Fic: This Dance
This Dance
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Noel/Julian
Rating: NC-17 I guess, for some artsy sexy-times? I'm terrible at ratings. THEY HAVE SEX.
Word Count: 1855
Warnings: References to Kate Bush and Easter chocolate
Disclaimer: Yeah, I definitely don't own these people, because they're autonomous humans and aren't owned by anyone. But I have special spidey-senses for knowing that THIS TOTALLY HAPPENED.
Author's Notes: WHAT. Apologies in advance for breaking my I-don't-write-RPS rule, but that dance (and I'm sure we've all seen it about a million times by now) broke my brain and made me write this. Uhh, I'm really sorry. That being said, we all know what song and dance prompted me to write this, but I should also mention that thematically speaking, this is what wormed its way into my ear as I wrote a lot of the story, so make of that what you will.
Noel crashed through the front door and flopped down on the sofa. His feet hurt. His limbs hurt. His back hurt. Parts of his body he didn’t even know could hurt were hurting. And he was absolutely chuffed to bits about the whole thing. At long last, it was good to be home.
There was a knock at the door. Noel contemplated getting up to answer, but thought better of it.
“Yeah?” he shouted.
“Noel?” came the visitor’s voice.
“Julian?” squinted Noel. “Door’s open.”
Julian poked his head in, with that little smile of his, and one hand suspiciously behind his back. Noel beamed at him. He couldn’t help it. Even though the exertion it took to smile made his face hurt. He couldn’t not smile.
“Nicely done,” he said, producing a bouquet of red roses.
“Aww, cheers Ju,” smiled Noel, accepting Julian’s gift and setting them gently beside him.
“Figured you’d be through afterpartying by now,” said Julian.
“I was just going to have a cup of tea and a creme egg, and then bed,” laughed Noel. “Want one?”
“Go on then.”
Noel left him then for the kitchen, and Julian let himself melt down into the soft upholstery beneath him. It was late for him too - he hadn’t been dancing, admittedly, but chasing after a pair of rampaging little boys all day was more than enough to take it out of him these days.
Every time his eyes closed and he let his mind wander, it found its way back to Noel. Noel in red. Noel in red, and a Kate Bush wig, twirling about and pulling epic shapes like a magnificent, graceful swan. A swan who had been taking dance lessons, clawing and grinding and spinning and giving that look; it was ridiculous, it was hilarious, it was mesmerizing. It felt beautiful. He hoped that if worse came to worst and the bump in his trousers had been evident when he stood and made an immediate bee-line for the toilet after watching Noel’s dance that evening, anyone who noticed it would chalk it up to a peculiarity of that pair of corduroys. He could easily rationalize that they always were a bit bunchy, those corduroys.
“Catch,” shouted Noel.
As Julian glanced up from his reverie, something beaned him in the right temple and landed in his lap. He looked down, rubbing his head. It was a creme egg.
“Thanks No-” he blinked. And blinked. And blinked again.
Noel - the cheeky fucker - had made a hasty costume change in the kitchen. He was wearing the dress again, striking avant-garde poses in the doorway. Julian’s breath hitched slightly at the sight of him. Damn. Even without that ridiculous wig, Noel looked... almost confusingly beautiful, perhaps more so now, drifting in sleepy soft focus, twirling round and collapsing into the sofa, into Julian.
“So what did you think?” he asked, batting his eyelashes at Julian.
“It was like watching an epileptic fox seizing onstage,” deadpanned Julian. “At one point, I was afraid you’d swallow your tongue.”
“Cheers, Jules,”grinned Noel, ruffling his hair slightly.
Julian drew him nearer, folding him into a tight embrace.
“You were beautiful,” whispered Julian, “I’m proud of you.”
Julian could feel him smile then, as Noel’s hands dug in just a little tighter. The hug held on and on; neither could say how long they stayed there, their breathing slowed and steadied until their breaths rose and fell together in perfect formation. It was one of those hugs that was so desperately needed by them both that it felt right to remain there, connected and unmoving, melting into one.
It was like this sometimes, when they were together.
