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The first time Charles kisses him, it wipes Edwin’s mind clean like nothing else ever has.
No case, not Hell, no amount of exhilaration or fear or devastation, none of it compares to the moment their lips meet, nothing even comes close.
They have been talking about… something, Edwin cannot even remember the topic, and Charles gets a look on his eyes that he has never seen before, something far away and yet so aware, and one second, Edwin is talking and the next, there are lips pressed against his, soft and warm and tender.
Charles kisses him and it’s like Edwin is finding a new home in his lips, a new purpose in the hand Charles raises to cup his cheek, a new, yet familiar destiny in the little sigh he breathes into Edwin’s mouth; a kiss of life.
The kiss doesn’t last long, only a few seconds, but Edwin’s mind is swept clean after it, nothing left in it but the feeling of Charles’ lips.
“I could feel that”, Charles mutters and his eyes flutter open, dark and beautiful under his long lashes, “Like, all of it. Maybe I should have tried that out ages ago. Could have helped with figuring things out, huh?”
And he smiles, and through the exhilaration, the love that is making Edwin’s chest feel tight, something peeks through that hurts. It takes a moment, or two, or maybe even three, until Edwin can identify it, because his brain is still so slow, so overwhelmed, until he can identify it: try it out, Charles has said.
Of course.
It makes sense, because Charles said he would figure things out, and he has always been more action-based that Edwin, hasn’t he? So this would be how he would figure things out, by trying them.
Trying Edwin.
And of course it hurts, because that means that the kiss hasn’t meant to Charles what it has meant to Edwin – hasn’t wiped his mind clean, hasn’t tilted the world off its axis, hasn’t changed his life so far to make room for this instead – but at the same time, it means Charles is taking this seriously.
That he is truly considering it, Edwin, them, and that is worth the hint of pain that goes along with Edwin’s tingling lips, his blurred minds.
He can take this, of course he can; he’ll just hope that in the end, Charles will realise that it is what he wants, too.
The second time Charles kisses him is on the same day still, and it’s quick and it’s sweet and Edwin feels like in one of the old movies that his mother never wanted him to watch, like he is about to swoon.
Because they are about to walk through their mirror to interview a witness, but before Edwin can step into it, Charles reaches out and grasps his wrist, pulls him back and into him, their lips colliding in the middle.
“For good luck”, Charles tells him with a grin when he pulls back, and Edwin aches, Edwin craves, Edwin wants to press back against him and ask for another kiss, for a thousand more.
He doesn’t, but if he stumbles over his words later when talking to their witness, that’s the reason why.
The third time Charles kisses him is late at night and everything around them is quiet, making it easy to forget about the rest of the world that isn’t part of their little bubble of warmth.
The day had been like so many before, filled with running and chasing leads, with Charles being unfairly handsome, gripping his cricket bat tightly, giving it a twirl as he stepped between Edwin and a warlock, even if the man hadn’t even attempted to threaten them in the end.
Which hadn’t changed anything about the fact that Edwin had felt his lips tingle, his heart swell in his chest, that he had wanted to rush over and kiss Charles senseless for his efforts.
The only thing that had stopped him had been the knowledge that it wouldn’t have been the reward for Charles that Edwin wanted it to be, instead just a slice of wish fulfilment on Edwin’s part.
What had been a reward for both of them was curling up on the sofa once they got back to the agency, after Crystal had gone home, Charles putting on some music and Edwin picking up a book he had been saving for some time.
It had been… domestic, for the lack of a better word, and Edwin would have been happy for the day to end just like this, but then Charles had put his feet into Edwin’ lap, and Edwin would have been even happier to let the day end like that. He had even take a bit of a liberty and put his hand on the instep of Charles’ foot, fingers circling his ankle easily.
Two, or maybe three times, he had done this before, but that didn’t take the thrill of it away the slightest.
Only that then, that now, Charles is looking at him and Edwin can feel his gaze like a physical touch and there is no way he can focus on the words written down in front of him anymore.
“What is it?”, he asks and when he looks over at Charles, Charles is already looking back, as expected, but he’s smiling, too.
“Nothing, really”, he replies, and it’s a lie, quite obviously. Why else would Charles just watch him? “It’s just…”
And he surges up and kisses Edwin square on the lips, like it is the easiest thing in the world, like it’s nothing he even has to think about.
It works, but only because Edwin is thinking enough about it for the both of them.
The fourth time Charles kisses him, Edwin can see it coming and is still woefully unprepared for it.
They are out on a walk, which is something they don’t do nearly enough, but the weather is lovely, the sun is shining and the birds are singing, and Charles asked that they go to St. James’ Park to enjoy the sunshine, the myriad of flowers blooming.
