(Third Person POV)
"You're the professional," says Charlie, urging Nick forward with his palm pushing up against the small of his fiancé's back. "So you can go first. I'll sit over here..." With his head going in all sorts of directions and varying speeds, Nick swears that Charlie is going to throw up. A few seconds later, and with no seats in sight, his fiancé accepts defeat. "If you need me then I'll be standing over there, Nicholas. Have fun!"
Of the two, Nick had gone to many weddings. Most of which he was dragged to because they were his mom's friends, or the children of those friends, and so on. Apparently, those childhood memories deem Nick as a professional when it comes to getting a tuxedo. That is where Nick and Charlie disagree.
"Hate to break it to you, but there can be more than one person browsing at a time, Charles." Firmly grabbing Charlie's hand, the golden retriever of the couple proceeds to further drag the other (who's now cursing in his head) through the entrance of a store in London that sells men's formal wear.
Weeks ago the boys decided to swing by today and take a look at tuxedos to wear to Tara and Darcy's wedding. Originally, Charlie had agreed, because originally, only Nick was meant to get a new suit. His is old and too traditional for their friend's wedding, which is meant to be extravagant, and yes, very gay.
(Charlie's POV)
As we hold hands, I can't help but feel embarrassed about how clammy my hand is right now. How the hell he even has any grip on it has me baffled. Though, to be honest, the reason behind it being so sweaty is much more embarrassing.
This is going to sound dumb, very dumb. Frankly, if I admit to this Nick, he'll probably laugh at, and then tease me, which is a fair reaction.
In all honesty, I'm just afraid to see Nick in a suit. And that's because he's devastatingly hot, and my face is very expressive. I could never hide how enamored I am by him wearing a fucking suit and tie. Plus, with the fact that Nick is Nick Nelson, my doting future husband, that makes my super slim chance of him not being able to read me, even slimmer. He can read me extremely well, and sometimes it's incredibly unfortunate. Today is one of those days.
"Fuck." I whisper under my breath, feeling redness creep onto my face as I think about Nick in a suit. "What the hell is wrong with me?" Immediately I clap a hand onto my mouth, slowly removing it with a groan. If I could not voice my inside thoughts that would be great. Nick peers over his shoulder, a hand of his yanking at a potential blazer for him to wear. "What did you say?"
Shifting my weight onto my dominant foot, I grin. "I said 'fuck, what the hell, that's such a nice color'." Ignoring the sweat practically heading down my face like in a cartoon, Nick nods in agreement. For the next few minutes, he continuously pulls out more options, all of varying colors. That is until we get to a beige tuxedo. "You could wear a colorful tie with that, nothing tacky though, just something that'll pop." My voice is soft as I look over him, imagining it, "A bow tie could work too, though, anything could."
Despite not voicing it, my flickering eyes say "you'd look good in anything."
Of course, taking his fiancé's idea into account, Nick chooses not to put the beige blazer back. Nick also simultaneously talks about how Elle's expertise has rubbed off on me. That's true, she has certainly taught me a lot over the years. Though, I'll never look as fabulous as her. But that's a given. That's one of Elle's things, not mine.
___________________________________
"Alright, since you're practically dressing me, I was wondering if I could do the same for you." Says Nick, or rather, asks Nick. A bit worried, yet of course trusting Nick, I say yes. Over the past few years, I've gained a better perception as to what I look good in as my love for my body has grown, but at times Nick still acts like my personal stylist. Besides, what's the worst that he could do?
__________________________________
Okay, I was very, very wrong. Nick has gone for a near fire truck red outfit, insisting that the brightness of it contrasts with my black hair and tan skin, so it'll look good. And okay, I'll admit that he's right. After all, According to Elle, contrasts are an artist's way to breathe life into a piece of art. They're satisfying because they just look really good, (if done properly.) Having said that, everything else that I'd wear, every accessory, would probably be nude or basic like white, because that's a "safe color." They're neutral.
Are you proud of us Elle?
"By the way, you're also wearing sunglasses for strictly stylish reasons." With that, Nick huffs, "god, you're going to look so hot! In that case, maybe I shouldn't drink at the wedding." Imagining a drunk Nick intensely pining all night because I look like a CIA agent that he'd let arrest him makes me giggle like a child.
And yes, in a drunken state, he would say that.
"Okay, yeah. Maybe you shouldn't try to make me look like a curly-haired and blue-eyed version of Paul Bettany."
That man loves his classic combo of a suit and shades.
Physically waving away my concerns with a comically sassy flick of his hand, Nick reasons with me that his alcohol-induced flirtations won't be unbearable as long as I don't suddenly look like David Tennant. With all of the years I've known him, I should have known that was going to come out of his mouth. There have been multiple occasions where he kept me awake by going on and on about how attractive David Tennant is. It was both cute, and my version of hell. On one hand, seeing him all passionate made my heart swell, but did it have to be happening when I was absolutely knackered?