Julian was the first to pull back, just a little, cradling Noel’s face in his hands. The last faded remnants of the night’s makeup still glittered across his features, a little smudged in places, absent in others. He was - they were - adjectives failed him. There were no adjectives for them, or at least not in English. There were, he supposed, what might be considered adjectives that applied, but only in their own, shared, unspoken language, their telepathic link, carried between them by millions of tiny carrier pigeons only they could see.
Noel smiled. Julian smiled. They kept smiling until their lips coincided. It was always almost tentative, that first, almost chaste instant of contact, but that spark was always between them, and had not diminished over time, but had grown exponentially, and made itself felt in no uncertain terms, the current passing through them both.
“I am so fucking knackered, Ju,” laughed Noel, curling his limbs around Julian, snuggling down.
“Too knackered?” asked Julian, sneaking a hand over Noel’s thigh, an unmistakably predatory grin spreading over his lips.
“Not too knackered,” blushed Noel, smiling against Julian’s shoulder.
“Thank fuck for that,” he breathed into Noel’s ear. “You know, after seeing your dance, I had to... excuse myself.”
“Seriously?” giggled Noel.
“What?” protested Julian. “It was a highly erotic experience.”
“You’re a highly erotic experience,” purred Noel, turning around. “Unzip me?”
Julian just shook his head. “Leave the dress on.”
Noel blushed. “Kinky,” he beamed.
“You love it,” murmured Julian.
“Course I do,” grinned Noel, straddling Julian’s hips, leaning into him.
Suddenly, Julian’s eyes widened and he cringed, smashing his head backwards into the sofa behind him.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Don’t tell me you came already,” said Noel apologetically, covering his mouth with his hand, stifling his giggles.
“Fuck off,” Julian rolled his eyes. “I... sat on my creme egg.”
And with that, they both rolled onto the floor in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“I think that’s a plausible excuse for you to get undressed,” observed Noel between peals of laughter.
“Agreed,” said Julian, rising to his feet, extending a hand to Noel.
“Bed?” asked Noel, accepting Julian’s hand.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Julian, leading Noel into the bedroom.
Noel collapsed atop his duvet, swimming in a sea of red chiffon. Julian shrugged off his bunchy, chocolate-coated cords, and dove in. Noel rolled them over, blanketing them both in the billows of his fiery costume. He left a trail of soft, fluttering kisses down Julian’s warm chest and belly, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Julian gasped as Noel’s manicured fingers reached just under the waistband of his little striped pants. Noel let out a soft chuckle as he swiftly undressed the other man. Julian blushed, running a hand over his scruffy beard. It had, admittedly, been a few months since the last time they had had a chance to let this happen. He was so grateful that it was happening again.
“All right, Julian?” said Noel, gazing up at Julian through his shaggy fringe.
Before Julian could respond, Noel’s tongue was on him, flicking softly against his cock. Julian’s head spun and his heart did cartwheels.
“Jesus, Noelly,” he moaned, eyes rolling back and grasping at fistfuls of Noel’s voluminous dress sleeves.
Noel had missed this. He had missed the soft warmth of Julian’s skin, the rumble of the little growly sounds he made when Noel slid his lips around him, the love that was almost overwhelmingly powerful.
This wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about fucking, shagging, getting off, whatever. Being with Julian felt like his heart was coming.
Julian was weightless with lust, warmth rising in his belly, too soon. He placed a hand on Noel’s shoulder to still him, while his other hand fumbled about blindly over the bedside table until he felt the familiar shape of a bottle of lube. He shoved it roughly into Noel’s hand, desperate.
“Please,” he breathed, and Noel understood.
“You sure?” asked Noel. Julian nodded.
Julian winced slightly as Noel prepared him, biting his lip. The potent mixture of pain and bliss and the beautiful familiarity of it all was almost more than he could endure: almost, but not quite. Noel gazed down at him lovingly, tracing his finger feather-lightly across Julian’s scruffy jawline before hitching up his soft crimson skirt, and pushing into him.
“Fuck, Jules,” he moaned, stilling himself to regain his composure. He flicked his fringe away from his eyes so he could see Julian, his lecherous grin, the heavy rise and fall of his breath. It was the most profoundly beautiful sight Noel had ever seen.