Even if it isn’t, and Edwin should just stop thinking about it, it feels like a date.
And it’s beautiful.
At some point, Charles even links their arms together, as if walking next to each other wasn’t close enough, and Edwin has to do his best not to sigh at it, not too commit the feeling to memory for the rest of his existence.
“I really like this”, Charles says, but doesn’t specify what it is he means; does he like the sun or the new leaves sprouting around them or Edwin’s presence here with him? Edwin hopes it’s all of the above and yet cannot be certain. “Feels like this is what spring is supposed to be like, doesn’t it?”
It doesn’t, because that makes no sense, since spring isn’t supposed to feel like anything in particular, but Edwin finds himself nodding anyway, because Charles looks happy, and maybe that is what spring is supposed to be like.
Being close to the one you love and watching them smile.
“You know, I never-”, Charles starts again but never finishes, “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyway.”
And he looks over at Edwin, who can’t figure out why it is, but who knows even before Charles uses the hold he has on his arm to pull him closer.
The sun is making his eyes sparkle in ways Edwin has never seen this close up before, his lips look soft, look supple, and there is a moment, just one, in which Edwin feels pain, because it’s everything he wants and yet not all of it; then he feels nothing but Charles’ lips on his.
The fifth time Charles kisses him is because of nothing at all.
Crystal is nearby, looking through their collection of artefacts, occasionally asking a poignant question, occasionally asking a rather stupid one, and Edwin has been trying to hide the more valuable specimens from her.
Not because he doesn’t trust Crystal, of course, just because of normal, human precaution.
At least until Charles catches his hand and pulls him away from the shelves, a smile on his lips that is prettier than most art Edwin has seen, and kisses him.
It’s gentle and over within a second or two, and afterwards, when Edwin is still reeling from the fact that Charles kissed him almost in front of Crystal (and shouldn’t he still want to kiss her? Whatever happened with that and how did Edwin forget about it so completely until now?), Charles winks at him.
“She’s not gonna break anything, you know?”, he tells Edwin, his voice low enough that it’s only for Edwin to hear, and if he still had half a mind left, he’d try and protest about being found out like this. “But maybe do hide the crystal ball we got in 1997. I would really hate losing that. You know. Just in case.”
The sixth time Charles kisses him is on a case, which is highly inappropriate and Edwin should tell Charles that it is neither the time, nor the place, but the thing is that it has been two days since he last has been kissed and when Charles takes his face into his long-fingered, elegant hands, Edwin doesn’t feel anything but grateful.
There is chaos around them, but Charles kisses him like he means it, his thumbs on Edwin’s cheekbones and his body shielding him from everything, and Edwin melts into this, into his lips and his touch and the love he already holds for Edwin and the one Edwin hopes he will one day.
“We’ll get out of this somehow”, Charles tells him after he has pulled away, and he at least seems to believe it, and that’s enough for Edwin. “I promise. I’ll get us out.”
Edwin nods, and Charles gives him a smile, and although they are in post-mortal peril, the almost only thing Edwin can think about is that he wants to kiss Charles again and again and again.
And maybe, he won’t be able to take this after all.
The seventh time, they are back at the agency, tired in a way only the non-corporeal can be, and Charles drags him to the sofa where they collapse into each other.
“What a fucking shit show today was”, Charles sighs; his hand finds Edwin’s head and guides him down until he is lying in Charles’ lap, a new perspective on the world that would leave Edwin breathless if he was still breathing. Charles’ fingers card through his hair, mussing it up impossibly, and Edwin never wants to move again. “The next time I suggest taking directions from a siren, please remind me to… just not do that, okay?”
Edwin stares up at him, only half comprehending what Charles is saying, and maybe he is missing his cue, because Charles looks down with a lopsided grin and the faintest hint of worry in his eyes, and Edwin… Edwin would do anything for him.
“You okay?”, Charles asks and his fingers are still playing with Edwin’s hair, like he is not even noticing it. “You haven’t said I told you so once.”
“I am perfectly adequate”, he manages to say, but God, it is hard to have a single thought when Charles is so close, looking at him so fondly. “I did not expect you to miss my admonishments.”
That gets a chuckle, one that Edwin will think about for decades, and then Charles leans down and presses a kiss to Edwin’s forehead.
It feels so innocent and yet makes Edwin think of things that are as far from it as they could be, of Charles lips and kisses and fingertips on every part of his body.
“I miss everything you don’t say to me”, Charles says, lips still brushing across Edwin’s skin, and suddenly, Edwin isn’t thinking about anything anymore at all.
The eighth time Charles kisses him, it’s like nothing before, because Charles plucks the book Edwin is reading out of his hands, but before Edwin can protest, Charles has slipped into lap, and the book is completely forgotten.
