Chapter Eleven Physical （You’re So）
Chapter Eleven: Physical (You’re So)
Julian slammed his empty pint glass down on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He’d clearly forgotten, or didn’t care, he’d been wearing a bit of lip colour because the gesture smeared it halfway across his cheek.
He hardly seemed to care about anything, wrapped up as he was in his rant.
“And I mean, he was at the heart of half me and Aisling’s fights.
Like, I love the bastard but it can all get a bit…
much, you know? We been best mates since we were kids, and been hardly apart since.
Every day I see him -- at the record shop, at rehearsal, at the Barber, at the Mango.
Everywhere I turn, he’s there. I get that he doesn’t have anybody outside of me -- I mean, he’s got his mum and his half-brother or whatever, and he’s got Kwambe and he’s got Mel, but it isn’t the same as having somebody you’re close to.
Not like me and him are. And a man needs a break every now and again from being somebody’s only person, doesn’t he? ”
He picked up the second pint he’d preemptively ordered and sucked down a breathless gulp.
Michael massaged his temples in annoyance.
There were many things he could tolerate as far as Julian was concerned.
The one thing, however, that he could not abide was Julian talking at length about another man -- regardless of whether or not that man was a platonic acquaintance, an ex-lover, or a lifelong friend.
Michael sipped his wine, plastered on his most agreeable smile, and steered the topic back to something more pleasant. “It’s truly inspirational how you were able to overcome all that and still have such an incredible performance. You were magnificent on stage.”
Despite all his bravado in front of a crowd, Julian was adorably bashful. He ducked his head and gave a small, pleased smile. “You really think so?”
“I know so. And I’m not much for…” Electro?
Punk? Pop? Noise-funk? “… that style of music, but the way you moved up there…” Michael broke off into a low whistle.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.
More so than usual, I mean.” He knew it was daring, but he was feeling rather daring.
And he was quite keen to re-establish himself as the only man on Julian’s mind.
It had the desired effect. Julian’s cheeks, which had cooled since the show, flared up again. He twisted a lock of ebony hair around and around a long finger. “Shut up. You’ll give me a complex.”
“It’s nothing you don’t already hear every day.”
“It isn’t.”
“Someone like you must have girls -- and boys -- throwing themselves at you at every turn.”
“I don’t!” Red-faced, he grinned and shoved at Michael’s arm on the table. Michael laughed. “I got a funny nose that’s been broken fifty times. I’m too short, I’m too skinny, my eyes are too big --”
Michael reached across the table and grabbed his chin. Julian’s litany stuttered to a halt, eyes round as saucers. Michael spoke slowly and deliberately. “I cannot abide people insulting my friends. So if you continue to speak so unkindly about yourself, I will become very cross. Understood?”
Julian let out a noisy exhale which suggested he’d been holding his breath. He nodded jerkily in Michael’s hand.
“Good.” Michael resisted the urge to graze his thumb over Julian’s bottom lip before releasing him, but just barely.
* * *
They drank until they were both pleasantly warm and adequately muddled.
They walked arm in arm down the poorly lit, litter-strewn streets.
Despite the bracing cold, which did its damnedest to undo the good work that numerous drinks had done, the night had a hazy, dreamlike quality.
Michael could hardly recall ever having felt this good.
Julian leaned against him in his massive parka using the excuse that he needed warmth, though Michael knew he couldn’t feel a damned thing through all of those padded layers, certainly not Michael’s body heat.
But he let him have the thin veneer of modesty that such an excuse provided so long as it meant having Julian close.
They walked to Julian’s flat this time, and it was all Michael could do in his slightly inebriated state not to let his feet guide them there out of habit.
When they arrived at the block of flats, Julian even led them down the steps to his door.
Michael wondered if Julian planned to invite him inside and he felt his blood rush south at the thought.
From somewhere nearby, a tinny voice drawled through a radio.