As Noel began to move in him again, Julian grabbed a fistful of Noel’s dress, drawing him nearer, drawing him into a desperate kiss. Their lips moved together again and again. Julian gasped, bucking his hips to meet Noel’s quickening movements, watching the way that dress clung to the curves and angles of his beautiful form. This man, he thought - his Noel - was a fucking goddess.
Noel splayed his hand against Julian’s chest, feeling for his heartbeat, while his other hand found Julian’s cock, squeezing in time with his own thrusts. Wuthering Heights went really well, he thought, but this. This. This even more so, was flawlessly choreographed, immaculately executed; this dance was perfect. Julian reached a hand up, cupping Noel’s flushed cheek. Noel ran his tongue softly over the pad of Julian’s thumb, and the sudden sensory overload was all too much and too beautiful and Julian closed his eyes as he let the rising tide inside him crash against the shore of his belly.
“Fuck, Noel,” he cried hoarsely, between ragged breaths.
Suddenly, Noel’s movements became faster and more desperate in response to the sudden spasms around him, and suddenly, the butterflies in his tummy were throwing confetti and setting off tiny fireworks and Julian was so beautiful and he came.
Noel was motionless then, but for his little breaths, and he hissed slightly for a moment as he pulled out of Julian, and rolled over.
“You came on my dress,” observed Noel, tossing the stained garment into his laundry pile.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that,” shrugged Julian.
“That’s going to be a fun trip to the dry cleaners,” said Noel, tucking himself comfortably against Julian’s warm, sleepy body, as they floated back to earth together.
“I love you, you know,” said Julian, applying a small kiss to Noel’s rumpled hair.
“I know,” smiled Noel. “I love you too.”
“Night, Noel,” mumbled Julian.
“Night, love,” whispered Noel.
This could happily be where they lived, snuggled down together under a warm duvet, happily ever after, forever and ever. Next morning (or early afternoon, more than likely) would bring bacon sandwiches and babybels for brunch and giggling about secret things only they understood. The next day would bring their respective rehearsals and the real world things they had to do and going back to their lives and all the things that that meant. But this was not the time to think of such things. For now, this could go on happily ever after, just like this, forever and ever, and that would be perfect.
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Mighty Boosh
Pairing: Noel/Julian
Rating: NC-17 I guess, for some artsy sexy-times? I'm terrible at ratings. THEY HAVE SEX.
Word Count: 1855
Warnings: References to Kate Bush and Easter chocolate
Disclaimer: Yeah, I definitely don't own these people, because they're autonomous humans and aren't owned by anyone. But I have special spidey-senses for knowing that THIS TOTALLY HAPPENED.
Author's Notes: WHAT. Apologies in advance for breaking my I-don't-write-RPS rule, but that dance (and I'm sure we've all seen it about a million times by now) broke my brain and made me write this. Uhh, I'm really sorry. That being said, we all know what song and dance prompted me to write this, but I should also mention that thematically speaking, this is what wormed its way into my ear as I wrote a lot of the story, so make of that what you will.
Noel crashed through the front door and flopped down on the sofa. His feet hurt. His limbs hurt. His back hurt. Parts of his body he didn’t even know could hurt were hurting. And he was absolutely chuffed to bits about the whole thing. At long last, it was good to be home.
There was a knock at the door. Noel contemplated getting up to answer, but thought better of it.
“Yeah?” he shouted.
“Noel?” came the visitor’s voice.
“Julian?” squinted Noel. “Door’s open.”
Julian poked his head in, with that little smile of his, and one hand suspiciously behind his back. Noel beamed at him. He couldn’t help it. Even though the exertion it took to smile made his face hurt. He couldn’t not smile.
“Nicely done,” he said, producing a bouquet of red roses.
“Aww, cheers Ju,” smiled Noel, accepting Julian’s gift and setting them gently beside him.
“Figured you’d be through afterpartying by now,” said Julian.
“I was just going to have a cup of tea and a creme egg, and then bed,” laughed Noel. “Want one?”
“Go on then.”
Noel left him then for the kitchen, and Julian let himself melt down into the soft upholstery beneath him. It was late for him too - he hadn’t been dancing, admittedly, but chasing after a pair of rampaging little boys all day was more than enough to take it out of him these days.
