Chapter Five I Want You Now
Rahul received a phone call from Henri the day before New Year’s Eve. He told him he was returning early from France and that he was going to have a surprise for Rahul.
Rahul hadn’t heard from Julian since Christmas and he supposed that was…
fine. Mel closed the shop during the six-day span between Christmas and New Year’s.
They didn’t have any gigs during that time either, so it wasn’t surprising that they hadn’t had any contact.
He hadn’t spoken to Mel or Kwambe either.
So not hearing from Julian was fine. Especially since he hadn’t thought about him at all.
Not even once. Not even when he surreptitiously opened the bottle of cologne in his medicine cabinet and guiltily inhaled its scent. So it was fine. He was fine.
He had thought about his boyfriend, of course. His very real boyfriend who was so excited at the prospect of seeing him again that he’d left his family trip early to spend New Year’s with him. The boyfriend who had a surprise waiting for him on this very cold winter’s day.
He’d left his flat in a muddle, but a few tube stops later he reemerged from the London underground onto the frigid streets with his head feeling much clearer.
He tried to put Julian out of his mind -- not that he’d been thinking about him in the first place -- and focused on the task at hand.
The “surprise” that Henri, his very considerate boyfriend, had been so excited about.
Henri’s block of flats was much nicer than one would expect from a writer and former philosophy student. The brick facade was spotlessly whitewashed, with great big pillars standing imperiously in front of it, identical to the dozens of other buildings that neatly lined the street on either side.
Rahul was buzzed inside without greeting. He took the cramped, carpeted stairwell up to the topmost floor and rapped his knuckles musically against the door at the end of the hall.
“It is open!” Henri’s richly accented voice called from somewhere deep within the flat. Feeling rather like a burglar, Rahul pressed down on the handle and let himself in.
Once inside, he couldn’t help but chuckle.
The flat was dim, the windows shuttered against the final, failing rays of evening light.
The only illumination came from the numerous candles set around the flat in everything from ashtrays to glasses to jam jars.
They cast the one-room flat in a gauzy, golden light that gave everything a dreamlike quality.
Rahul pushed aside thoughts of what a horrific fire hazard it was long enough to be thoroughly charmed by it.
He knew romantic gestures like this were cheesy and gauche, but, as someone who’d never had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of any romantic gestures, cheesy or otherwise, he couldn’t help feeling profoundly moved.
As he was taking off his coat, Henri appeared in the doorway of the bedroom.
Rahul had half-expected him to appear wearing nothing at all.
But he clearly knew Rahul and his very British and Indian-ingrained prudishness better than Rahul had realised, because he chose instead to wear a very flattering pair of tight black trousers and a shirt unbuttoned nearly to his navel.
With his mop of curls dishevelled and falling into his eyes, Rahul had to admit he cut a very sexy figure indeed.
Instead of speaking, Henri merely smirked and crooked two fingers in invitation before disappearing back into the bedroom. Rahul nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to follow him.
The bedroom was just as heavily bedecked in candles as the living room, each one glittering warmly from their precarious placements across shelves, the dresser, the wardrobe, the headboard of the bed (all right, now that was certainly going to pose a danger soon).
Henri took Rahul’s hands and led him to the bed.
The duvet was soft and smelled freshly washed.
Henri straddled him, his hands rubbing big, soothing circles into Rahul’s chest. Rahul noted that there was none of that feverish, barely contained need that usually accompanied their couplings.
Where Henri was normally a fizzing electrical wire, tonight he was a still, deep pool, one that put Rahul’s overwrought nerves at ease.
He realised he was probably doing it intentionally, and that filled Rahul with earnest gratitude.
He reached up and stroked Henri’s cheek, smooth from a recent shave. “Where’s my surprise?” he joked.
Predictably, Henri didn’t laugh. That was fine. He’d only joked because he didn’t have the words to thank him.
Henri kissed him and it was soft and patient.
It spoke of a resolve to kiss for as long as Rahul needed.
He would let Rahul set the pace, rev up when he was ready and slow down when he became overwhelmed.
