Boosh verse fic
Title: Because I Want You
Pairing: Noel/Julian - This is REAL PERSON SLASH. Please don’t read if this bothers you.
Summary: Noel just can’t move on
Word count: 4,800
Rating: NC-17 (I think)
Warnings: Drug use, language, sexual content
Disclaimer: The Boosh boys are obviously not mine, however hard I wish they were. This is purely a work of fiction, no offense intended etc etc.
Author’s Note: Very nervous about posting this for two reasons - firstly it’s my first fic in this fandom. Secondly, it’s my first RPS fic ever. I always swore that I would never, ever, ever write RPS, because while I have no problem with other people writing it, I’ve always felt a bit wrong when I thought about writing it myself. Then I discovered the Boosh and found this lovely little place and about two fics in I succumbed to the dark side and wrote this. You have all corrupted me and this is my first offering. Feedback is muchly appreciated!
Also, in case you care the title is a Placebo song, ‘cause that’s what I was listening to on repeat while I wrote this, and I can’t think of titles. The acoustic version is really pretty and well worth a listen - I actually found the lyrics strangely appropriate, even though it was a random choice to listen to. I’ll stop talking now.
Noel is surprisingly sober when he knocks on Julian’s door, which is possibly why it stings so much when his friends demands to know what he’s been taking. Then again, he knows it’s a fair enough question.
“Only had a couple of beers,” he mumbles. He wants to just push past Julian into the house, but there’s something in the taller man’s stance that stops him.
“What do you want?”
“I…” Noel is slightly taken aback by the harshness of Julian’s tone. “Can I come in?” Julian doesn’t move, doesn’t answer, and Noel sighs. “I wanted to see you. I miss you.”
“You can’t keep doing this. It isn’t fair.”
“Fair to who?”
“Me!” Julian exclaims. “Julia, the twins. Your girlfriend!”
“What about me, Julian? Can you just for one moment consider how this is fair to me?” Noel asks, his face pleading with Julian to listen to him.
“You always were a selfish little bastard. Not everything is about you!” Julian has stepped outside now, after grabbing a coat and wrapping it around himself.
Noel is left shivering in his thin t shirt, and if he’d felt reasonably sober before, now he feels like he’s never touched a drop of alcohol in his life. Julian’s words run through him like ice, and he can’t think of a response for something that hurts so much. “Ju,” he manages, hating the way his voice sounds so pathetic.
“Go home. Get some sleep. And stop doing this to both of us,” Julian orders, but his tone is much softer now, as if he’s seen the pain Noel’s feeling reflected in his eyes, and in the thin, hard line of lips bitten together to stop himself from saying something he’ll regret.
Despite everything, Noel can’t help but take a small amount of comfort from that, from the knowledge that whatever else he says, Julian does care about him. He turns away, taking a few steps before stopping again. “I’m not the only one at fault here, Julian,” he murmurs without looking back, unable to look into that face again and see the look in those deep, brown eyes. “I’m not the only one acting like a selfish bastard.”
He walks away without waiting for a response that would never come. He doesn’t let himself hope that Julian will relent, that he’ll run after him, grab his arm and pull him around into a fierce kiss. A kiss that says so much more than any of their words ever could. He tries to push down the memories, to free his mind of images of naked flesh, slick with sweat and saliva and semen, to rid his head of the heady sounds of groans, grunts and murmurs of I love you. He can practically smell the thick, musky air of their room after sex, can virtually feel the slide of an arm around his waist, pulling him close and clumsy lips pressed to his damp forehead.
