"i am good, rooster. i’m very good."

“I don't know,“ he replies, shrugging his shoulders. "I would have thought he would have done it in the summer, after a nice day on the boat and then maybe at dinner.”

You look at him. "Maybe he wanted to combine it with something nice – and Christmas is a celebration of love.” You can't help but grin. “And he didn't have to buy her a Christmas present, just a ring.”

Your roommate laughs. “Should I do the same to you next year? Just propose to you so I don't have to get you a gift?” 

You know it's a joke, but when the words leave his mouth, you feel warm. You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. “Absolutely not.”

The Monegasque steers the car through the streets of his home country. “And how should I propose then? Do you want a trip in a hot air balloon? At Times Square, where everyone is watching? Or at a Taylor Swift concert while she sings Love Story?”

You can't suppress a giggle. ”None of that, please.”

“Then tell me.” He reaches out and grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

“Mmm. I've never really thought about it much. But I think I'd rather have a moment that's just for the two of us. Where no one else is watching, where we're on our own. No onlookers, no one to talk about it. Just the two of us – I think that would be perfect.”

Charles squeezes your hand twice. “Good to know.” He smiles at you briefly before looking back at the road. “By the way, I asked Pierre and Kika if they wanted to go to Lando's party with us tonight. I hope that was okay.”

“Absolutely. I feel like I haven't seen Kika in ages. But it was only – what – four days ago?” 

“I think so. They want to come around seven, so you two can get ready together and maybe have a drink.” 

Without thinking about it, you lean over and kiss his cheek. "You're the best, Charles." You can see the blush rising in his face, but you let it go uncommented.

“I know,” he says with a grin as he turns into the underground parking garage. When the car comes to a stop, you both get out and you press the elevator button while Charles takes your bags out of the trunk. 

“What are the parties like in Monaco?” you ask him as you both enter the elevator. ‘Do you have to dress particularly chic or does it depend on the club? How much money do I need to take with me? Is my ID card enough or do I need to take anything else?’ you bombard him with questions. 

Charles has to laugh. ”Haven't you ever been out partying?”

You shake your head and press the button for your floor. “Not in Monaco, no.”

The elevator doors close and you feel it transport you upwards. The Monegasque looks down at you. “The club where Lando's friend performs is chic, but not super chic. If you like –”

“Where the fuck have you been?” an angry Joris bellows at you as the elevator door opens. 

You almost have a heart attack from the shock, but Charles just looks at his best friend in confusion.

“Since when did you stop checking your cell phones? I've tried to reach you ten thousand times!” Joris's face is as red as a tomato as he snarls at you angrily and you get out of the elevator without saying a word. ”I was still asleep! And I didn't even get to eat breakfast!”

Charles puts your two bags down next to the apartment door. "And a good morning to you, Joris. How can I help you?” He walks past him, deeper into the apartment, Joris follows him, seething. You follow them in silence.

“How you can help me?” Joris asks snappishly, leaning on the kitchen worktop with his hands, before pointing at a few sheets in front of him with his index finger. “Next time you order furniture, at least be home when it's delivered, or leave your own cell phone number so they can call you if they ring the doorbell and you don't open it.” 

Charles opens his eyes wide. ”Our bed.”

Joris sneers. “This shitty bed has cost me valuable hours of sleep. And I certainly shouldn't have driven here.”

Charles can hardly keep a grin off his face as he turns around and opens the fridge. "How many bottles of wine did you drink yesterday?", he asks, placing eggs, vegetables and bacon on the counter in front of him. 

“Two.”

Your roommate gets a bowl and a pan out of a drawer before he starts to crack the eggs into them. “Did you throw up in your front yard?”

Joris rolls his eyes and watches as Charles prepares his hangover breakfast. "No.”

“Then congratulations,’ Charles grins. ”Then you had a successful Christmas.”

The omelette tastes so good that Joris's anger disappears with the first bite. He talks about Christmas dinner with his parents and his brother and the family vacation planned for next year, while he shovels the omelette into himself like a bulldozer. In between, Charles slides him coffee across the counter in a cup, but doesn't dare get closer to his hungry and hungover friend. 

“By the way, the bed is very nice,” Joris finally says, pushing the empty plate away. ‘You could have at least warned me.”

“I'm sorry,’ Charles apologizes with pursed lips. ”Are we friends again?”

Joris sighs. “Of course,” he smiles, getting up from his chair to embrace his oldest friend. They both pat each other on the back before letting go. “I have to go now. By the way, I gave the delivery man a €150 tip for kindly setting up the bed. Thank God you had some money lying around.”

Charles watches his friend go in the direction of the apartment door with confusion. “The setup was already included in the price.“

The photographer purses his lips. "At least they got a nice tip," he finally says, before leaving the apartment and leaving you two alone. 

Without saying a word, you take the dirty dishes and wash them in the sink while Charles puts your bags in the bedroom. When he returns, he stands directly behind you. You can feel the warmth of his skin through your clothes. 

“We also have a dishwasher, you know?” he whispers, laying his chin on your shoulder. His arms wrap around your middle, his chest pressing against your back. 

You nod and lean against him. “But we don't need to run the dishwasher for that,” you reply, breathing in as his hand slowly slides under your sweater. “It was very nice of you to make Joris breakfast, even though it's already afternoon.”

“Mm-hmm,” Charles hums softly. "It was the least I could do. It was really nice of him to come here to take delivery of the bed. I'd completely forgotten that I put down his cell phone number." 

“Joris is a good friend.”

“He is,” he murmurs and kisses your cheek. ‘But I prefer to have you lying in my new bed." He gently pulls you out of the kitchen towards the bedroom where the new bed is. Joris was even kind enough to make the bed; dark gray sheets are smoothly stretched over the mattress and you would love to snuggle up in them. 

“It looks incredibly cozy,“ you smile. 

“Come on.” Charles gently pushes you towards the bed. “I told you I wanted you in it.” He watches you with eagle eyes as you slowly crawl onto the bed and slip under the covers, putting your cell phone on the nightstand. As if you've been conditioned, you have to yawn. 

“The bed was definitely the right decision,” you smile and stretch your arms to fold them behind your head. "But it was definitely the wrong decision to trick me to get into it.”

“Why?’ your roommate chuckles. ”Too comfortable?”

“Definitely. I'd love to stay here forever.” You tap the empty side of the bed next to you. ”Come and try it out.”

Without wasting another moment, Charles circles the bed and lies down next to you. His arm wraps around your middle again and pulls you towards him so that your chests are touching. “I see your point. It is pretty comfortable.” His hand slides up your back under your sweater until it finds its place between your shoulder blades. 

You close your eyes and breathe out. “Do we have to go out partying tonight? I mean, can't we just order take-out and stay in?”

“Of course we could do that,” he smiles. 'But I highly doubt you want to cancel on Kika and Lando.”

You sigh. ‘We could invite everyone here," you suggest. ”The bed is big enough for all of us and –”

“Absolutely not,” he interrupts you and shakes his head vehemently. ‘The only ones allowed in this bed are already in it. Nobody else is allowed to snuggle up in the covers. Besides, I don't like the thought of you lying in a bed with Lando.”

You raise your hand and gently run your fingers through his brown curls. "Are you jealous?”

A deep growl escapes Charles' throat. “Maybe.”

You lean forward and kiss his stubbled cheek. ”You do know that Lando is the reason we're friends again, right? Because he called you when you were in Italy?”

“I am aware,“ he mumbles, pressing you closer. "Doesn't mean you have to share a bed, though.’ 

“You don't have to worry about that,” you grin. “There's only one man I want to share a bed with.” He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Don't worry, Charlie. You're the one I mean, of course.”

“Perfect.”

You lie in bed for a while, legs tangled and snuggled together. You gently run your fingers through his hair while his fingertips caress your back. Lying here with him feels so normal, so familiar, that you don't ever want to be in a bed without him again. 

“You still haven't answered my questions about tonight,” you say eventually, and your hand gently caresses the soft skin at the nape of his neck. 

Charles almost moans, his eyes closed. "I'll pay for you.”

“But I can pay for myself," you smile, even though he's not looking at you.

“Doesn't matter.” Your fingers pause in their movement. Charles fidgets a little, wanting for you to continue.

“You're about to fall asleep, Charlie," you giggle, but comply with his silent request. 