The gratitude continued to swell in Rahul’s chest until he thought he might burst. He had no idea what he’d done to deserve this boy.
This beautiful boy who came out of nowhere and wanted him, of all people.
Not just wanted him, but cared about him.
It was everything he’d dreamed to have in Julian but couldn’t have dared hope for.
He mentally chastised himself for allowing his thoughts to drift to you-know-who. This night wasn’t about him. In fact, it was about exactly the opposite. It was about putting him out of his mind -- in that way, at least -- for good.
Determined to do just that, he rolled them over so Henri was on his back with Rahul between his splayed legs.
He kissed a trail from his jaw, to his neck, ripping open the shirt without care for the buttons.
The rest of their clothes followed, layer after excruciating layer, until they were bare and tumbling sweatily in the sheets.
Henri was rutting against his thigh lazily, sighing into the crook of Rahul’s neck.
Rahul smoothed his hands over Henri’s freckled back, down to cup his firm arse.
Henri gave a little involuntarily buck of his hips against him and Rahul swallowed heavily, his heart racing despite himself.
How could you know if you were ready for something like losing your virginity?
For a while, he’d told himself that he’d lost his virginity to Julian that night at his father’s house.
He hadn’t been exactly sure what constituted losing one’s virginity when it came to male on male encounters, but it had certainly felt like losing his virginity.
Upon further thought and research, he realised that it was bumming that usually, though not always, tipped the scales in these cases.
After that, he’d thought long and hard (no pun intended) about what that might look like with Julian.
Would he be giving or receiving? How would those differ?
Which would he like better? Which would Julian like better?
He had, over the course of years, spun together a detailed fantasy which had done the trick for him every time he’d been in the mood to toss himself off.
He wasn’t sure if in reality it would feel the way he envisioned, but in his fantasies he imagined Julian beneath him, long, strong legs over Rahul’s shoulders, with Rahul ploughing into him hard and fast and Julian throwing his head back, his hair somehow honey-brown again, as he held his arms over his head, gripping the headboard, and crying out “Rahul, Rahul, Rahul” over and over again.
In these fantasies, his face looked, in fact, as full of abandon and pleasure as it had been when Michael had pushed him up against the wall of that club.
Sobered by that bitter thought, Rahul pushed all further memories of Julian firmly out of his mind and murmured huskily into Henri’s ear, “Do you have a condom?”
Henri pulled back to grin at him more brilliantly than Rahul had ever seen him.
He rolled over to retrieve from the bedside table a sheet of condoms and a sleek black bottle.
Rahul had no idea what to do next, but Henri seemed to read his mind and took swift charge.
He let Rahul lie on his back while he knelt over Rahul’s lap.
He ripped open one of the shiny foil packets and slipped the rubber sheath over Rahul’s erection with practised ease.
He popped open the cap on the bottle and squirted what seemed a ridiculous amount of clear substance into his open hand.
He slathered most of it onto Rahul’s prick, reaching between his own legs to rub the rest, presumably, over his entrance.
Rahul gulped involuntarily, suddenly feeling quite nervous.
His hands clenched and unclenched around Henri’s skinny thighs, unsure what else to do.
He watched with mounting trepidation and arousal as Henri kept his hand between his legs, his eyes falling shut and brow creasing, and Rahul realised he was fingering himself.
He wetted his lips with his tongue, unsure if he should look away to give him privacy or if it’d be more gentlemanly to help.
In the end he decided he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Henri’s mouth fell open, his chest rising and falling more rapidly.
He was so painfully beautiful. Rahul was glad Henri knew what he was doing because Rahul had absolutely no idea what to do with him.
Rahul was a dog chasing a car. What would he do when he finally caught it?
He couldn’t entirely see what Henri was doing under there, but at some point Henri made a low groan and said, “Bon. Très, très bon,” before withdrawing his fingers.
His eyes were half-lidded when he opened them, glassy with desire.
Rahul acted on impulse and pulled him down for a kiss.
It was a sloppy, unrefined kiss, one so suffused with lust it couldn’t bother with skill.
Henri shuffled forward until he was nearly sitting on Rahul’s stomach.