Noel rounds the corner so that he’s out of sight of Julian, and sinks to the ground. The cold air is biting into his skin now, and he can feel the chill of the bricks behind him seeping into his back. Tears are pricking at the corner of his eyes and he can’t quite believe that he’s been reduced to such a mess. He never cries, not since he was a little kid. He gets angry instead, destructively angry, breaking anything he can lay his hands on without a thought of the consequences. He’d broken his favourite mug once - something that seems so insignificant, but it had been a present from Julian, a private joke, and it had smashed into dozens of pieces against the wall. Noel had thought that he might cry then, but he didn’t. Instead he knelt on the floor and carefully picked up every single shard of porcelain and wrapped them carefully in an old newspaper that he was certain he hadn’t bought, let alone read, and deposited it in the bin. Julian had replaced the cup three days later after he’d noticed its absence. He never asked what had happened to the old one, but Noel had seen him notice the dark stain of coffee on the wall.
But now, here he is, sat on the filthy ground in North London, head in his hands and he can feel his burning hot tears dripping onto his fingers and running down his palms. It’s at least ten minutes before Noel manages to pull himself together enough to drag himself up from the ground, forcing cold, stiff limbs to straighten and move and he trawls slowly down the street, carefully wiping away smudged eyeliner and mascara with his fingertips. He fully intends to find a taxi, but somehow he ends up outside his flat with very little memory of the journey there except that he’d walked the whole way. He lets himself in, and somewhere from the back of his mind he drags forward the memory that his girlfriend won’t be home tonight, and he sighs in relief. He’s not sure he could take having to face anyone.
Noel turns the heating up before heading towards the bathroom and shedding his clothes. He shivers slightly as he turns the shower on and has a piss while it heats up, but soon enough he’s under the almost too-hot spray of water and he just stands there. It’s not long before he’s curled in a ball on the shower floor, unwanted tears mingling with the water and he thumps his fists furiously on the walls of the shower, wincing in pain. “Fucking Hell,” he says loudly, his voice echoing strangely in the steam filled shower cubical. “Fucking Julian!” Louder still. “I fucking hate you!” he shouts. “You’re a bastard, a fucking bastard!”
Noel’s throat is raw by the time he’s done screaming and shouting, his eyes swollen and sore but he feels a tiny bit better. He washes his hair and cleans up half heartedly, for once not caring if his hair is going to look like shit tomorrow. Cool air floods into the shower when Noel opens the door, and he steps out with a shiver, grabbing a towel and quickly drying off. He wraps the towel around his hair and hurries to the bedroom to dress before a chill sets in once more. He eyes himself critically in the mirror when he’s dressed; his face is a complete mess - red and splotchy with black eye makeup all over the place, but he just can’t be bothered to deal with it. That seems to be a recurring theme in his life at the moment - he can’t be bothered to do anything. The only thing that he feels anything remotely other than apathy for, is Julian, and he wished that he cared so little about the man as everything else.
Wandering through to the kitchen, Noel grabs a glass from an overhead cupboard and finds a half empty bottle of vodka. He pours himself a healthy measure - then slops a little more in - and takes a large gulp. He winces as the acrid alcohol burns his sore throat but then it numbs him, and he takes another big mouthful before topping his glass up and carrying it and the bottle through to the living room. Noel switches on the television and flicks through the channels for a while before settling on a random programme. He isn’t watching anyway - the noise is just a dull buzzing in the background and the picture is blurring into a swirling mass of colours. He swallows half the vodka in his glass and sets it on the table, enjoying the relaxed feeling that is seeping through his limbs and setting his blood alight.
It’s been two years since Noel has taken any drugs, other than alcohol. He’d sworn never to take them again and yet he hasn’t quite been able to bring himself to throw away his entire stash. He still has a little coke left, hidden carefully away out of sight but never quite out of mind and he knows his girlfriend has some pot stashed in her drawer. She thinks Noel doesn’t know about it, but he isn’t as oblivious as she thinks - and he doesn’t mind. It’s her choice what she does. His fingers are dancing around on his knee, as though playing an invisible instrument, and his leg is jerking rapidly up and down. It’s too late, he knows; the idea is already in his head and he puts his drink clumsily back down on the table and goes back to the bathroom, where the cocaine is hidden behind a loose tile he’d discovered years ago.