Even if he cannot feel the fabric of Charles’ jacket, Edwin can feel how solid Charles is, bracketing his body with his thighs, the pressure keeping him grounded, safe. It’s like a memory of a sensation that is happening right now, only interrupted wherever it is their skin touches: Charles’ fingertips brushing against the side of his throat, his other hand on the nape of Edwin’s neck.
“Tell me if this is too much”, Charles tells him, his eyes and lips and smile so close, and Edwin nods, although he isn’t sure how any of this could be too much, not to him.
And then Charles kisses him, open-mouthed and yet sweetly, licking between Edwin’s lips like he is trying to drink down the very essence of him.
The hand he has half buried in Edwin’s hair slides around to find his jaw instead, cradling it, while the other smooths down his chest, following the lapel of his suit, and Edwin has never been kissed like this and now that he knows how it feels like, he’s not sure if he can go without it again.
Even if he doesn’t know how to kiss Charles back in a way that is worthy of what he is receiving, he parts his lips and lets Charles nip at them, gasps into the space between them and wraps his arms around Charles’s waist to keep him close, keep him closer.
Charles rises on his knees, surging up as his second hand joins the first, holding Edwin’s face between them like he did in Hell, and Edwin loves him so much it threatens to drown him, just like Charles’ kisses.
“Not too much then?”, Charles asks against his lips and he’s breathless, he’s laughing, and Edwin’s arms tighten around him before he knows he is moving. It feels like a fever, having Charles close like this.
“No”, he replies, even if he isn’t sure how he is still speaking, “Never.”
What he doesn’t say, because Charles kisses him again and Edwin is more than happy to forget about it for now, to just lose himself in Charles’ lips, is this: Never let me go without this again.
What he thinks, because he cannot stop himself is: You might and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to take it.
The ninth time Charles kisses him, Edwin has been starving for it to the point where it feels like he has never done anything else. And not because of anything in particular, just because they have been so close to each other for the better part of three hours and Edwin wants nothing but to pull Charles close and kiss him like their lives depend on it.
And it’s a problem, isn’t it? Because he is missing clues, he is certain of it; Crystal and Niko both sneaking him glances like they aren’t sure what is wrong, and the only saving grace he has left is that neither of them mention it.
“Look at that!”, Charles proclaims and points at a sting of glyphs on the bottom of a pillar that Edwin should have spotted right away, rummaging in his backpack to find their decryption glasses before Edwin can even request them. “I know you probably don’t need them, but you know, why not make life a bit easier sometimes?”
And he hands Edwin the glasses with a smile.
“That’s… quite helpful. Thank you, Charles.”
“I know”, he says and his smile gets brighter if anything, “Proper helpful, that’s me. Don’t you forget it, mate.”
And he kisses Edwin, Edwin, who has been dying to be kissed for hours now, in front of everyone.
Just a little peck, like it is the easiest, most natural thing in the world, and for a moment, it is bliss.
Only for a moment, though, because then Charles pulls back and Edwin’s head zeroes in on the one thing he should have remembered all along, the one he was trying so hard to forget.
Mate.
And it hurts, almost as much as the kiss had been a relief, and suddenly, Edwin isn’t sure he can take it anymore.
The tenth time Charles kisses Edwin, nothing happens and everything happens at once.
Nothing happens, because the kiss is caused by nothing at all, everything happens because Edwin is so in love with Charles he could scream, he could cry, he could fall to his knees and thank every god that wants to listen to him for the privilege of it, because Edwin doesn’t know if he can take another kiss that doesn’t mean to Charles what it does to him.
And yet Charles, who doesn’t know better, who is trying this out for Edwin’s sake, kisses Edwin sweetly in the morning when Edwin is watching the sun rise, putting one hand on his shoulder and the other right below Edwin’s jaw, fingers brushing where his pulse would be if he still had any.
Edwin kisses back, because there is nothing else he can do, then watches Charles retreat, and thinks how it will break his heart not to have this anymore, thinks that it will be kinder that having this and always fearing the day it might be taken away.
The first time Charles doesn’t kiss him is later that day, because it has started raining like a God is trying to drown the world, and Crystal refuses to go out, so the case they have is put on hold for the afternoon, and it’s just the two of them once more.
Edwin has a book in his hands, but the words make no sense as he reads them, because there’s nothing in his mind but the longing for Charles’ kiss, the pain of it and the fear that maybe this time, he’ll break something between them if he speaks it out-loud.
But then Charles saunters over, a smile on the lips Edwin wants to kiss, and he doesn’t want to, but in that moment, he knows that there will be no other option. Because Charles leans down and Edwin can see the next few seconds in his mind, how Charles will take the book from his hands, or maybe just push it down, will lean in and kiss him like it doesn’t matter, like it’s nothing when it will be anything but that to Edwin.