He moves closer to you and cuddles his face into the hollow between your jaw and your shoulder before taking a deep breath. “I'm not,” he replies softly. “But lying here with you is so comfortable.” He leisurely pulls at your sweater to reveal the skin on your neck and places feather-light kisses where your pulse is beating. Goosebumps spread across your body. 

“Charles...”

“Let's cancel on everyone,” he whispers, and his hand moves to your thigh to drape your leg over his hip so that you are literally pressed against each other, body to body. You feel his hardness against your clothed core. 

You sigh. “But you just said that we can't cancel,” you reply. “Besides, you already said yes to Lando and invited Pierre and Kika.”

“I don't care,” he breathes. “Let's be crappy friends and cancel at the last minute. I'm sure the others will understand.”

“What will they understand, hm? That the bed is so comfortable that we don't want to leave it?“ you ask him quietly. 

“That I'd rather be here in bed with you than standing in a crowded club.” His breath caresses your neck gently. “That I'd rather test out the new bed with you than yell at you over the loud music just to be able to talk to you.”

His words make your face heat up. You hope he doesn't notice. “Then we'd be very bad friends.”

“Then let's be very bad friends,” he grins against your neck before pressing a final kiss on your pulse. “We can make it up to them sometime. Just not today. Today I want you all to myself. Now that I finally have you back with me.”

You feel him press his boner against you and you absentmindedly tighten your leg around his waist. Your fingers gently press into his neck muscles and his breathy moans reach your ears. You can feel your arousal pool in your panties and you want to give in so bad. 

You want to stay home with him. In this bed. You want to repeat last night at his mom’s house, but this time the both of you would be able to show how much pleasure you give each other. You desperately want to hear him groan again, but now without the barrier of your hand on his mouth. You want to feel his cock against your pussy, sliding through your folds and gathering your juices. 

God, you want to repeat last night but without any clothes on. His cock nudging against your clit, sending jolts of electricity through your veins. His hands grabbing your ass and moving you over his length. You want to feel the the tip of his dick catching in your entrance before finally sliding in, stretching you deliciously. 

You want to fuck him so bad that it’s making you dizzy.

“What are you thinking about, mon amour?” Charles asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

Before you can answer him – which you don't really want to do anyway – your cell phone rings. The Monegasque reaches for it without hesitation, answers the call and puts the person on speakerphone. 

“Allo?”

“Hello, you two,“ Kika's voice sounds from your cell phone. ‘How are you? What are you doing?”

“We're testing my new bed,’ Charles replies with a grin, and you hide your face in the duvet. 

“You can't say that,” you say, reaching for your cell phone, but your roommate extends his arm so you can't get to it. 

“Why?“ Charles asks hypocritically. "It's true, isn't it?”

“Charles!”

Kika laughs loudly. "Should I call back in a minute? I don't want to disturb you guys doing whatever it is you're doing.”

“It's fine,” you call to her, although she would have understood you even if you had spoken normally. “What can I do for you?”

The Portuguese woman giggles. “I just wanted to ask what you would like to drink and what you are going to wear.”

You open your eyes wide. "Um, I have no idea. What do people wear in the clubs here?" You repeat the question you've already asked your roommate. 

“How about this?” She begins. "Pierre and I will come a little earlier and go through your closet together? The guys can play video games or something. And we'll get ready in peace and quiet."

You like her suggestion. ”That would be great.”

“Great. Pierre and I are going out for a quick shopping trip and want to buy some wine. You drink sweet, right? Then I'll bring you something.”

“Thanks!” you reply and with a big stretch you finally get to your phone in Charles's hand. "See you in a bit!" You hang up and put the phone back on the bedside table. When you turn to your friend, he's pouting. ”What's wrong?”

He turns on his back and crosses his arms over his chest, which is a little difficult considering your leg is still wrapped around his waist. “I was kind of hoping you'd cancel on them.”

A smile spreads across your face. You slide closer to him again and reach for his arms to separate them before you roll onto him. Your knees are next to his hips on the mattress and instinctively, his big hands find your ass. 

“I'm sorry, Charles,” you whisper, leaning down so that you are completely on top of him. Your elbows are next to his shoulders and your hands are finding their way into his hair again. ”We don't have to stay long.”

The Monegasque exhales. “As long as you promise me that we'll stay in bed tomorrow, that's okay with me.” When you purse your lips, he groans in annoyance and pushes his head back into the pillow. “Do I have to go to camp with Andrea tomorrow?”

You nod slightly. ”I'm afraid so.”

“That's terrible,” he complains, wrapping his arms around you. ”Then we won't see each other again until New Year's Eve! What will I do without you during that time?”

You don't want to think about spending the next few days without him, which is why you change the subject back to tonight. 

“How about this: Kika and Pierre are coming over soon and we'll party later with Lando and his DJ friend,” you begin your suggestion. 

Charles raises an eyebrow. ”I don't see any compromise I'm willing to make.”

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation. “Just let me finish. So - we're all going out to party in a bit, and when we get back home we can make ourselves comfortable in bed here, watch another movie and not get out of bed until noon tomorrow.”

“Do we have to be dressed to watch the movie?” he asks mischievously, and as you move to roll away from him, he turns you both so that he is now on top of you. He grabs your thighs and puts your legs back around his waist, and as he nestles against you, almost crushing you under his weight – which feels better than you care to admit. You feel his boner between your legs. 

“Charles,“ you moan softly as his cock softly nudges against your clothed clit. 

“Do we have to be dressed?” he repeats his question and slides his hand under your sweater, his fingers spreading over your sides. 

You breathe in his scent and bask in his warmth. “We don't have to,” you reply without giving a thought to what it means for you. But you couldn't care less about that right now. 

Charles's lips breathe light kisses on your neck. “Then it's a deal,” he whispers before withdrawing completely – leaving you high and dry. “Come on. Our friends will be here soon. And I doubt you'll want to be in our bed then. No matter how comfortable it is,“ he grins and leaves the bedroom. But as he walks through the door, you can still see him put his hand in his sweatpants to fix his erection. 

Somehow you're glad you have the same effect on him as he does on you. 

Hot blood courses through your veins when you think about how the evening will end. You would love to pull Charles back into bed, rip his clothes off and let him ravish you until you can't walk anymore. 

That will have to wait. 

You would love to turn around and wake Charles with feather-light kisses on his warm skin, to continue where you left off last night. But for a moment, you want to enjoy his closeness, on this quiet morning after Christmas, before you have to return to reality and everyday life.

You slide closer to him, press yourself against him and breathe in his scent. His warm breath gently caresses your neck as he cuddles his face into the curve between your head and your shoulder. His lips ghost gently over the soft skin there before he absentmindedly and as if it were the most natural thing in the world presses a kiss on the spot on your neck. 

His hand, which was still resting on the bed sheet, lies flat on your stomach to press you tightly against him before it searches for the warmth of your body. Hesitantly, it slides under your shirt before finding its firm place on your naked skin. Although he is sleeping, Charles spreads his fingers so that some of his fingertips gently slide under the hem of your shorts and remain there.

You have to suppress a deep sigh to avoid waking Charles, although there is nothing else you would rather do. 

His words almost repeat themselves in your thoughts in your thoughts – “You have a few holes I can fill to keep me occupied” – and the mere thought of it makes you have to press your thighs together. 

How it would feel to have him pressed against you. His weight on yours. How it would feel to fall apart on his cock, drunk on pleasure and his lips on your heated skin as he uses you as he pleases. Filling your pussy again and again and again, maybe even your – 

You feel your arousal pooling in your shorts and decide to get out of bed before you jump Charles' bones, not wanting to wake him up for sex – or something remotely close to it. 

Carefully and slowly, you slide his arm off your heated body and gently lay it on the mattress so you can get up without waking him. You immediately miss the feeling of his warm skin on yours and you would love to snuggle back under the covers, kiss his chest and let him touch you until you see stars. But when you look at him, his eyes closed and a faint smile on his face, you decide to let him sleep. 

He would be leaving for training camp soon and you wouldn't see each other for a few days. He will surely need all the sleep he can get before Andrea will be demanding and exhausting him to the bone there. 

In the bathroom, you quietly slip into a pair of leggings and a large turtleneck sweater, then leave the room on your tiptoes, but not without looking back at Charles. He is now lying on your side of the bed, on his back and with one arm behind his head. His other hand is on his naked chest. He has kicked the blanket away, so it is lying at his feet – and you can see a dark spot on his gray boxer shorts. Right where it stretches over his boner. 

