Chapter Twenty-One The Song Remains the Same #3
He was flushed and hard and the sight of him made Rahul’s mouth water.
He’d never given head before, of any variety, but he’d thought about it.
Many a time. Many times in scenarios extremely similar to this, with this very person.
He might not be a natural talent, but if ever there was a time to give it a go, this was it.
Relying on the lack of inhibition intoxication allowed him, he held Julian in his fist and dove in.
“Fuck -- fuck, Rahul -- Jesus!” Julian broke off as his curses devolved into wordless cries.
His back arched off the mattress, his hands buried in Rahul’s hair.
He was a splendid sight. His head all thrown back in abandon and chest heaving.
Rahul savoured the image and the sensation both.
It felt a little different from how he’d imagined, but not by a lot.
He expected more of a taste, for one. It mostly just tasted like skin -- a little salty, but otherwise like nothing.
And he couldn’t get as much in his mouth as he’d thought he would.
It took a couple of minutes of getting used to the whole thing before he got the full hang of it and was able to relax his tongue and take more of him in.
When he did, Julian clawed at his hair and bucked his hips.
That little motion pushed him past Rahul’s comfort zone and into his throat, making him gag.
But that little bit was all Julian needed, because there was a sudden warm explosion in Rahul’s mouth, filling it past the point of full.
He realised then it was the moment of truth.
He needed to spit or swallow, as he’d heard tell of in dick sucking legend.
He needed to decide quickly or he’d drown.
Some primal instinct made the decision for him, and he swallowed before he could think better of it.
It was probably the right decision, as more liquid almost immediately replaced it.
He swallowed that, too. That seemed to be the end of it, as Julian’s tensed body sagged, panting.
Rahul wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at him in awe.
He looked positively wrecked. Dishevelled and flushed and coated in a fine, glistening sheen of sweat.
Even with the red streaks of lipsticks criss-crossing his body, he was a heavenly vision.
Forgetting his mouth had just recently been full of cum, Rahul crawled back up the bed and kissed Julian savagely, probing his mouth with a hungry tongue, biting his painted lips.
His hands roamed his smooth sides, fingers playing over the bumps of his ribcage.
Questing, clumsy fingers tugged at Rahul’s trousers and Rahul hastily obliged them, undoing the zip and shoving them down with an eagerness that would have embarrassed him had he been of clearer mind.
He was painfully hard. Just the cool air on his heated member made him hiss. When Julian’s fingers closed around him, he thought he might lose consciousness. It was dry and inelegant and at an awkward angle. It was sublime. Rahul clutched at Julian, burying his face in his neck.
“Christ, Jules…” he groaned, bucking up into Julian’s hand.
The mattress squeaked in time with his thrusts.
It sounded like fucking always sounded in films. He mouthed Julian’s ear, his throat, his shoulder, everywhere he could reach.
His orgasm was already building in his belly, in the depth of his tightening balls.
“Jules -- Julian -- you’re -- God, you’re so beautiful. You’re amazing. You’re everything. Jules. Don’t stop. I --” I love you.
His throat closed up and his entire body spasmed as he shot hot, white ropes of jizz over Julian’s chest and his own belly.
When he looked down, poor Julian’s fist was coated in it.
He should’ve grabbed a tissue. Instead, he grabbed Julian’s face and kissed him.
Again and again and never enough. He loved him so much.
He’d loved him for so long. Now he finally had him.
He could cry. He never wanted this to end.
He wanted to make Julian come over and over again and hear him cry out his name until he was hoarse.
He wanted to hold him and tell him how beautiful he was.
He wanted to stay up all night talking about how urban foxes were eating tramps. Anything. He loved him so Goddamn much.
When he was kissing his neck again, Julian slurred, “Everything’s spinning.” Then leaned over the side of the bed and just barely managed to grab the bin before he emptied the contents of his stomach.
Rahul held him through it, rubbing his back in soothing circles as the heaves racked his body, keeping his hair back and out of harm’s way.
When he was done, he collapsed back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling with glassy eyes.
Rahul cuddled up beside him, full to bursting with love and tenderness.
He held him round the middle and pressed him up against his chest. Julian slung a sleepy arm over him and closed his eyes.
Rahul watched him until he couldn’t keep his own eyes open anymore.
The room was spinning. Spinning like a comet.
Rahul burned up in the Earth’s atmosphere.
Somewhere, Billie Holiday sang that she would get by. Darkness pulled him under.
* * *
The sound of a door slamming jolted Rahul awake.
He wished it hadn’t. As soon as his eyes were open, his existence was nothing but pain.
He hastily shut them again against the white onslaught of daylight.
His mouth tasted of socks, his brain was a throbbing tumour inside his skull.
Why couldn’t he have stayed asleep? Sleep, where pain didn’t exist, only a sweet nothingness.
His stomach roiled and, almost as if in sympathy, there was the sound of heaving coming from somewhere.
His sluggish mind tried to make sense of it. There was someone else throwing up. Who…
Julian.
He sat bolt upright as memories of last night assaulted him all at once. He wished he hadn’t. Sitting up so fast caused his skull to split open and his throat to fill with saliva. He willed the nausea back down, but only just. He didn’t have time to be sick. He needed to sort things out.
He looked around at the disaster of his room.
A record was spinning mournfully on the record player in its inner ring, adding its mute soundtrack to the messy queues of empty bottles, the strewn clothes, the cup used for an ashtray, the helter-skelter makeup on Rahul’s desk.
His bedroom door stood open. Beyond it, the bathroom door was closed.
The heaving had stopped and now the tap was running.
Beside Rahul, the bed was still warm. The pillowcase smudged with cheap stage makeup. Blue and red.
He’d… Oh God. He’d sucked Julian off. They’d…
well, they’d slept together. There was no other way around it, was there?
He dragged his hands over his face. He’d slept with his best friend.
The boy he’d been hopelessly in love with for ages.
But Julian had been up for it, hadn’t he?
Or had he? They’d been off their heads, sure, but they’d both wanted it, right?
En vino veritas, or whatever the fuck. So it was all right, yeah?
Maybe this could mean something. Obviously, it meant something to Rahul, but maybe it could be the start of something for them.
Couldn’t it? Or was Julian going to step out of that bathroom and hate him?
Scream at him that he’d taken advantage?
Had he ruined everything?