Noel carefully prises the tile from the wall, and reaches inside, his fingers closing around the bag inside. He hesitates only for a moment before he pulls it out, inspecting the contents. He doesn’t know what it will be like, having been left there for so long, but he isn’t sure that he cares. There’s more of it left than he’d realised, and he quickly stuffs the bag into his pocket before replacing the tile, making sure there’s no sign that it has ever been removed.
He’s back on the sofa and carefully chopping out a line with a credit card before he really even realises what he’s doing. He pauses before grabbing his wallet and pulling out a note which he rolls into a thin cylinder, snorting slightly to himself even as he does so. Fucking cliché. The white powder hits him fast and hard, and he uses his finger to wipe the remaining residue from the table, rubbing it into his gums just as he used to. The memory makes him feel sick as vivid images come rushing back to him; it’s like he’s watching it in third person, him snorting a line from a dirty bathroom counter, him accepting a couple of pills from someone he barely knows. Him lying flat on his back in a small room at a club, the voices of his friends around him distort into terrifying noises and the multicoloured lights swirl and dance around him.
Noel retches suddenly, barely managing to get his head over the arm of the sofa so that he vomits into the bin which is conveniently - and not coincidently - placed there. It isn’t the first time he’s had too much to drink and not had time to make it to the toilet or kitchen. He still feels twitchy - more so, as the effect is amplified by the drugs - and now his mouth tastes of acidic bile and raw alcohol. He takes another mouthful of vodka, and it makes him gag slightly but he manages to keep it down, and it thankfully dulls the taste of vomit. Noel slings back the rest of the liquid, swallowing it before debating whether to have another. He knows it’s not a good idea, that he’ll be paying for it in the morning, but his fingers itch for the bottle.
Ignoring the urge for the time being, Noel starts to flick through the television channels once more. His attention span is so short that eventually he’s switching channel so quickly he can barely tell what each programme is. After fifteen minutes he can feel the effects of the cocaine lessening and he cuts himself another, smaller line. This time he enjoys the effect much more, just a pleasant buzzing at the back of his mind and he figures that he just took too much the first time. He’s not used to it anymore, after all. A knock on the door makes him jump a few minutes after that and he panics for a moment, thinking his girlfriend’s back early. It takes him several long moments to realise that she wouldn’t be knocking - she’d had a key for months - and he jumps up to answer the door.
Noel just stands and stares for a long while when he sees who is standing in front of his flat. Julian is dressed in a big coat with a thick scarf around his neck, but his hands are shoved deeply in his pockets and he’s shivering. He doesn’t make eye contact with Noel, who still hasn’t stopped staring. He’s not sure if he’s blinked in the time since he opened the door.
“Can I come in?” Julian asks after realising that Noel is uncharacteristically mute.
“What are you doing here?” Noel asks, cursing the way that his voice breaks ever so slightly and realising with a jolt of horror that his drug paraphernalia is still strewn over the table, and he’d just left the bin as it was, stinking of his vomit.
“I…” Julian laughs a little and shakes his head. “I don’t really know.”
“Well then you can fuck off, Ju. You don’t get to say everything you said tonight and then come over here like this.” Noel sounds certain and fierce, and he’s quite proud of himself for that except that he knows it’s all a show and that his resolve is already weakening. If it wasn’t for the minor problem of exactly what is in the living room, he’d probably already have let Julian in. He can’t stop his mind from plotting ways to let his friend in without him seeing the coke.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Julian murmurs, and he sounds so vulnerable that Noel visibly sags in the doorway, and he knows that he will never, ever be able to say no to this man. “I shouldn’t have come here, I’m sorry,” Julian says, and he’s already turning - and he still hasn’t once looked at Noel - to leave before Noel manages to kick start his brain.
