To be honest, it really didn't matter what Charlie tasted like. Not actually, because all Oliver could taste was warmth and maybe, sort of, happiness? If happiness had a taste. The warmth certainly was the dominant one there, and perhaps if the smallest of moans excepted Oliver's mouth and entered Charlie's, he couldn't be fully held responsible for it. It also wasn't the best kiss Oliver had ever had, but at any stage in his future life, he would remember it was one of the best. Because fifteen years of imagining what it might be like, really hadn't done the justice to the feeling in Oliver's stomach.
When Charlie didn't pull back, in fact he pulled closer, even if Oliver wasn't sure there was a closer, he let his own hands slide down to Charlie's hips, resting comfortably as he absorbed all of Charlie's warmth into himself, without a doubt radiating just as much back.
It was only when someone bumped straight into Oliver, coming out of the pub, that the world sort of crashed back around him. This was probably (definitely?) the stupidest thing he had done. Maybe? Yeah. Yes. Fuck.
So he pulled back, eye wide, lips red and breath catching. "You kissed back," was the first and only thing that he could think of saying and it seemed so dumb.