You quickly look away, slip out of the bedroom and quietly close the door behind you. You tiptoe through the house, not knowing whether the rest of the Leclerc family is still asleep or already up and about, and make your way down the stairs towards the kitchen. 

“Good morning,” Pascale smiles at you as you enter the room. She is standing at the humming coffee machine, a dark red cup is under it. "Did you sleep well?”

You smile back at her. “Yes, thank you,” you reply. You don't mention that you slept well because her son gave you a mindblowing orgasm for Christmas and called you “his good girl.” 

The coffee machine stops humming and Pascale reaches for the coffee cup. “I'm glad. The bed is quite old and I was a little worried that it might be too uncomfortable.” She takes a sip of the hot coffee before looking at you. “I hope you enjoyed our Christmas.”

You can't hide a broad smile. “It was perfect.”

Pascale smiles sadly. “Well, it hasn't been perfect for a long time,” she replies quietly, and even without her saying it, you know that she misses her husband very much. She looks into her cup and clutches it with her fingers as if it were the last straw. Mama Leclerc takes a deep breath. “But with each year it becomes more bearable. And now that you're here and Charles is finally smiling again –” she gently lays her hand on your cheek, "- it's getting easier for me, too."

You see the tears in her eyes and before you can stop yourself, you hug her so hard she almost spills her coffee. "Thank you, Pascale," you whisper. ”For taking me in.”

She puts her free arm around you. “You don't have to thank me for that, cherié. You make Charles happy – I can't thank you enough for that.” As you pull away from each other, she smiles gently. “This home is now yours too. No matter what may come.” She presses a fleeting kiss on your cheek. “I wanted to start breakfast right away. Would you like to help me? I just have to take care of something, but you can prepare the dough for the pancakes. You can find the recipe in the cookbook over there. I'll be right back – make yourself at home.” And without saying another word, she leaves the kitchen, leaving you in silence. 

Without hesitation, you open cupboards and drawers, looking for all the necessary utensils and ingredients to prepare the dough for the pancakes. Pascale's cookbook is in French, but you understand it well enough to start preparing the meal without any problems. 

As you weigh the flour and pour it into a large bowl, you hear footsteps behind you. You turn around and see Charles standing in the doorway. His hair is standing on end in all directions and when his eyes meet yours, he seems to breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Good morning,“ you smile at him and turn back to the bowl to add the sugar to the flour. "Did you sleep well?"

You hear his soft steps and then feel his arms wrap around your middle to press you against his chest. ”Very well,“ he whispers. "But to be honest, I missed you when I woke up.”

Goosebumps spread across your skin as he gently and slowly slides his hands under your sweater. “I didn't want to wake you.”

His fingers dig briefly into your sides as he turns you towards him. “I thought for a moment – you were –” He takes a deep breath. “I was afraid that you had disappeared. That last night was just – I don't know – that I imagined it.”

You smile at him and put your hands on his chest. “You didn't. Don't worry.”

Charles returns your smile. “Thank God,” he replies. “I couldn't bear it if we weren't friends anymore.”

Friends. Friends. Friends.

The word repeats itself in your thoughts like a broken record – but that's okay, you think. You take what you can get from him. Even if it's only physical and it ultimately breaks your heart. 

You'd rather have some of him than none at all. 

You raise your hand and let your fingertips gently glide over his cheekbone. “Don't you ever worry your pretty head about that. I promised you I'm not going anywhere.” 

He reaches for your hand and kisses your knuckles. “You better not,” he smiles against your fingers. “And even if you did go, I'd follow you anywhere.” He leans his forehead against yours and his warm breath caresses your face. The palm of his hand, which was just on your back, slides down under the hem of your leggings and grabs your ass. “And there's nothing that can stop me.”

"There's no way I have to close my eyes every time I enter a room,” complains Arthur, holding his hand in front of his eyes. 

Charles rolls his eyes before he digs his fingers briefly into your butt and then moves away from you a little. “Don't act like you're all innocent,” grins the middle Leclerc and winks at you before he goes to wash his hands in the sink.

Arthur purses his lips. “At least I'm not doing it in the middle of the kitchen.”

“Who's doing it in the middle of the kitchen?” Pascale asks, returning to the kitchen with a large basket. She glances around briefly before placing the basket on the counter. Then she puts her hands on her hips, as if waiting for an answer. 

“No one, Maman. No one would dare do that here,” Charles smiles and hugs his mother before giving her a fleeting kiss on the cheek. He glances into the basket. ”Did you really prepare croissants?” 

Mama-Leclerc rolls her eyes and gently pushes her son away. “I have. They just need to go in the oven and then we can have breakfast.” She looks at you. “How are you doing with the dough for the pancakes, cherié?”

“Not very well,” Arthur grins and takes a cup out of the cupboard to put it under the coffee machine. "I think she was quite distracted."

Charles gives his little brother a weak slap on the back of the head. "We'll take care of everything, Maman.”

Pascale raises an eyebrow. “Very well. The croissants need to be in the oven for twenty minutes. In that time, you two take care of the pancakes and Arthur, please set the table,” she orders before disappearing back out the door.

Arthur sighs. “Where are Charlotte and Enzo, anyway? Why aren't they helping?”

Your roommate shrugs and takes the milk out of the fridge and pours it into a measuring cup before pouring it over the flour and sugar. “I don't know. But it's not the first time that Enzo has shirked.”

While the brothers are complaining about where the oldest Leclerc son and his girlfriend are, you prepare the dough. Charles puts the croissants on the baking sheet and slides them into the oven, and Arthur puts the dishes on the table, along with Nutella and jam, before disappearing to change. 

You flip a pancake in the hot pan. “It's been a long time since I enjoyed Christmas,” you suddenly confess, even surprised by your honesty. 

Charles takes a plate out of the cupboard and puts it next to the stove so that you can put the finished pancakes on it straight away. “What do you mean?” He leans against the worktop and looks at you, his fingers curved around the edge. 

You hesitantly place the spatula on the pancake and press it onto the bottom of the pan. “My parents were never the kind of people who thought Christmas was important,” you explain. “They were always at work, so I was always home alone on those days.”

The Monegasque tilts his head. “Did you at least have a Christmas tree? Or presents?”

You purse your lips and shake your head before you take the finished pancake out of the pan and heat up another dollop of dough. “A Christmas tree, yes, but it was made of metal and therefore not particularly Christmassy. There were presents, but I think only so that they wouldn't feel guilty about not being there.” 

It is the first time that you have spoken openly about your parents. Somewhere inside you, there is a nagging feeling that it is not right to speak badly of the people who raised you, but putting them in a good light would not be the truth. And there is no one in this world whom you trust as much as the man watching you carefully turn the pancake.

“Sounds pretty lonely."

You nod slightly. ”It was. With lawyers as parents, it was never easy. You can imagine the path in life they had planned for me. And how disappointed they were when I wanted to do a creative job. They wanted a small, perfect law student – and they got an unemployed photographer.”

Charles apparently senses how difficult it is for you to talk about your parents, because he takes the spatula out of your hand and puts it aside to pull you close. He gently combs his fingers through your hair until his fingertips rest on the back of your neck and he lifts your head so you look at him. 

“First of all, you're no longer unemployed. Remember?” he smiles. His fingertips gently press into the muscles in the back of your neck. ‘Besides, you're perfect just the way you are. There's nothing I would change about you.’ His gaze wanders from your eyes down to your lips and further down to your turtleneck sweater. ”Except for the clothes, maybe.”

You look down at yourself in puzzlement. “Why? Do I look that bad?”

“Not necessarily bad,” he suddenly whispers. “But I think I'd like you better without clothes.” His voice has dropped an octave and goes through your skin and bones, vibrating inside you and making your panties suddenly stick to you. Charles puts his thumb under your chin and gently caresses your jaw. “I would love to carry you upstairs and repeat last night – but this time without clothes.” He leans forward a little and kisses your forehead before pulling back a little and meeting your eyes again. ‘You are absolutely perfect,’ he repeats emphatically. ”And you'll never have to spend another Christmas alone. Not as long as I'm around. My family is your family now, too.”

He lets go of you and reaches for the pan, preventing the pancake from burning behind you. You can only watch him silently, with the skill with which he swings the pan. The veins in his forearm and hand are bulging, and even if you wanted to, you definitely couldn't take your eyes off him. 