“This is me,” Julian said, echoing Michael’s words from a few nights ago.
He was, however, looking at his boots when he said it.
He pushed the fringe out of his eyes only for it to fall right back.
“I had a really nice time, and, uh… yeah. Thanks for coming to the show tonight, and um, thanks for the drinks and everything. You’re all right. I, um --”
“Julian,” Michael said, cutting him off. The soft, fond tone in which he said it must have caught Julian’s attention, because he looked up at him shyly through his fringe.
Michael salivated with the sudden urge to kiss him.
He felt the desire like a physical thing inside him that squirmed and struggled to free itself.
But he feared that once he opened that door, it would overpower him, he would lose all control of himself.
The image of a pale, motionless boy, half memory and half nightmare, surfaced in Michael’s mind’s eye and sobered him with icy fear.
His foot was poised to take a step back when Julian’s hands closed around the lapels of his coat and dragged him down, mouths clashing violently, teeth knocking into teeth.
Michael’s arms wrapped reflexively around Julian’s waist and crushed the lithe body into his own as Julian’s tongue pushed desperately into his mouth.
They groaned at the same time, twin sounds of long repressed desire suddenly being freed.
Julian tasted of bitter beer and sweet cigarettes.
His tongue was velvet and heaven. His kiss was feverish, unrestrained, painful.
Michael’s head spun as the fear and wariness left him in a heady rush.
He slammed Julian back against the door, his head making a dull thud when it met the wood.
Michael delved into his mouth, trying to satiate the ever-mounting want.
The more he took, the more he wanted. No, not wanted.
Needed. Needed in the way he needed air to breathe.
Julian was writhing under him, hips grinding against Michael’s thigh so he could feel the growing hardness in his trousers. His breath came in ragged gasps, hands clutching randomly at Michael as though unable to decide where to land.
Michael knew he could have him. Right fucking there if he wanted. He could flip him around, yank down his trousers, and --
Michael took a stumbling step backwards, a trail of saliva still tenuously connecting him to Julian, who looked disorientated and glassy-eyed.
“M-Michael?” he gasped.
His brain struggled to recover enough blood to formulate a coherent thought.
He’d had to stop it. Because as tempting as the thought of taking Julian right then and there was, he knew it’d hurt him, ruin him, make Michael lose him forever.
He couldn’t unleash the darkness that was building inside him if he wanted to keep Julian in his life.
He raised a shaking hand and wiped the spittle from Julian’s lips. Julian’s eyes closed, mouth falling open invitingly.
“Do…” Julian swallowed hard. “Do you want to come inside?”
Michael snatched his hand back, every nerve in his body screaming out to accept the so readily granted invitation. “I shouldn’t.”
Julian’s eyes fluttered open, pupils two infinite voids in the darkness. “Why not?”
“Because I…” Michael’s mind flailed about for a lie. “Because I think we should take things slow.”
The inward jut of Julian’s eyebrows suggested a combination of disbelief and frustration.
“I know you haven’t done this sort of thing before.” At the further furrowing of Julian’s brow, Michael amended, “With a man, I mean. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m only pursuing you with one end in mind.”
“I know you’re not,” Julian said softly, lowering his gaze as his fingers toyed absently with the buttons of Michael’s coat. “I wouldn’t ever think that.”
“Because you’re too kind, sweetest.”
Julian ducked his head bashfully at the endearment.
“The right thing is to take our time. Show you that I care about more than just getting off with you. Because you’re worth doing things right for.”
“Stop,” Julian said, smiling. “You’ll make me blush.” He was already blushing.
Michael risked it and leaned in to plant a chaste, tender kiss on his lips. When he pulled back, he saw that Julian’s expression had melted back into one of dreaminess and he knew he needed to leave now before he lost the tenuous grip he had on his self-control.
“Goodnight, Julian,” he said. “I’ll call you.”
He stalked up the stairs and disappeared into the night like the creature of shadows that he was.