Chapter Three How Soon Is Now?
Rahul and Henri began seeing a lot of each other after that night. A lot.
It began with another night of drinks followed up by another session of heavy petting, and continued the next week with lunch, then dinner, then more snogging and groping.
Soon, they were seeing each other practically every other day.
Rahul was the one coming in late from lunch now, with a handsome gentleman caller bidding him a lip-locked farewell at the shop door.
It might have seemed excessive to anyone else, especially considering how short their acquaintance had been thus far, but to Rahul it felt natural.
He never tired of Henri’s company. They could spend hours talking and not even realise the passage of time.
Rahul was in utter awe of him. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone so clever before, especially someone of his age.
The young man was brilliant, eloquent, passionate, and very serious.
It made a refreshing change from Julian, who effortlessly turned everything into a joke.
To be entirely frank, it did occasionally (very occasionally, mind) grate on Rahul’s nerves that any attempt he made to joke or poke fun was met with a quick dismissal or a bemused look.
But he reasoned that it was a fair price to pay for all of Henri’s numerous other fine qualities.
If he wanted inane jocularity, he could go to Julian. They were still mates, after all.
It was good, actually, that Henri was so different from Julian because Rahul had made up his mind to get over Julian once and for all.
What better way to do that than with someone who was his complete opposite?
Granted, they were still physically quite similar (Rahul didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he seemed to have a type), but Henri reminded him at every turn how very unlike Julian he was.
From sharing Rahul’s obscure interests to his entirely black wardrobe, there wasn’t an ounce in him of the boy Rahul had wasted his youth obsessing over.
In fact, when he was with him, he didn’t think of Julian at all. Which was perfect.
Julian had made it clearer than crystal that Rahul didn’t have a chance in hell with him. As devastating as that was, Rahul knew he didn’t want to lose Julian as his friend, which he would if he kept this pitiful flame alight for him, so he was going to use Henri to snuff it.
The downside, however, of Henri being the polar opposite of Julian was that the two didn’t seem to be able to stand each other.
That felt a little like just desserts to Rahul, considering how Julian had inflicted Michael on him -- and Aisling before that.
Whenever Henri came by the shop, Julian’s face distorted into a surly sneer that was very un-Julian-like.
And honestly, Julian’s overall mood had become more dismal since Rahul and Henri began seeing each other -- more dismal even than when Michael had first dumped him.
Rahul at first attributed this to Julian’s dislike of Henri, but even when the Frenchman wasn’t around, Julian was sulky and irritable.
Rahul had thought that Julian would’ve been happy to see less of him, considering how cross he’d been with him, but could it be that he was missing spending time with Rahul?
If it was, Rahul decided he ought to try and be around his friend more, even if that meant Henri having to tag along.
It was nearly Christmas, and great, fat snowflakes were falling outside The Barber & Pony where it was close and warm, if stale and musty.
What was usually a foursome was now a quintet, sitting along the bar with Rahul at one end, his arm around Henri, Julian at the other, glumly clutching a pint, Mel and Kwambe sandwiched uncomfortably in between.
Rahul and Henri were being particularly saccharine with each other tonight, as Henri was going to be returning to France to visit his family for the holidays and they would have to be parted for a full fortnight.
“I’ll miss you.”
“No, I will miss you.”
“Don’t forget about me.”
“How could I, mon coeur?”
Henri made to kiss him but Rahul turned to let him kiss his cheek instead.
Public displays of affection still made him intensely uncomfortable, even here at their usual haunt.
Maybe because it was their usual haunt. But Henri had become used to this and didn’t seem offended.
He seemed more offended by the “martini,” if one could call it that, that Leroy had served him.
He finished off its remainders and stood, excusing himself for the loo.
Rahul looked after him with longing, as though he’d gone off to war instead of the toilets.
“Why don’t you just bloody marry him then?” Julian grumbled.
Rahul turned a bemused look on him, watching him gulp down his pint and slam the glass down hard on the counter. It clicked into place for Rahul then.
Julian was jealous. Jealous of their happy relationship.
It reminded him of the relationship he’d just lost with Michael, of course.
Every time he saw Rahul and Henri happy as two gay clams together, it just drove home the fact that Michael had left him.