How did he manage to turn a conversation about your parents into one where you want to drop to your knees in front of him and – 

“How much longer for the croissants?” Pascale asks as she re-enters the kitchen, bowls of fruit in her hands.

“Not much longer,” Charles replies, placing the last pancake on the stack before setting it on the dining table. He pulls out a chair and smiles at you. ”Why don't you sit down, mon amour? I'll take care of the rest.”

A few minutes later, the whole room is filled with the aroma of warm pastries and coffee, and most of the Leclerc family gathers at the table. Charles, who is not forced to sit on the uncomfortable stool due to the absence of his older brother, takes a seat next to you and slides so close to you that he almost sits on your chair. His knee presses comfortably against yours and he gently places his hand on your thigh. 

But there is nothing sexual about the touch. It is comforting, soothing, and warm. An assurance that you are not alone – and never have to be alone again. 

When Arthur puts the first pancake on his plate, Charlotte and Enzo join them. 

“I'm sorry, Maman,” he apologizes and kisses her briefly on the forehead. ‘We didn't mean to be rude.’ He sits down on the uncomfortable stool across from you – but not without giving Charles a dirty look – and Charlotte sits down across from you. A broad smile is painted on her face.

She is also wearing a dark red turtleneck with a beautiful bow. The sleeves are pulled up over her hands and on her left ring finger is... a ring?

You open your eyes wide and Charlotte catches your glance. Her grin extends almost from ear to ear. 

“But we have a good reason for being late,” Enzo interrupts your train of thought and looks at the woman next to him with a look that is dripping with love and happiness. He grabs her hand before raising it to his lips and kissing her knuckles so that everyone can see the diamond on her finger. 

Pascale jumps up from her chair as if stung by an adder. “Oh my goodness!” she almost screams, causing Arthur to drop his fork in shock. 

“We're engaged,” Charlotte announces, showing off the rock on her finger. 

Suddenly there is alot of noise, everyone gets up from their seats and congratulates the happy couple. You first embrace Enzo and then Charlotte, who squeezes you tightly. 

“I'm so happy for you,” you smile and examine the ring, which suits her perfectly. 

“Thank you,” she replies, unable to contain her joy. She fidgets from one foot to the other like a little kid. "I never would have thought that he would ask me to marry him on Christmas of all days." She hugs you again. "This is going to be so great! I can't wait to start planning!" You glance over at Enzo, who playfully rolls his eyes. Charlotte kisses her fiancé on the cheek. “Don't pretend. You asked me voluntarily!”

“I did,” he smiles at her. “And I don't regret it for a second.”

Pascale, trying to hide the tears in her eyes, claps her hands. “I wish your father was here to see this,” she smiles. “He would have been very happy for you.” 

“Thank you, Maman.“ Enzo kisses his mother on the cheek before he wants to sit down again.

”You certainly won't sit on the stool,” Mama-Leclerc replies, glancing over at Charles, who is trying to hide behind you. ”Charles! Swap your chair with the groom! I want them to be as comfortable as possible today!”

“But Maman –” the Monegasque tries to change her mind, but when he catches the loving and tearful look in his mother's eyes, he falls silent. Without another word, he and his big brother swap chairs, so that in the end he is sitting on the stool again. He puts his hand back on your thigh as if this were its rightful place. 

“Tell me! When did you ask her? How did you ask her? Have you already talked about a date? Would you rather have it in summer or winter?“ Pascale's questions come thick and fast, making the whole table laugh. 

”Now don't bombard them like that,” Arthur laughs, just managing to duck before his mother can catch him with the napkin. ”Just let them - you know - talk.”

But Pascale isn't paying any attention to her youngest son. She rests her elbow on the table, puts her chin in the palm of her hand, and looks at the newly engaged couple. “Well? At what point did you realize you wanted to ask her?”

Enzo grabs the hand of his fiancée and looks at her, smiling. “It was actually a very mundane moment,” he begins to tell the story, but you are not listening. 

You feel Charles's warm and loving gaze on you, and when you look at him, he smiles at you. You hear Enzo's voice as if through cotton wool, telling of a movie night and how he had told an incredibly bad joke that Charlotte found so awful that she had to laugh at it for twenty minutes. 

Your focus is on Charles, his warm gaze, his heavy hand on your thigh. You smile at him and a sparkle flashes in his eyes. 

“There is no one in this world that I love more than her,” Enzo finally says. 

There is no one in this world that I love more than you, Charles. 

Your fingers tangle in his curls as you tilt your head to the side absentmindedly, allowing him more space. „Oh.“

He continues planting soft kisses on your skin, his hands gliding from your thighs to your ass, pulling you right against him. His body pressed against yours, your breathing coming out as faint noises as his tongue occasionally licks on your flesh. „I missed you“, he groans, sucking on that sweet spot right above your pulse, surely leaving a mark. 

But you don’t care. All you can think about his him – and that you want more. 

You press his face harder into your neck, his stubble scratching your already red skin. „Please“, you beg, even though you don’t know what for. For more of his lips, more of his skin on yours – just more of him. 

His tongue moves up your neck, tracing along the underside of your jaw before he pulls back to look at your neck where he had left a small mark, not purple per se, but noticable if you pay attention to it. „You look so beautiful“, he mutters, his voice gruff. „So beautiful – all for me.“ His hands leave your butt, resting on your thighs and an involuntary whine leaves your mouth, already missing his touch. „Oh, cherié. Don’t whine“, he breathes, sliding his hands under the seam of your shorts. You feel his fingertips on the back of your thighs before they find their place on your bare ass, gripping your cheeks and pulling you flush against him. 

„Oh fuck“, you moan as his clothed cock nudges against your clit. One of your hands wander from his hair to his shirt, fisting it in your palm as a jolt of elictricity runs through your body at the movement. You feel your shorts wetten between your legs, coating your inner thighs in your arousal as Charles rocks you back and forth on his boner. 

„I got you“, he groans, his mouth finding your neck again, licking and sucking gently. His fingernails dig into the flesh of your ass, but you couldn’t care less about any marks he leaves on your body. „I got you, cherié.“ His words come out breathlessly against your skin. 

The way your hips rock against him, his dick pressing against you as you move on his lap sends sparks racing through your body, straight to your pussy, clouding your mind with need. The need to feel him, to have him, to be his. 

Your head lulls against his shoulder, too hazy and lost in pleasure to pull up the strength to look at him. Your lips find his neck on their own, kissing and licking at the sweat on his skin. 

„Shit“, he groans and you can feel him vibrate against your lips. „Do – do that again, please“, he breathes, his fingers sliding dangerously close to the space between your thighs beneath your shorts, barely grazing your bare pussy. „I need – fuck – please, cherié.“ 

Your lips ghost over his neck, your tongue occasionally darting out to lick the soft skin before sucking on this sensitive part of his body. His hips buck up against yours, the tip of his cock prodding against your clit and drawing out a long and loud moan from you. One of his hands leaves your ass to pull your face from his neck. „Shh – shh“, he growns lowly and places his hand on your mouth carefully. „Shit, cherié – you can’t –.“ You can see in his face that it takes all of his willpower to finish his sentence. „You can’t be too loud, okay?“, he breathes. 

You nod quickly, but another moan escapes your lips as his clothed cock glides along your soaked shorts, between your drenched folds. Charles hands stays where it is, not risking anything. 

His body against yours feels perfect, hips and chests molding into each other. You wish all those clothes were gone, that you could really feel him, but even this right here – dry humping like horny teenagers – is sending your mind into overdrive. You can’t even think about what it would feel like to have his cock inside of you, splitting you in half and filling you up oh so nicely. 

„Charles“, you moan from beneath his hand, tightening your legs around his waist to have him as close as possible. The way he feels against you is driving you crazy. 

„I know“, he moans softly, his hand gripping your ass tighter, his rock-hard dick still sliding between your folds, both of your underwear drenched in your arousal and his pre-cum that you can feel the ridges of his cock on your pussy. His mushroom tip nudging your clit, rubbing delicously against that sweet stop that has you reeling. As you move your hips to meet his, his cock sliding further, catching against your clothed hole. 

„Oh fuck“, Charles moans loudly and before he can do anything, you place your hand on his mouth, just as he did to you a few minutes ago. „Sorry, sorry“, he breathes against your palm, his breath hot and erratic on your skin. „You just – tu te sens si parfait.“ you feel so perfect.