He grabs Julian’s arm and stops him. “Wait. Come in.” The living room is separate to the rest of the flat; Noel can just close the door as he goes by and take Julian into the kitchen. Or the bedroom… Except that will never lead to anything other than more pain for Noel and he hates himself in that moment. Hates himself for being so weak, so needy, so pathetic. This is all it had taken to drive him back to drugs again - sure it’s only one time, but who’s to say it won’t happen again? Noel isn’t even sure if it matters to him whether it does or not.
Julian follows Noel inside, closing the door behind him and thankfully doesn’t question Noel’s decision to bypass the comfortable living room for the kitchen. Noel leans against the counter and studies Julian for a few moments, standing there with his gaze still fixed on the floor. His refusal to look at Noel is really starting to get to him.
“Want a drink?” Noel asks, suddenly not caring how bad it’ll make him feel the next day.
“How many have you already had?” Julian counters.
Noel shrugs. “Dunno. Lost count,” he mumbles, realising that this time if Julian asks what he’s on he’ll have a valid reason. He finds another glass and roots around in a cupboard for a bottle of whiskey - something he knows will be more to Julian’s taste - pouring himself an extra large measure. His hands are shaking slightly, and some of the alcohol sloshes over the edge of the glass and onto the kitchen counter below. He doesn’t bother wiping it up - it feels like that would bring attention to it, and maybe Julian hadn’t noticed. After all, he still wasn’t fucking looking at Noel. “So?” Noel prompts when Julian still doesn’t answer Noel’s question.
Julian jumps a little and his gaze shifts upwards slightly, though no higher than waist height. “Hmm?”
“Drink. Do you want one or not?” Noel asks in frustration. He’s jittery, and he can’t work out how much of that is from nerves and how much is from the substances he’d only ingested five minutes previously.
“Sure. Thanks,” Julian says as Noel pours another glass and hands it to him. “Could we… maybe go and sit down?”
Noel stiffens slightly, trying to think of a good excuse not to, but he comes up blank. Instead, he points to a kitchen chair, sitting in the other and wincing a little at Julian’s sigh. “Why are you here?” Noel asks again. “You seemed to make it perfectly clear earlier that you didn’t want to see me.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to see you,” Julian says quietly, sitting down at the table. “You know that’s not it at all.”
Noel’s drumming his fingers on the table, and frowning at Julian.
“I just… Wanted to check you’re okay.”
“They have these great things these days called telephones,” Noel starts sarcastically, but Julian’s hand suddenly clasps tightly over his smaller, fidgeting one, stopping the noise. His nervous energy had always been a source of irritation to Julian - generally because it involves making a lot of noise. Noel swallows thickly, then pulls his hand roughly out from under Julian’s, despite the fact that every fibre of his being is screaming at him to leave it there, to soak up the contact for as long as possible. He stands up suddenly, putting some space between them, and his eye catches the replacement mug Julian had bought him, still on the draining board from that morning, and he has to swallow a lump in his throat.
“Noel…”
“Why won’t you fucking look at me?!” Noel shouts; anger is the only way he can deal with things right now, and he has plenty of it stored up. It’s boiling, red hot and fierce, just below the surface, waiting to be let out the second it has a suitable target.
Julian looks up in surprise and finally their eyes meet; Noel’s dark and angry and full of pain and loneliness, Julian’s deep and hurt and full of regret and so vulnerable Noel thinks it might just kill him. Why can’t Julian just stick to being a bastard? He does so well at it sometimes, but he can never keep it up, can never hide how much he’s hurting as well. How much that really just isn’t him. It just makes Noel angrier.
“You have no fucking right to do this to me!” he shouts. “You tell me to fuck off and then you follow me back home, and you really wonder why I can’t just move on?!” Noel thumps one hand against a cupboard down, the loud bang making Julian jump a little. “I’m not being the selfish one here! I didn’t ask for any of this!” He’s crying now, despite every attempt not to and that makes it the third time in one evening. That makes it more times than he’s cried in the past year, he’s fairly sure.
“Noel, I’m sorry,” Julian says in a strangled whisper, and it’s audible how much Noel’s pain hurts him. He stands up but Noel takes a step away from him, towards the kitchen door.
