“I’m just saying, if they call them TIE fighters, and they look like bowties, then bowties have to exist in the Star Wars universe,” Scott said, sipping his beer and grinning at the look on Charlie’s face.
It was nice to hang out. He was glad he’d apologized to Charlie about last Saturday and they’d stayed friends despite it. Scott didn’t have so many friends that he could afford to push any of them away.
“But TIE is an acronym for twin ion engine. It has nothing to do with bowties,” Charlie argued.
“I don’t think that’s right,” Scott said, taking out his phone. “I’m gonna look it up.”
Charlie sighed heavily, leaning against his side. Scott dropped his shoulder to make him more comfortable, focusing on his phone screen.
“Check out the nerds arguing over Star Wars,” Amber said, sitting back down with two glasses of wine. Apparently, it was her and Lanie’s third first-official-kiss anniversary.
Scott wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but they were cute together. They couldn’t have been more different, Lanie quiet and a little on the reserved side, Amber… well, Amber’s earrings could have doubled up as the rims for bicycle wheels in an emergency, and that was probably the subtlest thing about her. But they obviously made it work.
“There’s literally no point in calling a librarian a nerd. It comes with the territory,” Charlie retorted. “Scott is totally a nerd, though.”
“Hey,” Scott objected, though he didn’t really have a leg to stand on.
“I’m not the one who named my dog Chewie,” Charlie said, shifting a little closer to Scott’s side and yawning widely.
Scott finally found the Wookiepedia page he wanted and skimmed the first few paragraphs. “Okay, so… you’re right, it stands for twin ion engine. But, apparently the comparison to bowties came up in the extended universe, so…”
“So we’re both right.”
“Sorry.” Scott grinned. “Bowties in Star Wars.”
“I’m not a hundred percent convinced, but I do like the idea of Harrison Ford in a bowtie. Or anything, really.”
Scott chuckled. He was starting to get a picture of Charlie’s taste in men, between Marcus and a few other guys he’d mentioned.
He wasn’t so stupid that he couldn’t see how he fit into it. Broad-shouldered and a little awkward seemed to be Charlie’s thing.
“Not Oscar Isaac?”
“I’m not saying I’d kick him out of bed.” Charlie hummed thoughtfully. “And I have seen red carpet photos where he looks great all dressed up, but I actually like him better when he’s sweaty and covered in engine grease.”
“That’s gross,” Scott said. “I mean not… not being attracted to him in the first place, but engine grease is gross.”
“In the fantasy world in my head, it smells faintly of rosewater,” Charlie explained. “I know it’s gross in real life, but I’m never going to screw a resistance fighter pilot in real life.”
“I guess.” Scott frowned to himself, unsure about the strange, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t bother him that Charlie was attracted to men in general, but apparently it bothered him when he talked about specific men.
Maybe that was just something he needed to get past. Maybe it was just because he wasn’t used to it.
“Well, I need to get home,” Lanie said, draining the remainder of her glass of wine. “Big day tomorrow.”
“Your sister’s coming to visit, right?” Charlie asked.
“Yep.” Lanie smiled wryly. “We’ll see how that goes. I might need you to help me bury a body later.”
“I’m good with a shovel,” Scott responded. He assumed it was a joke.
“I like him, you can keep him,” Lanie said, standing and shrugging her coat over her shoulders. “Wish me luck.”
Scott couldn’t help smiling at that. He liked being accepted by Charlie’s friends. Hopefully, he’d be able to call them his own friends soon enough.
“Good luck, and good night,” Charlie called after Lanie and Amber, raising a hand lazily to wave at them. He felt heavy against Scott’s shoulder, like he would have liked to be in bed hours ago.
Scott could feel himself fading, too. It’d been a long week, both at school and work. Bed was starting to sound awesome.
“Come on,” Scott said, straightening up and swallowing his last few mouthfuls of beer, shuddering at the bitterness of the last few drops. “Time for good boys to be in bed.”
