Laughing at the idea of tiny, little Fizz being sprawled across anything at all, Oliver almost missed when Charlie came closer for the hug. His reaction speed wasn't great, almost definitely due to the amount of beer he had consumed, still, even if Oliver had been sober, he probably wouldn't have pulled back from the hug. Yes, he hadn't initiated one when they first saw each other earlier that evening, but he had also had the table as a buffer zone. It seemed stupid to even attempt to avoid this one. So Oliver let Charlie hug him, the warmth from the other man seeming so much hotter than the cold air they were stood in.
What he hadn't expected, hadn't in any way anticipated at all, was Charlie's lips brushing against his cheek. This wasn't--they didn't--this was new. In all the years they had been best friends, in all the years they had hugged each other, there had never been pecks on the cheek, and whether drunkenly or not, this felt more than just a peck. In days (probably months or years) to come, Oliver would rethink that split second when his mind failed him.
Charlie was so close, and so warm, and his lips were right there. So Oliver turned his head ever so slightly, brushing his lips against Charlie's. It was hardly a kiss but it was sure as hell more than just a brush of lips against his cheek. This was probably the stupidest thing Oliver had ever done (and he really had done a lot of stupid shit), but he couldn't help the way his stomach filled with butterflies and fuzziness, in the least to do with the amount of alcohol in him. Besides, Charlie had started it.