You stare into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as you slide along his dick, your mouths covered to keep the noise down. You lean your head back slightly, lost in pleasure he gives you. „Please“, you beg him, warmth pooling in your lower belly as he keeps you firmly on his dick. 

„Come on“, he groans. „Let me feel you. And don’t you dare not look at me.“ His voice is raspy and deep and so hot that you immediately look at him. „That’s my good girl – my girl“, he moans as your pussy clenches around nothing, but he can still feel the movement on his cock. „Oh fuck – you’re killing me here. Wish I was in this pussy.“ He talks without thinking, turning you on even more, pushing you closer to the edge. „My girl – my perfect girl. Come for me“, he rasps, his hand on your ass grinding you harder and faster on his dick. White spots start to cloud your vision as you fall apart on him. „There you go, pretty girl. Come for me – come for –„

He stops in the middle of the sentence as pleasure consumes him. Your hips keep moving against his, his hand guiding you over him as the both of you come, his cum painting the inside of his shorts and spilling out and coating your inner thighs. His gazes fixates on yours as you moan into his hand, not caring about anything except for the pleasure his cock brings you. 

„Fuck fuck fuck“, he cusses, his dick twitching between your folds as he empties himself out into his clothes for half a minute, eyebrows furrowed and sweat rolling down his forehead. His hips stutter against yours as he comes and you desperately wish that it was your insides he was coating with his spent. 

The thought alone of him filling you up, his dick shoved inside of you and hitting all the right spots has you twitching in his hold, pussy clenching around nothing but his tip thats still wedged between your folds as you come for him – and him alone. His hand slides from your mouth to your chin, making you look at him. 

„My girl, my girl and mine only“, he breathes as you calm down, your breathing uneven against his face. You lower your hand as well, running through his hair and gently grasping the soft curls in the nape of his neck. He leans his head against your forehead. „Are you okay? Did – did I hurt you?“, he asks softly and gazes at the mark he left on your neck. 

You try to get your breathing under control. „I –", you start, but decide to just shake your head. You don’t know what to say to him, to the man who made you come from dry humping, to the man you love. 

He gently places his hands on your face, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. He smiles shyly, like he didn’t just gave you the best orgasm in your life so far – and without even really touching you. „You would tell me if I did something wrong, no? If I – I don’t know –„

You nuzzle your face against his hand and kiss his palm. „I’m absolutely perfect, Charles“, you smile and lick your lips. 

He nods slowly. „Good“, he whispers and lowers his hands to rest them on your thighs, feeling his sticky cum on your soft skin. „Oh god, I’m so sorry“, he says, blood rushing into his cheeks. „I didn’t – I didn’t know it was this much.“ He looks down to his crotch, both of your shorts a few shades darker than original, coated in both your arousal and spent. As your eyes follow his, you can see his cum staining your thighs. 

You have to bite back a moan and your lips to stop you from pleading him to gather it on his fingers, only to push it right where it belongs. 

„I – we should get cleaned up“, he finally says and his hands slide back under your ass, holding on to you as he carefully stands up from the bed, your legs still around his waist and trying hard to not let any of your cum touch the bedsheets. When he’s sure that you’re both alright, he kisses your cheek before settling you down onto your feet. „I got you“, he smiles as your knees wobble slightly, his arm around your hips, holding you up. 

„Sorry“, you say as heat rises into your face. You feel your shorts stick to your thighs as you step from one foot to the other. 

Charles kisses your forehead before letting go. He walks over to his bag and pulls out a pair of shorts that he gives you. „I always have spare ones with me“, he explains, nervously scratching his neck as you take the clothes from him. „You don’t have to wear them – I just – because your shorts are – you know…“

„Thank you“, you say softly. „Is it okay if I shower first?“

„Yes, of course“, your roommate smiles, not being able to hide the way his eyes dart down to your thighs and his cum on your skin. You see him swallow. „There’s a fresh towel on the rack that you can use.“

You nod. „Thank you.“ Without looking back you leave him standing there and enter the en-suite bathroom, closing the door behind you. With a wide smile on your face you step out of your clothes and under the warm water of the shower, the cum stained shorts lying in the sink right in your vision. 

You don’t know what happened, what has brought you to the point where his touch ignites a fire in you that makes you fall apart on him without actually having sex. And you don’t know what happened between the both of you between not sharing a bed and having his cum on your thighs. 

His words echo in your head, that he craves you, that you’re the first person he thinks of in the morning. That you’re his best friend – but so much more. 

He wants you – God, he wants you. A fact that you can’t ignore, don’t want to ignore. The man you love wants you more than you expected, wants you on him, wants to be buried inside you. This is definitely not just best friends talking – or moaning – that’s defnitely more than you dared to hope for when you came on his thigh two nights ago and then fled the bed because you thought that friendship was the only thing he wanted from you. 

You lather some shower gel in your hands before you rub your palms along your thighs, cleaning your skin off his sticky cum. 

Whatever he wants from you – you’d give it to him, no questions asked. You’re addicted to him, his touch, the feeling of his skin on yours, that no matter what your head says about protecting your heart – you can’t help but push those thoughts aside. 

But you don’t care. He wants you as more than just as his best friend, whatever this means. You’re willing to give him everything, to give yourself to him, but that’s okay. You’re in for the ride, wherever it may take you. 

You dry yourself off with a fresh towel before slipping into Charles‘ spare shorts and your shirt, the dirty shorts still lying in the sink. You pick them up and hold them under the cold water from the tap, trying to clean them with soap and draping them on the rack to let them dry during the night. As you step out of the bathroom, Charles is still standing in the middle of the room. „Are you okay?“

His eyes drift over to you, shortly gazing to his shorts covering your thighs before looking back into your eyes. „Uhm – yeah. I just didn’t want to sit down with – you know“, he blushes and gestures to his shorts, white spots painting the cloth. „I’ll just hop into the shower and get right back to you“, he smiles before walking over to you, kissing your cheek again before slipping into the bathroom. „Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be there in five minutes“, he says before closing the door behind him. 

With a bright smile you slip under the covers, patiently waiting for his return. You press your face into his pillow, smelling him on the sheets. You inhale deeply. 

It’s insane how much can happen in such a short time. Losing your job, getting a roomate, making new friends, moving into a new apartment and celebrating Christmas with your roomates family – and falling in love. 

You’ve read book about it, watched tv shows – hell, you thought you experienced it with Raphael – but nothing could’ve prepared you for the real thing. The way your heart stutters in your chest when he touches you. How words get stuck in your throat when he look at you in a certain way. How your brain goes fuzzy as he calls you his „good girl“.

His good girl. Not a good girl. His. 

You can’t help it but kick your feet under the covers as you hear his voice in your head, his words replaying in your mind. 

His good girl. His perfect girl. His girl – and his girl only. 

As Charles walks out of the bathroom, fresh boxer briefs on his body and hair still wet from the shower, you smile at him. How is possible for  a man to be this handsome?

„Is it okay if I sleep without a shirt?“, he asks as he approaches the bed, cheeks flushed pink. 

„Of course“, you say and watch him as he slips under the covers. Without hesitation his hands reach out and grab your hips, pulling you flush against him, hooking your leg around his waist to have you as close as possible. 

He reaches behind him to turn off the little lamp, the room now only being luminated by moonshine. You’re still able to see him, his pretty face, his pillowy lips that you miss on your neck. His hand finds his place in your hair, gently running through the strands. „I missed you – so much“, he whispers into the night. 

You lift your hand and let your fingers run over his bare collarbone, spreading goosebumps on his soft skin. „I missed you, too“, you confess. 

Charles swallows. „I thought I lost you. That you – you didn’t want me as your friend anymore“, he breathes, his fingers gently scratching your scalp. He looks at you hopefully. „I guess I was wrong.“

You melt into his embrace, nodding slightly. „I told you already – I’m not going anywhere“, you repeat your words from the boat, his hand sliding to your neck, pulling your face closer to him. 

„Thank god“, he whispers, his warm breath caressing your skin. „I mean what I said, you know? That you’re perfect. My perfect girl.“ He leans in, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. „My best friend, my girl. My everything.“

You close your eyes, relishing the feeling of having him so close. You curl your leg even more around his hips, needing him as close as possible. You softly moan as his hand slides from your neck to your waist, but only to lift the shirt to glide under the seam. His warm fingers dance across your bare skin, down your back and up your sides. You feel him spread them on your ribs, his thumb grazing the swell of your breast. 