Every time his eyes closed and he let his mind wander, it found its way back to Noel. Noel in red. Noel in red, and a Kate Bush wig, twirling about and pulling epic shapes like a magnificent, graceful swan. A swan who had been taking dance lessons, clawing and grinding and spinning and giving that look; it was ridiculous, it was hilarious, it was mesmerizing. It felt beautiful. He hoped that if worse came to worst and the bump in his trousers had been evident when he stood and made an immediate bee-line for the toilet after watching Noel’s dance that evening, anyone who noticed it would chalk it up to a peculiarity of that pair of corduroys. He could easily rationalize that they always were a bit bunchy, those corduroys.
“Catch,” shouted Noel.
As Julian glanced up from his reverie, something beaned him in the right temple and landed in his lap. He looked down, rubbing his head. It was a creme egg.
“Thanks No-” he blinked. And blinked. And blinked again.
Noel - the cheeky fucker - had made a hasty costume change in the kitchen. He was wearing the dress again, striking avant-garde poses in the doorway. Julian’s breath hitched slightly at the sight of him. Damn. Even without that ridiculous wig, Noel looked... almost confusingly beautiful, perhaps more so now, drifting in sleepy soft focus, twirling round and collapsing into the sofa, into Julian.
“So what did you think?” he asked, batting his eyelashes at Julian.
“It was like watching an epileptic fox seizing onstage,” deadpanned Julian. “At one point, I was afraid you’d swallow your tongue.”
“Cheers, Jules,”grinned Noel, ruffling his hair slightly.
Julian drew him nearer, folding him into a tight embrace.
“You were beautiful,” whispered Julian, “I’m proud of you.”
Julian could feel him smile then, as Noel’s hands dug in just a little tighter. The hug held on and on; neither could say how long they stayed there, their breathing slowed and steadied until their breaths rose and fell together in perfect formation. It was one of those hugs that was so desperately needed by them both that it felt right to remain there, connected and unmoving, melting into one.
It was like this sometimes, when they were together.
Julian was the first to pull back, just a little, cradling Noel’s face in his hands. The last faded remnants of the night’s makeup still glittered across his features, a little smudged in places, absent in others. He was - they were - adjectives failed him. There were no adjectives for them, or at least not in English. There were, he supposed, what might be considered adjectives that applied, but only in their own, shared, unspoken language, their telepathic link, carried between them by millions of tiny carrier pigeons only they could see.
Noel smiled. Julian smiled. They kept smiling until their lips coincided. It was always almost tentative, that first, almost chaste instant of contact, but that spark was always between them, and had not diminished over time, but had grown exponentially, and made itself felt in no uncertain terms, the current passing through them both.
“I am so fucking knackered, Ju,” laughed Noel, curling his limbs around Julian, snuggling down.
“Too knackered?” asked Julian, sneaking a hand over Noel’s thigh, an unmistakably predatory grin spreading over his lips.
“Not too knackered,” blushed Noel, smiling against Julian’s shoulder.
“Thank fuck for that,” he breathed into Noel’s ear. “You know, after seeing your dance, I had to... excuse myself.”
“Seriously?” giggled Noel.
“What?” protested Julian. “It was a highly erotic experience.”
“You’re a highly erotic experience,” purred Noel, turning around. “Unzip me?”
Julian just shook his head. “Leave the dress on.”
Noel blushed. “Kinky,” he beamed.
“You love it,” murmured Julian.
“Course I do,” grinned Noel, straddling Julian’s hips, leaning into him.
Suddenly, Julian’s eyes widened and he cringed, smashing his head backwards into the sofa behind him.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Don’t tell me you came already,” said Noel apologetically, covering his mouth with his hand, stifling his giggles.
“Fuck off,” Julian rolled his eyes. “I... sat on my creme egg.”
And with that, they both rolled onto the floor in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
“I think that’s a plausible excuse for you to get undressed,” observed Noel between peals of laughter.
“Agreed,” said Julian, rising to his feet, extending a hand to Noel.
“Bed?” asked Noel, accepting Julian’s hand.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Julian, leading Noel into the bedroom.
