved that dirty little smirk Charles wore. Richard made a face then, scooting back on the couch until he sat upright, his back against the back of the couch. He tipped his head back, eyes averting from Charles as he tried to calm down.

"You're drunk." Richard's head tipped to the side, and he felt frustrated enough to cry.

Charles had already come to sit by his budding crush, hands holding his shoulders, kissing Richard's set jawline into submission. "No 'm not," he spoke against his skin, deep and slow, trying to properly enunciate his words. Richard shook his head, all stiff in Richard's arms. And not in a good way.

Charles sighed deeply, head plopping against Richard's shoulder. "You think this is gonna all end tomorrow? Tha spell breaks at midnight, hah?"

Richard couldn't handle one of his jokes right now, turning his head, hoping that would be enough of a reply.

"Sorry to break it to you. But I'll be just as smitten in the morning. Maybe even moreso, when I'm all pent up." Charles could feel Richard relax underneath his hands. Richard turned his face swiftly, too eagerly. His eyes shone.

"Yeah? You will be?" Richard didn't want to test Charles' devotion. But he didn't want their first time to be on a drunken whim.

"Rick... Rick... Rick." Charles held Richard's face between his hands, driving him closer until their eyes were near out of focus, as they tried to see each other from such a close distance.

"I want to make it clear to you. But I don't want you to get sick of me." It was probably the most honest thing Charles said in a long while. Anything but that. If Richard ever left him, he couldn't handle it.

Richard's hands cupped Charles', and he guided his palm over his lips, kissing it. "I couldn't. Not ever." More cliche. But Charles loved cliche, and to Hell with anyone who didn't love it in this moment.

Dunno if anybody's gonna read this, so I kept it short. Might update with some smut, but for now, hope you enjoyed!