“I’m going to the loo,” Noel mutters, turning suddenly and leaving the room. Julian doesn’t follow him and Noel’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. He jogs upstairs and stands in front of the mirror, both hands on the sink as he breathes deeply. He’s a complete mess and he’s not used to feeling like this - at least not since he got clean. And maybe that’s the answer, but he wasn’t exactly in good shape before the pathetic two lines of coke. Shit. The coke. Julian isn’t generally the type to go snooping, but if he thinks something is going on… And Julian’s a perceptive man, even more so when it comes to Noel, it seems.
Noel hurries back downstairs - he hadn’t actually needed the toilet, just the chance to escape for a few minutes - but the living room door is already open. Julian knows the signs, he isn’t stupid. He’d been witness to Noel destroying himself for a year before, and Noel’s refusal to go into the living room must have been an obvious giveaway. All the anger drains from him and is replaced with panic, regret and disgust at himself. He can’t even bring himself to be angry at Julian for poking his nose into Noel’s business because he knows exactly why he does it - he cares about him.
Realising he’s been stood half way down the stairs for several minutes, Noel steels himself and descends the last few steps on shaking legs. He walks to the doorway and sees that Julian has his back to him, staring down at the table and the items strewn across it. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What the Hell do I say?
“Ju,” he murmurs weakly. Julian turns immediately to stare at him.
“What the Hell is this?” Julian demands, and their positions are reversed now; Julian’s the angry one and Noel’s the one who’ll be begging on his knees for forgiveness if that’s what it takes.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Noel tries, almost immediately wishing he had some kind of brain-mouth filter so that he didn’t say stupid things so often.
Julian’s laugh is hollow and mirthless and the way he’s looking at Noel makes him feel about two feet tall. “Really? Because it looks like you’ve been taking drugs again.”
Noel wants to just sink into Julian’s embrace but he gets the feeling if he tries that he’s more likely to get a punch in the face than a hug. “I’m sorry… It’s not like that, it’s not a habit, this is the first time since…”
“I can’t believe you’d do this to yourself again,” Julian fumes. “Do you not remember how much of a fucking mess you were?!”
“I’m a mess now! And that’s without the drugs!”
“So, what? You thought they’d help that?”
“I thought it might stop me feeling for a while,” Noel mumbles but there’s a hint of defiance in his voice. Julian is partly to blame for this in the first place. “And it did. Until you showed up,” he says accusingly.
Julian looks lost for words for a while. “It’s not my business what you do with your life,” he says eventually, his words slow and his tone detached. “I just… I thought you were more intelligent than this.”
Noel’s not entirely sure how it happens but the next thing he knows he’s wrapped around Julian as their teeth clash desperately together in a hungry kiss. Julian doesn’t seem to be able to decide what he wants - his hands are pushing on Noel’s chest but at the same time he’s leaning further into their kiss. The kiss feels like love and hate and guilt and regret and apologies all at once and Noel’s so overwhelmed he actually has to be the one to pull away first and gasp for breath.
“I’m sorry,” Noel murmurs, resting his forehead on Julian’s shoulder.
“For what?” Julian asks quietly, placing a light hand on the back of Noel’s head.
“The drugs. Coming over earlier. Shouting.” Noel’s shaking a little now but thankfully he seems to have run out of tears. “That I can’t be enough for you.”
“Noel…” Julian’s voice is pained. “That’s not what this is about. I just… the boys, I love them to bits and I can’t do anything that might hurt them. They wouldn’t understand.”
“And Julia?”
“What about Julia?”
“Do you love her?”
Julian sighs. “Yeah. I love her, Noel.”
Noel’s voice is tiny and he sounds as desperate as a child needing reassurance when he asks “Do you love me?”
“I’ve always loved you. And I think I always will. That’s the problem.” Julian finally wraps his arms around Noel, who gladly accepts the comfort.