“It’s sweet that you think I’m a good boy,” Charlie said, standing and stretching his arms high over his head so his sweater rode up, revealing a clean white undershirt beneath it.
Charlie really knew how to dress himself. His taste in clothes was a little odd, but they were always clean and neat, always fitted him to within an inch of his body. He clearly looked after himself.
“You’re definitely not a bad boy,” Scott said, grabbing his coat. They’d both remembered to bring one this time, so at least the walk home wouldn’t be as cold.
“I dunno.” Charlie turned to lead the way out of the bar. “I’m covered in tattoos. I do own a faux-leather jacket, somewhere. I could get a motorcycle.”
“And you’d still be a sweet librarian under it. You could wear bad boy as a Halloween costume, but you’re a sweetheart all the way from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes.”
“That’s easily the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.” Charlie held the door open for Scott, following him through it into the cool air outside. Fall was coming up fast, some of the trees around town already turning yellow and orange.
“Can I walk you home?” Scott asked. “It’s dark, you’re tired, I don’t want you tripping over and spending the night in a ditch.”
“I’m not gonna refuse an escort,” Charlie said.
Scott held out his arm, offering it to Charlie to grab hold of. For whatever reason, he felt like they were the kind of friends who could be physical with each other. Hugs, linking arms, leaning against each other when they were tired. That kind of thing.
He’d liked having Charlie lean against him. He hadn’t even considered stopping it.
Charlie took a step toward him and immediately tripped over something on the ground, lurching forward as he struggled to regain his balance.
Scott ducked down, catching him under the arms and pulling him upright, saving him from a face full of the gravel under their feet.
Charlie’s breath was coming in soft, sharp pants, his heart beating so hard that Scott could hear it in the otherwise silent night air.
After gathering himself together for a moment, Charlie stood up by himself, rolling his shoulders back and shoving his hands in his coat. He looked pale, his face drained and his jaw tight. Scott knew the feeling, the way that moment of panic hit like a baseball bat to the back of the head, and he knew it took a moment to shake off.
He took a step toward Charlie as the other man shivered, not sure how to help him. He’d be fine in a second, but a second seemed like too long to wait.
Before Scott was sure of what he was doing, he took another step forward, closing the gap between them again. Charlie looked up at him, his eyes wide and dark behind his glasses, so open, so trusting.
The softest hitch of breath was the only sound Charlie managed to make before Scott’s lips connected with his.
Charlie’s face was already cold from being outside, but there was a little warmth left in his cheeks. When his lips parted, his mouth was hot, and his tongue was silky-soft against Scott’s, and Scott didn’t remember ever kissing anyone quite like this.
Ever wanting it this much.
His heart clenched in his chest, then sped up, making everything feel a hundred times more urgent. The heat of Charlie’s mouth seemed to roll down his throat, pooling deep in his gut. His skin tingled, his lungs felt tight.
Everything about this was nice. Everything felt good, and right, and like this was how it was supposed to be.
It wasn’t weird. Or it was weird, but only in the sense that he wanted more of it, wanted to do this again and again until they were both breathless and panting, warmed by each other’s bodies, eager to run home and strip off and continue.
He was close enough to Charlie that their bellies were touching, warmth seeping through the layers of clothes between them, making the air hot and close.
A wolf-whistle from the direction of the bar startled Scott, dragging him back to reality.
What.
The.
Hell.
He blinked at Charlie, looking between his half-lidded eyes, his glasses askew on his face, his parted, kiss-swollen lips. Scott swallowed.
He’d done that.
He’d done that, and he liked it.
There was really only one response to that.
“I have to go,” Scott said, stumbling backward, almost tripping over the same rock or stick or whatever it was that Charlie had.
He saw Charlie reaching out to him, caught the soft wait he whispered, but Scott was barely stopping himself from running as it was. He couldn’t look back. This wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have.
All he could do was get the hell out of there.