Sarcastically snappy, I snatch everything that he took off of the racks from his arms. "On that note, I'm trying on your outfit for me, and you better give me a ten out of ten." With that, I turn on my heel and headed inside a changing room that an employee had just opened for us.
Unfortunately for Nick, he had to get his own changing room because now this is war. Now we're competing like we're on America's Next Top Model. There was no way in hell that I'd ever let my enemy into my changing room.
Whipping off my top, I can't help but be frustrated by the tedious process of trying on an entire outfit. Almost everything has to come off, and then I have to replace it with fabric that only encourages the heat in the room to intensify. Clearly, this part of being in rugby isn't what I brought to adulthood with me. Nick on the other hand is already looping his belt through his jeans, so obviously he did take that from his former rugby days.
By the time that I can hear him shuffling out of his changing room, and then shutting the door behind him, I'm struggling to button the bottom half of my suit. Stupid new, unworked buttons. "Char?" Nick knocks on the door of my stall, "do you need help?" For his information, I'm a grown man. But yes, I do admittedly need his help. The calluses from gripping my drumsticks all day aren't helping. "Yeah, I do." I unlock the door, pulling the latch out of the socket that it slides into, "come in."
My fiancé briefly assesses the situation, watching as my fingers once again clumsily fail to pull the button through the slit in the other bit of fabric. "Do you just need help buttoning the bottom half of your blazer?" He asks nonchalantly, his hair noticeably jostled from changing. Slowly, I nod. Nick looks.."I want to get married." I exasperate, no thoughts surfacing in my mind. I'm astonished by him. He has me speechless. My lover quirks an eyebrow, a goofy smile on his face, "We are." The pads of his fingers tease me as they help to yank button by button through their designated slots, my breath hitching.
I clear my throat, snapping myself out of this mortifying horny trance of mine. Am I seriously enjoying watching him help me button up my blazer? Once he's done, Nick steps back, quickly stepping back into my personal bubble to fix my collar. And there he goes again, making my skin prickle with anticipation. Moving my eyes up from his fingers to his hands, and then to his muscular arms, I quickly skip over to his face. The concentration is cute.
"You might need the size up." I frantically announce, baffled by my mind, "Your blazer, it looks a bit tight." Nick drops his hands, my collar now fixed. Having heard me, he looks at himself in the floor-length mirror beside us. "Does it?" Okay, maybe mine is tight? Fuck, I'm hot. Close quarters make me sweaty. "Yes." I step out of the changing room, quick to undo the buttons that he just helped me to button. Then I whip around to look at him. He's already looking at me.
"Yeah, looking at it now, I prefer it unbuttoned too. You look really nice, love. Dare I say sexy."
(Nick's POV)
Charlie is standing in front of me, a leg of his sorta jutted out like he's assuming the pose of a supermodel. And fuck, does he look good. The sunglasses are sitting perfectly atop his head, slightly pushing back the grown-out sea of curls. If anything, he's how I imagine any older rock n roll star to look back when they were in their prime. Not to mention how his hands are stuffed into his pockets. Charlie looks effortlessly confident. I love it.
"Oh, what a shame." Char begins, eyes wide like saucers because of my comment, "Guess I can't wear this to our friend's wedding. I'm sure that they don't want a sex magnet there." How much sarcasm is dripping from Charlie's tongue should be illegal. See, you'd think that my mind is clouded right now, but it's not. Right now, it's as clear as day.
Voice dropping an octave, I proceed with caution, careful to only be heard by my fiancé. "You're a sex magnet no matter what you wear, but especially without clothing." Face flushed, Charlie's eyes go wide like saucers.
Got him.
He may be cemented to the ground now.
Completely avoiding contact, Charlie takes off the blazer, mumbling something about how humid it is in here. Even then, that's not enough. Eventually, he scurries back to his changing room, later coming out to hand me what we're buying. Great, now I can't even look at him in normal attire without being set ablaze.
"You better keep your hand off of my thigh on the way home. Nicholas Nelson."
__________________________________
"Why are you such a flirt?" Asks Charlie as he slams me against a wall at the entrance of our home. A picture frame by me rocks back and forth for a bit, rapidly, before it falls to the floor, along with the car keys in my hand. We ignore that. Fully absorbed in his body as it dances with mine, my hands tangle themselves in his hair. The nape of his neck is in my hands, and I don't plan on letting go.
"Because you're sexy, so fucking sexy."
Bold and ravenous, Charlie kisses behind an earlobe of mine, smiling against the skin, the repetition of my name sounding like it's part of a prayer in a religion. His religion. I'm being worshiped.
Nicholas
Nicholas
Nicholas
^^^ This is my inspiration as to how these two will look at Tara and Darcy's wedding, but obviously a bit different :)
Author's note: I robbed you guys 😈 Also, tomorrow is my last day of junior year. Onto senior year!