God, you love him. 

You feel his cock stir in his briefs, already growing with arousal against your waiting core. „Sorry“, he smiles. „It always happens when I’m with you“, he confesses shyly. „But we have all the time in the world. We don’t need to rush anything.“ 

You can’t tell him that you long for him, crave him in ways that would put all those fanfiction writers Charlotte talked about to shame. Desperately. Feverishly. All-consumingly. 

„Thank you“, you whisper back and let him pull you half on top of him as he lays down on his back. Your leg draped over his waist, your face in his neck. You kiss his neck once without a second thought and hear him moan beneath you, his dick growing again against your leg. „Sorry.“

„It’s okay“, he replies and pulls you even closer to him. „Maybe I’ll get used to this, to the affect you have on me.“

You giggle. „And what if you don’t?“

He kisses your forehead, thinking about his answer before finally responding. „Then you have a few holes I can fill to keep me occupied“, he grins against your head. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you slap his bare chest slightly. „You’re the absolute worst“, you mumble against his neck. 

He had to hold back the whole evening the day before. To be honest, he had struggled with himself and forced himself to behave normally, even though all he could think about was you sitting on his lap and him rubbing you over his bulge until his damn phone rang. And even though he jerked off in the shower after his workout, it definitely wasn't enough to satisfy his craving for you. His hand is not you – and by God, he's addicted to your touch.

When you touched his hand in the car on the way to dinner with his family and played with his fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, it had taken him an incredible amount of strength and willpower to keep the car in the lane and not to pull over to the nearest lay-by or parking lot and rearrange your guts. 

He is extremely embarrassed by how much like a horny teenager he acts as soon as you are around. 

Since you first shared a bed and you unconsciously pressed against him in your sleep, he can no longer get the feeling of your body against his out of his head. The way you snuggled up against him, how your curves perfectly matched his. And you still had your pajamas on then. 

He feels very ashamed of how good you felt when you lay in his arms and cried. How soft your skin was on his, how warm you were – how perfect. He would have liked to give himself a slap or two because your dilemma had been so profitable for him personally. That he could hold you and protect you. That he could feel you. 

And your touch hasn't stopped since. Your fingertips on his bare shoulder, your palm on his stubbled cheek when he told you he was jealous of Lando and your friendship, even though that was never entirely true, of course. Your legs between his, your hand on his chest and your lips on his neck as you poured your hearts out at dawn and purple skies. 

But even though he is addicted to your closeness and the feeling you evoke in him like a drug addict, it's not as if he actively or consciously sought your touch. Like two magnets, you hadn't been able to separate after the night, whether it was at breakfast or when you were in his embrace when he told you how good your touch felt and that you shouldn't stop. 

And as if his prayers had been answered – you definitely hadn't stopped. You had intertwined your fingers, felt his heartbeat under your hand. And for a moment he had enjoyed it and let himself be carried away. 

His hands on your hips, his palms on your cheeks and his nose on yours. None of his touches had been conscious, but the result of his desire, which he suppressed so as not to jeopardize your friendship. How can a simple touch make his cock so painfully hard that he has to arrange his erection in his pants so that it is not visible to everyone?

He can't even imagine what would have happened if Pierre and Kika hadn't entered your apartment without getting a raging boner.

It would definitely be smarter if he at least made a reasonable effort to stay away from you a little and not look for your touch every second. But even when you were sitting in the car with Kika and Pierre, he had longed for you. And it had taken about three turns in Pierre's SUV before he had reached out for you and wrapped his long fingers around a calf. Thank heavens you even held out your leg so that he could grab it better. 

From that moment on, he became more shameless around you, even though he cringed inwardly every time. For example, when you were standing in front of the bed in the furniture store and he whispered to you that you should lie down on the bed so that he could see what you looked like in it before he bought it. And that he insists that you continue to share the bed. Of course, only under the pretext that you can sleep better if you fall asleep snuggled up together.

He didn't hesitate for a moment to lift you off the couch and onto Jori's terrace, only to lie down on it himself so that he could then pull you onto him with your full weight. He had seen the insecurity in your face, the way you shifted from one foot to the other, but he had also seen a sparkle in your eyes – desire perhaps? – and nothing in this world could have stopped him from feeling your weight on him. 

You felt perfect on top of him when he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him so hard that there was a chance you might leave an imprint of your head on his chest if you ever got up again. His lips found their place on the crown of your head and his hand found your bare skin under your shirt as you snuggled up to him and giggled that he was very comfortable despite his muscles. 

What went through his mind when he offered you that he could lie on top of you, he doesn't know himself. But something about being able to burn all the things that have caused him so much pain in the last few weeks had made him brave and maybe a little crazy. His hand in your hair, the other under your sweater on your spine. His lips on your nose and forehead. 

Then let's stay here. On this couch. It's not as comfortable as our bed, but at least I'll have you lying on top of me.

Charles fears he is losing his mind. 

He lost his mind when he asked you if you would snuggle with him and his heart skipped a beat when you assured him that friends can snuggle too. When he put your leg over his hip. When you pressed your face against his neck and inhaled his scent. He had to move your leg down onto his legs, otherwise you would have felt his hard-on. And all because you touched his neck. 

He didn't even know how sensitive his muscular neck was until you brushed your lips over the soft skin there. And as if there was a switch in his body, blood shoots to his cock every time you come anywhere near his neck. As if his body were programmed to react to your gentle touch. Just as his heart reacts to your closeness. 

He couldn't wait to introduce you to his family. The fact that his maman had already taken you into her heart had only encouraged him more to keep you close to him – in whatever way. Be it as a friend, as it was unspokenly agreed, or as more – as his family now saw you. 

Another crucial point that made him more bold. Because if you didn't want to address the matter and clarify it, then surely you have no problem with him leaning far out of the window and demanding your closeness? 

Are you a good girl, mon amour? 

He is so happy that you get along so well with his family and that they have apparently adopted you outright. The way they have taken you into their midst – even if it meant that he had to sit on that damn stool all evening. But every time he looked at your beaming face, it was worth the back pain. 

He would do anything to see you happy. And he definitely wasn't lying when he told his mom that you're “the absolute best thing that could have happened to him.” 

He has never felt so good or so loved by anyone else, even if you only consider him your best friend. This is a fact that he tries to ignore, but it is repeatedly brought to his attention whether he likes it or not. 

Every time he looks at you, he hears Joris voice in his head, whispering best friend to him, along with the question of whether he loves you, which he has left unanswered. He can't answer the question, he doesn't want to answer the question, because if he were to answer it in the affirmative, then – then – 

Your hands on his naked back, your ass on the back of his thighs, your palms on his chest. 

If you only see him as your best friend, how come you looked so indescribably divine when you came on his leg? Why do you assure him that nothing changes when he touches you intimately, when his whole world is shaken by the way you cling to him and moan when he runs his tongue along your neck?

He would have liked to throw you on your back and rip your shirt open to get to your naked skin faster. He would have sucked, licked, bitten, if you had let him. He would have pushed his face between your thighs and tasted you on his tongue until you came for him several times, burying your hands in his dark hair and moaning his name. 

But you weren't ready yet. And he definitely wasn't going to risk everything. 

Look at me, mon amour. Look at me when you come for me. 

Even if he suffered a severe concussion in the next race, he would never be able to forget the look on your face. What his hand looked like on your throat. How your ass felt in his hand. 

How you left the bed because you felt uncomfortable because of him. 

He doesn't know where it all went wrong. One moment you were moaning his name, his fingertips had felt the curve of your boobs and you had snuggled up to him – and then you were gone, unreachable and distant. He didn't buy the excuse that you weren't tired for a second. But why would you leave him?

Had he crossed a line? Did you feel pushed when he rocked you back and forth on his thigh to make you feel pleasure? What happened in the few minutes you were lying in bed cuddling that you found his closeness so unbearable that you had to flee the bed?

Was he too forward? Too – too non-platonic, that he frightened you with his behavior? Did you feel so uncomfortable about his touch, his comments, that you saw no other way out than to create an insurmountable physical distance that unconsciously shattered his heart?

He had sworn to himself that he would do everything to maintain this friendship. And if that meant giving you this space, not touching you anymore, not calling you mon amour, then he would do so without hesitation, even if it hurt him more than he would ever admit. 