Noel collapsed atop his duvet, swimming in a sea of red chiffon. Julian shrugged off his bunchy, chocolate-coated cords, and dove in. Noel rolled them over, blanketing them both in the billows of his fiery costume. He left a trail of soft, fluttering kisses down Julian’s warm chest and belly, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. Julian gasped as Noel’s manicured fingers reached just under the waistband of his little striped pants. Noel let out a soft chuckle as he swiftly undressed the other man. Julian blushed, running a hand over his scruffy beard. It had, admittedly, been a few months since the last time they had had a chance to let this happen. He was so grateful that it was happening again.
“All right, Julian?” said Noel, gazing up at Julian through his shaggy fringe.
Before Julian could respond, Noel’s tongue was on him, flicking softly against his cock. Julian’s head spun and his heart did cartwheels.
“Jesus, Noelly,” he moaned, eyes rolling back and grasping at fistfuls of Noel’s voluminous dress sleeves.
Noel had missed this. He had missed the soft warmth of Julian’s skin, the rumble of the little growly sounds he made when Noel slid his lips around him, the love that was almost overwhelmingly powerful.
This wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about fucking, shagging, getting off, whatever. Being with Julian felt like his heart was coming.
Julian was weightless with lust, warmth rising in his belly, too soon. He placed a hand on Noel’s shoulder to still him, while his other hand fumbled about blindly over the bedside table until he felt the familiar shape of a bottle of lube. He shoved it roughly into Noel’s hand, desperate.
“Please,” he breathed, and Noel understood.
“You sure?” asked Noel. Julian nodded.
Julian winced slightly as Noel prepared him, biting his lip. The potent mixture of pain and bliss and the beautiful familiarity of it all was almost more than he could endure: almost, but not quite. Noel gazed down at him lovingly, tracing his finger feather-lightly across Julian’s scruffy jawline before hitching up his soft crimson skirt, and pushing into him.
“Fuck, Jules,” he moaned, stilling himself to regain his composure. He flicked his fringe away from his eyes so he could see Julian, his lecherous grin, the heavy rise and fall of his breath. It was the most profoundly beautiful sight Noel had ever seen.
As Noel began to move in him again, Julian grabbed a fistful of Noel’s dress, drawing him nearer, drawing him into a desperate kiss. Their lips moved together again and again. Julian gasped, bucking his hips to meet Noel’s quickening movements, watching the way that dress clung to the curves and angles of his beautiful form. This man, he thought - his Noel - was a fucking goddess.
Noel splayed his hand against Julian’s chest, feeling for his heartbeat, while his other hand found Julian’s cock, squeezing in time with his own thrusts. Wuthering Heights went really well, he thought, but this. This. This even more so, was flawlessly choreographed, immaculately executed; this dance was perfect. Julian reached a hand up, cupping Noel’s flushed cheek. Noel ran his tongue softly over the pad of Julian’s thumb, and the sudden sensory overload was all too much and too beautiful and Julian closed his eyes as he let the rising tide inside him crash against the shore of his belly.
“Fuck, Noel,” he cried hoarsely, between ragged breaths.
Suddenly, Noel’s movements became faster and more desperate in response to the sudden spasms around him, and suddenly, the butterflies in his tummy were throwing confetti and setting off tiny fireworks and Julian was so beautiful and he came.
Noel was motionless then, but for his little breaths, and he hissed slightly for a moment as he pulled out of Julian, and rolled over.
“You came on my dress,” observed Noel, tossing the stained garment into his laundry pile.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that,” shrugged Julian.
“That’s going to be a fun trip to the dry cleaners,” said Noel, tucking himself comfortably against Julian’s warm, sleepy body, as they floated back to earth together.
“I love you, you know,” said Julian, applying a small kiss to Noel’s rumpled hair.
“I know,” smiled Noel. “I love you too.”
“Night, Noel,” mumbled Julian.
“Night, love,” whispered Noel.
This could happily be where they lived, snuggled down together under a warm duvet, happily ever after, forever and ever. Next morning (or early afternoon, more than likely) would bring bacon sandwiches and babybels for brunch and giggling about secret things only they understood. The next day would bring their respective rehearsals and the real world things they had to do and going back to their lives and all the things that that meant. But this was not the time to think of such things. For now, this could go on happily ever after, just like this, forever and ever, and that would be perfect.