Without breaking the kiss, he reached behind him and took Rahul’s cock in hand.
Rahul only had a single moment for his heart to leap before he felt himself sinking into tight, blissful heat.
Henri’s mouth fell away from his as he choked on a cry.
The mind-blowing, all-consuming feeling continued until every inch of him was buried in the heavenly heat of him.
Rahul’s arms wrapped around Henri’s waist tight enough to bruise.
His balls tightened, stomach clenching. The universe was imploding.
It felt so good it must be criminal. He’d never imagined anything could ever feel this good.
All of his thoughts evaporated as his body became one, single, oversensitive nerve.
The room fell away, Henri ceased to exist, Rahul ceased to exist. The universe only had enough room for the blinding pleasure that was slowly burning it to ashes. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to breathe. He was going to come and he wouldn’t be able to stop. Didn’t know if he wanted to stop.
The body on top of his writhed and the friction as it pulled off his throbbing cock nearly made him black out.
Lips at his ear, murmuring, hot breath. His fingers dug into soft skin and hard bone.
White skin, black hair. A gap between the two front teeth as he smiled brilliantly down at him.
Rising up and sinking down on him, pulling unearthly groans from him.
A strangled moan as Julian threw his head back, exposing the column of his throat and the twin moles there.
He held onto his hips as Julian rode him, cock bouncing against his belly.
Rahul was so close to orgasm that his eyes were tearing up, his chest tightening like a heart attack.
Above him, Julian’s electric blue eyes looked down at him from under his long dark lashes.
“Rahul,” he moaned and Rahul’s consciousness dissolved.
Every nerve in his body exploded with pure ecstasy as he came with a stifled shout.
He felt hollowed out, emptied of everything but his heartbeat.
He felt expunged, detoxed, pure. He could have laughed from the sheer joy of it if he hadn’t been exhausted.
He’d come too soon, of course, but he could hardly be bothered to care what with how extraordinary he felt.
The body above his continued to move, seeking its own release.
He felt as charitable and serene as a saint, willing to allow him to carry on getting his end away for as long as it took, even if it chafed his oversensitive member.
He reached out to fondly stroke the cheek of his lover, heart so full of love he could have wept, mouth already half-forming the name “Julian” --
When Henri bit his lip and shuddered, his own orgasm painting hot, white jets over Rahul’s chest, a chest which clenched when he was suddenly reorientated and remembered he wasn’t with Julian -- beautiful, ethereal, funny, brilliant, unpredictable, wonderful Julian.
He wouldn’t ever be with Julian. Because Julian didn’t see him that way.
Julian was over. And he should have been using this opportunity with this incredible young man who actually wanted him to put Julian out of his mind.
But he hadn’t. He’d bungled it all again.
His eyes welled with tears of frustration as Henri collapsed on the bed beside him, sated and satisfied.
He had just enough time to get himself together before Henri caught his breath and turned into his side, kissing his shoulder.
He held Henri close and kissed the top of his head reminding himself of all the ways Henri wasn’t Julian, starting with his sharp spicy scent that was nothing like lavender, and ending with his erudite intellect which had nothing to do with American film stars or NME.
“Condom,” Henri reminded sleepily. Rahul was so wrapped up that momentarily the word held absolutely no meaning.
Then he remembered all at once -- memories from Health class resurfacing -- that he needed to tie it off and toss it.
After he’d done this and returned with tissues to clean himself off, Henri reclaimed his position at Rahul’s side, his drooping eyes indicating how close he was to sleep.
Rahul bundled him up in his arms, feeling every sharp bone of his skinny body.
Henri not Julian, Henri not Julian. He repeated it like a mantra as the man in his arms drifted off.
Despite his exertions, it was only quarter past nine and Rahul was nowhere near sleep, not even in the same county, his thoughts circling off in negative spirals of self-hatred and longing.
He’d meant to forget about him, but while memories were fallible, love was not.
He squeezed Henri tighter, reciting his mantra louder in his mind.
Not Julian, Henri. Not Julian, Henri. Not Julian. Not Julian. Julian. Julian.