Calling you mon ami felt strange and forced. Your cheek burned on his palm as he touched you one last time. A selfish move he couldn't suppress, that he had to claim for himself before moving away from you so that you wouldn't give up on this friendship. 

The night on the couch had been hell – and not just because the cushion was uncomfortable. Charles had barely been able to get any sleep because his thoughts revolved only around you, the look in your eyes and the tears that had rolled down your cheeks.

He would keep his distance, as little as possible and as much as necessary, so that you would continue to tolerate him around you. He would do anything to save this friendship, even if it meant swallowing his feelings. 

He didn't know what was happening to him when you brought him breakfast the next morning. Apparently, the night on the couch had been the right direction, the first right step to keep you around, which is why he invited you to his boat as a makeshift solution – under the pretext of having to take photos for his Instagram profile – but had forwarded the tickets he had booked for the two of you to Pierre so that they would at least not expire. 

There would be time to visit Paris during Christmas. Hopefully. 

The day on the boat went much better than he had imagined. Although he held back and didn't touch you under any circumstances, you had been as close emotionally as friends could be, which was certainly due in part to the alcohol. Or maybe it was his honesty when he called to you over the roar of the ocean that he was afraid that things between you would never be the same again. That he would lose you. 

And you looked so beautiful lying next to him on the sun bed. So carefree, as if nothing had ever happened between you. As if you had never been anything but friends. And when you assured him that you would like to work with him, he would have liked to kiss you until there was no air left in his lungs. 

You would work with him. Spend time with him – voluntarily. You would travel the world with him, see the most beautiful places and get to know different cultures – with him. And maybe, just maybe, you would fall in love with him at some point during your journey together, give yourself to him, just like you did once before.

An imagination he clung to as he touched himself in the shower a short time later. How your lips would feel on his. Your mouth on his cock, your tongue on the soft underside of his dick. 

He imagined you lying on the bed in front of him – his new bed – face down, ass up, while he slowly and deeply pushed into you, knocking you over the edge. How your skin would feel, naked and warm as he filled you up with his load, how it would run sticky and hot down your thighs, only for him to catch it with the tip of his tongue and lap it up and stuff it back inside you until you were crying with pleasure and overstimulation. 

He sincerely hopes that the walls of the boat were thick enough. 

What he had hoped for, but couldn't have imagined, was the moment when you smiled at him the next morning. After he had confessed to you, without thinking about what boundaries he would cross or what ocean he would cross, that he couldn't be without you anymore – and you had replied that you couldn't live without him either. 

Another step in the right direction. 

Another step when his mother told you that she had prepared your bed – singular – for you – and you didn't instinctively refuse to share the room with him. You could have gone home, you could have asked Charles to sleep on the couch or to get another room. 

But even when he looked at you and promised you that he would do everything in his power to fix this friendship and to keep you from turning away from him completely, you didn't push him away. He had laid his heart open to you as much as he could without having to answer in the affirmative to that lingering question. 

You are the first thing he thinks about in the morning. You are the person he looks forward to seeing most when he comes home. 

And even when he revealed to you that he couldn't stop thinking about how you feel, you didn't back down. When he confessed to you that you may be his best friend, but you're also so much more and that he craves you. 

You didn't leave. 

Quite the opposite. 

The thought that he carried around with him for a whole day, that you feel uncomfortable around him, that the distance between you is the right thing, is swept away with just one touch. Erased. Non-existent. 

He wants to kiss you, feel your skin against his, claim you for himself. But all he can do is stare at your hand lying on his. He doesn't even feel the tears of joy rolling down his cheeks. All he feels is your hand on his. 

He can't answer the question Joris asked him with words, without risking losing his heart to you forever, but the Monegasque can squeeze your hand. Twice. 

Your fingertips on Charles' thigh make his brain short-circuit, as your hand squeezes his. 

You nod. “I remember.”

“And do you also remember Maman saying that, as my new girlfriend, you get to choose what's for dinner?” When you look at him with wide eyes, he purses his lips into a thin line. "I'm afraid we never set the record straight. Not even when Arthur called you my girlfriend.”

He's right. There have been several opportunities to clear this up. Charles could have called his mother or spoken to her at dinner. And you could have cleared things up too - but neither of you actually did. 

You push the thought that you didn't clear it up because you inwardly wish that you were actually Charles' girlfriend to the back of your mind. 

“Shouldn't we tell her?” you ask hesitantly. “After all, we're lying to your family.”

Charles shrugs his shoulders. “We certainly should,” he replies, but he doesn't sound convincing. “But not today. Not at Christmas. Maman loves you so much that I don't want to do this to her at Christmas. If that's all right with you.”

Pretending you two are a happy couple is certainly the last thing you should do - after all, being affectionate in such close quarters isn't particularly conducive to keeping your feelings in check. But you have no choice - after all, you don't want to spoil Pascale's Christmas. 

“I'll sleep on the floor,” Charles snaps you out of your thoughts and points to the space between the foot of the bed and the dresser facing the bed. “I'll just take a few pillows off the bed and one of the thick blankets from the wardrobe and that should be enough for one night.”

You shake your head. “Absolutely not. You're going to training camp soon and you certainly can't go there with back pain,” you remind him, planning his days ahead. “I think Andrea would kill you if you didn't show up in top shape.”

The Monegasque sighs. “And how are we supposed to handle this?” 

The look on his face is the same as when you were standing opposite each other in the living room. When he said that he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable around him. When he suggested you go back to being friends. 

You miss him so much that it hurts. You'd love to get up and wrap your arms around him and never let go, but that's where the problem lies. His “mon ami” draws a clear line between what you want and what he wants. And you have to accept that, even if it breaks your heart. 

But that doesn't mean he has to pull his back out just because he thinks his closeness makes you uncomfortable. 

“We could share the bed,” you suggest as nonchalantly as possible. When he gives you a puzzled look, you shrug. “It's only for one night. And the bed is big enough for both of us. Then nobody has to sleep on the floor and Andrea won't kill you because you're going to camp with back pain.”

Charles raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?” He takes his hand off the doorframe and walks towards you to sit on the edge of the bed next to you. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I really don't mind sleeping on the floor.”

You smile at him. “It's okay,” you reply, "we're adults. We can share a bed quite reasonably. And it's only for one night. We should be able to manage that.” You look down at your hands in your lap before looking your roommate in the eye again. “I would have rather expected that we'd still have to sleep in separate rooms, even though your mom thinks we're a couple.”

Charles leans backwards, propping himself up on the bed with his elbows. “Why is that?” 

“Well - some moms don't like their sons' girlfriends because they're afraid they'll take them away from them. Their little boy.” You can't suppress a grin. “And I don't think many would want their little boy to share a bed with their girlfriend either - even if they're all grown up.”

“That would imply that my maman can't stand you,” he replies and tilts his head back. As he swallows, his Adam's apple bounces up and down. “Besides, even if we were really together, I wouldn't have sex with you in my maman's house. I have that much decency - for now,” he grins and looks at you again. “And she knows that too. That's why she allows us to share a bed.”

As he talks about sex with you, heat shoots up your face and your hands get sweaty. Hopefully he doesn't notice you wiping them on your dress. “I like your mom,” you deflect from the topic. 

“She likes you too,” he replies and sits up straight again. “Then let's not keep her and the others waiting any longer. After all, Christmas is a family holiday." He slowly gets up from the bed and turns to face you as he stands in the doorway. “Let's go, mon ami. Otherwise we'll get into trouble because she'll think we're getting it on like two teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other."

Thank God he leaves the room so that you can wave your hand in your face. His words make your pulse quicken so that you can almost hear your heart beating in your ears. Images appear in your head of his hands gliding over your body and his lips kissing your neck. 

Before your thoughts take over, you jump up from the bed and smooth down your dress to follow your roommate back downstairs, where the rest of the family is already waiting for you. You enter the living room, where the youngest Leclerc puts his arm around your shoulder. 

“Listen, when we play Monopoly later, the others will insist that you take the bank,” Arthur whispers in your ear. “If you'd be kind enough to slip me more money than I'm entitled from time to time, then -”

“Arthur! Are you trying to bribe my girl?” Charles calls over to you from the kitchen. The 'my girl' makes your knees go weak. 

“I would never do that,” Arthur tries to defend himself and pulls you a little closer to him. “I'm just talking about how nice it is that your girlfriend is spending Christmas with us.”

“You're a bad liar,” Charles grins, leaning against the worktop. “Besides - do you really think she should help you cheat if I'm playing as well?”