To be fair, it had been Rahul’s fault. Rahul, who was now deliriously happy with someone who finally wanted him back the way he wanted them.
It probably didn’t seem fair to Julian, but really, Rahul could hardly be blamed, could he?
He couldn’t go on apologising for the rest of his life, and it wasn’t as though he’d shacked up with Henri just to spite him.
Julian was just going to have to get over it.
The way Rahul was slowly learning to get over him.
“Don’t listen to him,” Mel drawled around her cigarette. “He always gets into a sulk around the holidays.”
“I do not,” Julian argued petulantly. “I love Christmas. It’s shiny. You know I love shiny things. I’m like a crow, me.”
“He always wanted a Christmas like the kids on the telly had,” Mel continued. “With a tree and a big, happy family and all that rubbish.”
Rahul remembered. He could vividly recall when they were children, Julian begging to come over to his house for Christmas dinner.
The way he looked at their tree as if it were something sacred, how he scarfed down the goose and mincemeat pie as though he hadn’t eaten in days (which he might not have).
Rahul also remembered with a start that this would be Julian’s first Christmas in years without Aisling.
Mel never celebrated anything, if she could help it, and Rahul was going to his mum’s. Even Kwambe was returning home. Julian would be well and truly alone.
Rahul had an idea then but he hesitated to speak it aloud. He knew there had come an uneasy peace between them since Rahul had begun dating Henri, even if it was darkened slightly by Julian’s storm clouds. Even so, he wasn’t sure they were quite in a place yet for what Rahul had in mind.
Before he could ask, however, Henri returned, snaking an arm around Rahul’s waist. “Are you ready to go, mon coeur?”
Rahul nodded and bid the others farewell. Julian said nothing. Rahul’s gaze lingered on him as he was steered out by Henri.
Only a few tube stops later, they found themselves in Rahul’s flat, tangled in a steamy embrace in Rahul’s bed. And this was where Rahul had his only complaint, as it were, about Henri. His insistence that they take things further in the bedroom.
Given how eager Henri had been on the night they’d met, it hadn’t taken them long to escalate from petting to handjobs and, shortly, blowjobs.
Rahul really couldn’t see what was wrong with blowjobs.
They were great -- his favourite, even. He loved receiving them, he loved giving them.
Top notch stuff. But Henri seemed determined to take things into the unchartered waters of bumming territory.
It wasn’t as though he were demanding it or making Rahul uncomfortable.
It was mostly just disappointed sighs when Rahul was ready to call it a night after going down on each other, or innocent suggestions that they have a few condoms at hand.
And it’s not as if Rahul weren’t curious, but he was perfectly content to keep doing what they were doing.
Like tonight, with Henri in his lap, half-naked and writhing.
Rahul gave a contented sigh, thoroughly enjoying himself as he kissed Henri’s ear and squeezed his arse.
It wasn’t as plump as Julian’s, but he did still like it quite a bit.
Not that he was thinking about Julian, sitting back at the Barber, feeling lonely and forlorn.
He wasn’t thinking about him at all. Not even a little.
Henri exhaled shakily, grinding down against the hard-on straining Rahul’s trousers.
Rahul hissed through his teeth and pushed Henri back against the bed.
He kissed a trail down his smooth belly, his destination unmistakable.
Henri sunk his long fingers into Rahul’s hair and stopped him.
Rahul looked up, confusion furrowing his brow.
“We could…” He smiled impishly, his cheeks dimpling. “I would like it if you --”
Rahul groaned and sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. Henri sat up too, looking concerned.
“Is it… do you find it disgusting?” Henri ventured, putting a patient hand on Rahul’s shoulder.
“No, I --” Instead of finishing that sentence, he just shook his head.
“Would you rather be the -- comment dit-on? -- on the bottom? Because I do not mind. I enjoy all --”
“No,” Rahul stopped him, feeling rather mortified. He wasn’t used to speaking about sex so openly. Or at all, really. “That’s not the problem. I just…”
“You don’t want to.”
“I do! But I can’t -- Look, you’ll think it’s silly.”