And Edwin cannot do it, not again, not when he knows how wonderful, how terrible it will feel.
“Charles”, he says, before he can allow himself another reprieve, “Stop.”
It makes Charles freeze in place, eyebrows furrowing and raising, and there is alarm in his expression, but it’s still kind, almost tender, and Edwin breathes a sigh of relief; this might be the hardest thing he has ever had to do and yet he’ll be able to do it if Charles just continues looking at him like this.
“What’s wrong?”, Charles asks and instead of grabbing Edwin’s book, he falls down onto the sofa next to him, so close it almost hurts and yet far away enough that Edwin can still think. “Anything happen?”
“Nothing happened. It’s something else.” He cannot look at Charles, not while saying this, and yet he cannot look away from him either, so his gaze ends up on Charles’ chest, the necklace he had tugged on when Charles had been in his lap, which had made Charles gasp into his open mouth. “I cannot continue this.”
“What?” Charles sounds more confused than anything and Edwin wants to look up at him, but doesn’t dare to; if he finds pain in his face, he might end up taking everything back. “The kissing? We don’t have to do the kissing, if you don’t like it-”
“Of course I like it!”And Edwin makes a mistake, looks up at Charles, whose eyes are wide and concerned and confused, and God, Edwin wants to kiss him so much it makes his lips ache. “I like it so much! Sometime it’s the only thing I can think about because I want to kiss you so bad! But I can’t have you kiss me to figure where you stand on loving me, because it tears my heart out every time you step away.”
It’s not how he should handle this, not how he should phrase it, because if Charles never ends up feeling the same, he should not have to think about how every of his touches is the greatest, the most beautiful taunt to Edwin, and yet, Edwin cannot make his mouth stop moving until it has spilt every secret he is carrying.
Only that Charles doesn’t answer, not for a long time, although his lips are moving, as if he is trying to find the words to say.
“Edwin”, he finally starts, when Edwin’s heart is three times its usual size, when it has crumpled to dust. “What the fuck?”
It’s not the response he expected, especially because it’s not said with anger, not even annoyance, just genuine confusion, maybe a little bit of hurt.
“You think I was kissing you to, what? See if I liked it?”, he continues before Edwin has come up with a response, speaking so slowly it feels like he is still trying to come up with the words.
“I- yes? To try it out. Try me out.”
“What the fuck, Edwin?”, Charles repeats and now there is definitely hurt in his voice and in his eyes and Edwin is floundering, because he was trying to prepare for pain, but mainly his own; if Charles was to be hurt it would be because he liked kissing, liked feeling things. Not… like this. “I wouldn’t do that! Not to you! Not to anyone, really, but especially not to you. I’m kissing you because I love you, you idiot!”
Charles’ pain overtakes everything for a moment, shouts louder than his words, because his eye are wet with tears and Edwin put them there, and he wants to break down and apologise for whatever he has done, said, understood wrong, but then the words break through and they are everything, everything, everything.
The world stands still and Edwin cannot think, can only listen to the echo of Charles’ words in his mind, only see the beauty and the pain and the love in them.
“You… love me?”, he asks eventually, tentatively, because even if he knows he has heard it right, he needs the reassurance, needs to hear it one more time, if not a thousand.
“Yes”, Charles says, and something has changed, because there is hint of fond exasperation clinging to the words now, in between the hurt, softening them until it doesn’t break Edwin’s heart to look at him anymore. “And I actually thought I was quite clear about that part. I kissed you twenty-seven times by now, I don’t really do that with my friends. You know I’m not that good with words all the time. I’m better with, you know. This.”
“It was ten times, actually”, Edwin can’t stop himself from saying, even if it should be the least important part of the message, and this, at least, makes Charles laugh softly; even if there is still there is some pain in his eyes left, they are tender now, loving.
“Sixteen times while I was on your lap, mate”, Charles disagrees after a moment, mostly fond, mostly gentle, before he pulls a face, correcting himself, “Sixteen times while I was on your lap, luv.”
He’s been counting, maybe even more closely than Edwin himself, who hadn’t had any mind left once Charles’ body had been weighing him down, and the thought leaves Edwin light-headed, overwhelmed, devoted above all else.
“That’s only twenty-six, then.”
“I know” Charles says, chuckles, sighs; he’s smiling now, and Edwin loves him so much he could write sonnets about just that smile, that look, that curl of Charles’ hair that is lying across his forehead, bouncing as he leans in. “Gimme a second, and I’ll make it right.”
And he closes the distance between them, and kisses Edwin for the twenty-seventh, for the first time, and it’s better than any other kiss they have ever shared.
Edwin stops counting kisses after that.