“No one cheats at Monopoly here, otherwise I'll throw the game away and we'll never play it again,” Pascale interjects. “I don't want my sons to get nasty again just because they can't behave in a board game.” She joins her middle child in the kitchen to take two bottles of wine from the fridge and put them in his hand. 

“Hey!” Arthur lets his arm slide off your shoulder to embrace his mom. He rests his cheek against the top of her head. “You're acting like we're cavemen.”

Pascale rolls her eyes. “Then don't act like one just because you can't keep it together in a board game. Now set the table, dinner will be ready soon.”

Together, you place plates and cutlery on the dining table as Enzo and Charlotte join you. The young woman hugs you tightly, while the eldest of the Leclerc brothers waves hello.

“It's nice to see you again,” she smiles and hugs you tightly. “You'll be the bank later - and my partner in crime, yes?” she whispers, before letting you go again. 

Charles laughs out loud. “I heard that, Charlotte,” he warns her with a grin and stands next to you. “I think it's funny that you all think she'd associate with you when she's my girl.”

Charlotte winks at you. “It was worth a try.”

As you all sit together at the table and eat, you look around the room. There are Christmas decorations everywhere that weren't there a few days ago. There's even a Christmas tree in the living room, but there are no presents underneath it. When Pascale notices your gaze, she smiles at you and puts her hand on yours. 

“We don't give each other presents at Christmas anymore,” she says, looking around. “Since -” Charles clears his throat as she swallows hard. 

“After my father died, we decided that there would be no more presents at Christmas because family is the greatest gift you can get,” he explains, pursing his lips. “Dad always gave the best presents and when he was gone, it was different for us.”

You smile at him before squeezing Pascale's hand. “Thank you for letting me be here. It really means a lot to me.”

“You're always welcome here,” she replies. “I'm glad Charles met you. You can almost see how good you are for him and how much he loves you.”

“Maman.” Charles rolls his eyes and a blush shoots into his cheeks. “This is totally embarrassing.”

“I'm just telling it like it is,” she smiles, leaning over to whisper something in your ear while the others continue to talk. “But don't you dare help him with Monopoly later. After all, I invited you here and cooked the meal. I guess I deserve a few extra bucks,” she winks, before turning her attention back to the others' conversation. 

You look at Charles, who smiles at you expectantly. “Everything all right?” he asks you. His hand, which is resting on his leg, twitches as if he wants to reach for yours. 

You look around for a moment, watching the family members interacting lovingly and celebrating Christmas together, before turning back to him. “It couldn't be better.”

-

“You're taking the piss,” Arthur complains, jumping up from his chair with such a jerk that it tips backwards. “You'll never have enough money to buy the fourth station from Charlotte!”

You raise an eyebrow and hand Charlotte the banknotes as she slides the playing card over to you. "Do you really think I'd cheat on you guys? This is my first time playing with you!”

Pascale shakes her head. “Think about it, Arthur. She's simply done well. Look at how many streets - “ she starts to defend you, but falls silent before looking at you with her head tilted back. “Where did you get the money to afford so many streets?”

“Maman!” Charles interjects. “You can't just accuse my girlfriend of stealing money from the bank just because you're losing. That's not nice. Especially not at Christmas.”

Enzo rolls his eyes. “You're only saying that because she's your girlfriend. Love has made you blind, little brother.”

Charles smiles lovingly at you. “I guess it has. But that's okay. I don't mind losing to you.”

You return his smile sweetly. “That's good,” you reply and take a look at the pitch. “Because I've won.”

The Leclercs stare at the table, puzzled and amazed, as if you've shown them a magic trick. But really - there's no way they could beat you now. 

Charlotte laughs. “I didn't even know you could actually win Monopoly. I thought it was a myth.”

Enzo takes a sip of his wine and nods at her. “You usually stop the game after three hours because you either don't feel like playing anymore or someone knocks over the board.”

“And it's usually you,” laughs Pascale and gets up from the table. “Very well. I declare the evening over for me. I'll see you in the morning,” she smiles at you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I'm very glad you're here.”

“Me too,” you smile at her and look after her as she leaves the room. 

The five of you tidy up the room and put everything neatly away in the cupboards before you say goodbye to each other as well. In the bathroom of your room, Charles and you get ready for bed and change into your sleeping clothes before standing in front of the bed that you have to share. 

“Is it really okay for you if I sleep in the bed too?” Charles asks uncertainly as you sit down on the bed and slip under the covers. 

“I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't,” you smile, patting his side of the bed. “We're both adults. And as long as it's okay for you, it's okay for me.”

Charles nods and scratches the back of his neck. “I really wouldn't mind sleeping on the floor.”

“I do.”

He can't say anything in reply. He slowly walks around the bed and slips under the covers as well. He turns off the light and lies down on his back. 

The silence between you is strange and the physical distance doesn't make it any better. You can feel Charles' body heat through your shirt and shorts and it almost feels like the last few days haven't happened. You'd love to snuggle up to him and fall asleep by his side. 

“Be honest,” Charles breaks the silence. “Did you steal money from the bank in Monopoly?”

You giggle briefly. “I did.”

Your roommate's laughter booms through the room. “I knew it! Oh my God!” You feel him turn to his side. “Welcome to the family. You're a real Leclerc now!” he laughs, barely able to contain himself. 

“Psht!” you hiss at him. “Stop laughing! Otherwise you'll give me away and I'll lose my honorable Monopoly victory!”

“Honorable?” he asks and continues to snort. “You cheated!”

“And your family asked me to take money out of the bank for them so they could win,” you grin. “They're the worst family when it comes to Monopoly!”

Charles slowly gets himself under control again. “But otherwise we're a nice family, aren't we? Otherwise you wouldn't have spent Christmas with us.”

You nod, even though he can't see you. “I love your family.”

“And they love you. Especially Maman.”

You turn on your side too, in his direction. Apparently you're closer together than you expected, because you can feel his breath on your face. 

“Is everything okay?” Charles asks quietly. “I mean - I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me. I - I can still sleep on the floor if you want.”

“Charles,” you exhale, but before you can say anything, he continues speaking. 

“I meant what I said to you on the boat. I can't be without you anymore and I'll do everything I can to make sure you don't turn your back on me. Nothing in this world is as important to me as you.” He takes a deep breath and exhales. “I can't describe it. You're my best friend - but so much more.”

As he moves, you feel the blanket slip over your body. You want to reach for his hand, to reassure him that you will never turn your back on him, but the words stick in your throat. Not because they're not true, but because they don't cover the whole truth that's inside you. 

You love him. With every fiber of your being. 

“You're the person I think of first thing in the morning. The person I look forward to the most when I get home. When you're with me, it's - I don't know - like we're permanently out on the open sea and the sun is shining down on us,” he confesses, without even thinking about what that might do to you. 

“And I can't stop thinking about how you felt. How warm your skin is, how soft you feel under my hands. How the heat spreads through me when you touch me. It's like touching the sun and burning myself - but I can't stop thinking about how good it feels. You're my best friend,” he breathes out. “But fuck - if I said I didn't actually crave you, that would be an outright lie.”

You can feel the arousal gathering in your shorts, goosebumps spreading across your skin and heat rising in your face. When Charles suddenly moves and turns on the little light on the bedside table, you look at him. 

“I can't share the bed with you if - if you -” he stammers, before taking a deep breath to sort out his thoughts. The comforter that was covering you a moment ago has slipped so far down due to his movements that it's below his hips - revealing his shorts and the bulge underneath. 

“Charles,” you breathe, but you don't know how to answer him without telling him directly that you love him. You have to pull yourself together. 

“I can't just lie next to you because it's tearing me up inside that I can't touch you, because I make you feel so uncomfortable that you don't want to share a bed with me in our apartment anymore.” His voice trembles, as does his hand, which is resting on his thigh. 

You don't know what makes you do it, but apparently your brain goes blank and throws all doubts overboard as you lean over to him. His eyes are glued to you as you carefully place your hand on his and your fingertips touch the soft skin of his thigh. A lightning bolt twitches through your veins at the touch - nothing has ever felt as good as he does at this moment. “I never said I was uncomfortable, Charles.” You shake your head slightly. “Quite the opposite.”

Charles looks into your eyes, trying to see anything in them, hesitation or uncertainty, but the only thing he sees is warmth and a longing he knows all too well.