Henri gave him a very frank look which suggested he’d never been silly a day in his life. “I will not. Dis-moi.”
“I just always thought -- or at least, when I imagined doing that --” Losing my virginity, he thought.
“-- I’d always imagined it would be with…
” It was harder to say than he’d thought.
He had to look away from Henri in order to get the words out.
“I’d always thought it’d be with Julian.
And I know I don’t fancy him anymore,” he hastily added.
“But when you’ve thought one thing for years, it’s difficult to shift that paradigm. Does that make sense?”
“Of course,” Henri stressed, giving Rahul’s shoulder a squeeze. Rahul sagged slightly with relief. It was a weight off to finally have it out in the open. He smiled at Henri and his green eyes sparkled back at him with intensity. “It is more important than ever now that you fuck me.”
Rahul made a noise of surprise not unlike the squawk of an indignant Cockatoo. “What?”
“You are putting him behind you, n’est-ce pas?”
“Getting over him, yeah.”
“What better way to do this than to give yourself to someone else completely?” He took both of Rahul’s shoulders in hand, shaking him slightly. His face was full of excitement and determination. “This will finally shut the door on that part of your life for good. You will be free.”
Rahul looked back at him with some apprehension, but his excitement was contagious. “I do want to be free, yes.”
“Bon.” Henri kissed him soundly. When he pulled back, his face was alight with mischief once more. “Je te libérerai.”
He’d returned to the shop to find Julian still in his sulk, carving his name into the wooden skirting board.
Rahul was used to Julian flipping fluidly from sunny to stormy and back again at the drop of a hat, but it had been so long since he’d seen the sun come out in him that he was starting to fear his friend might never return to normal.
Julian had moved his stool back to its usual spot at Rahul’s side some time ago, yet there still felt like there was a gulf between them that stretched to Wales and back.
The offer he’d meant to propose last night sat heavy on his tongue. He fidgeted with the book in his hands, his sweaty palms dampening the pages. Images of Julian sitting alone and miserable in his flat on Christmas pushed his nerves aside and urged his mouth to open.
“Would you like to come to mine for Christmas?”
Julian looked up at him as if he’d just spoken in a foreign language. “What?”
Rahul felt his stomach lurch. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
He looked down at the book in his hands instead of Julian’s huge, questioning eyes.
“I mean. Maybe you would like to come with me to my mum’s house.
For Christmas dinner. But you don’t have to.
If you don’t want. It was only an idea. Forget it. It was stupid. Never mind --”
“I’d like that.”
“Sorry?” Rahul wasn’t sure he’d heard him, he’d spoken so softly. He chanced looking back at Julian and found him smiling. Not his usual infectious grin, but something small and fragile as a snowflake.
“I said ‘all right’.”
Julian’s gaze on him was soft, too, and Rahul felt hot suddenly, tugging at the collar of his jumper. “Good. Great. Christmas it is. You don’t have to bring anything. Unless you want to.”
“Reckon I should give your mum some new pants?”
“Shut it,” Rahul snorted, but his lips twitched with an answering smile despite himself.
“You’re right. I should be getting your stepdad new pants. What do you reckon he likes better: flamingos or little kisses?”
Rahul kicked at Julian’s stool but didn’t manage to unseat him. Instead, he rang a little laugh from Julian, like the tinkle of a bell. It made Rahul’s heart swell. “Is that what’s on your pants, eh? Not goth smiley faces or little fish with mohawks?”
“I get my pants made to order. By pants elves. They have a special shop in Lapland right next to Father Christmas’s. Only they’re shunned by the other elves. It’s quite sad, really.”
“No more respect for the craft of pants-making in this day and age. It’s a right shame. Back in my day, pants-making was honest work.”
“Back in your day? We’re the same age, you bellend.”
“I’m an old soul, small fry.”
“You’re an old wanker, is what you are.”
Julian’s smile was very nearly a grin when he went back to scratching a blocky “J” into the skirting board with an old biro.
For a single, wonderful moment, it was like nothing had changed and they were the same Julian and Rahul they always were.
But then the silence lengthened and the moment dissolved like so much sand in the surf, making Rahul’s chest constrict.
He’d get him back. Even if it meant having to forget about loving him.