“I dunno what to do, Ju.”
“We have to stop doing this. It’s never going to work.”
Noel stiffens at the conversation that sounds awfully familiar to one they’d had three years ago; a conversation which had preceded the beginning of Noel’s excessive drug use by only days - a fact that they both know even if it has never been mentioned. Instead of saying anything, Noel does the only thing he can think of and kisses Julian again. Julian pushes him back with ease and holds him at arms length, looking straight into his eyes. Noel squirms in his grip but he’s nowhere near as strong and his efforts are futile.
“Do you listen to a word I say?” Julian asks, his tone irritated. “We have to stop doing this!”
“I don’t know if I can,” Noel says, and he reaches out his hands, sliding one underneath Julian’s shirt while the other rests on his hip.
“Noel, stop it.”
“Please,” is all Noel says as he gently caresses Julian’s bare skin, revelling in the contact he’s craved for so long. His hands move down to Julian’s belt buckle.
“We can’t,” Julian protests, but his voice is weak and defeated and he makes no move to get away from Noel.
Noel flashes him a small grin of triumph before pulling out of Julian’s now slack grip and closing the gap between them. They kiss again, and this time Julian responds but it’s hard and vicious and Noel tastes blood when Julian bites down hard on his lip. He moans quietly then suddenly finds himself on his knees, face to face with Julian’s crotch, the hard bulge obvious in his dark jeans. When he’d thought that he’d be prepared to get on his knees to beg for forgiveness, this hadn’t been quite what Noel had envisioned. He licks his lips - he isn’t going to complain - but he looks up at Julian for a moment to confirm that this is what he expects.
When Julian nods his assent, Noel makes quick work of the belt buckle in front of his face, pulling jeans and underwear down to release Julian’s straining cock. It gives Noel a little shiver of pleasure to see tangible proof that Julian wants this as badly as he does. He strokes Julian lightly for a few moments, drinking in the sight of that thick, dark cock in front of him and grinning at the quiet moan he gets in return. He wants to draw this out, to tease Julian, torment him and savour it for as long as possible; he knows full well that this really might be it this time. The last time he will ever be this intimate with his best friend and the man he loves - and maybe the last time he’ll see him full stop. Because Noel isn’t sure that he could handle being around Julian and knowing that absolutely nothing is going to happen between them.
Noel leans forwards a little to lick the head of Julian’s swollen dick, and is rewarded with a throaty moan. He licks a stripe all the way up to Julian’s balls then back again before returning attention to that swollen, purple head.
“Stop being a fucking tease and get on with it,” Julian growls and his voice sends shivers down Noel’s spine. He obediently sets to the task at hand, taking Julian in as far as he can and letting his hand do the rest of the work. Julian’s hips thrust just a little, as though he’s trying not to but can’t help himself, and Noel feels hands tangle in his hair. Julian manages to restrain himself for a while but soon his thrusts become wilder and after the third time he’s almost choked, Noel pulls back, eyes wide and mouth red and swollen.
“Jesus, take it easy, will ya?” he pants. “I know you just think I’m your little whore, but that’s a bit much.”
Julian just pushes Noel back towards his dick, and rolling his eyes, Noel takes it in his mouth again. It doesn’t take long to get to the point that Julian is essentially just holding Noel in place and fucking his mouth. Noel doesn’t struggle, he just relaxes his throat as much as possible and lets Julian get on with it and hopes it’s over quickly.
“Close your eyes,” Julian orders, his voice low and harsh, and Noel knows he’s close. Julian pulls out of his mouth the moment Noel does as he’s told and a few seconds later he feels hot spurts hitting him and he realises what Julian’s doing. He doesn’t even bother to protest; he’d thought he’d been getting what he wanted but in actual fact Julian had just found another way to punish him.
As soon as Julian’s tight grip in his hair is released, Noel slumps down into a heap on the floor, exhausted and close to tears yet again. The sticky mess on his face is cooling and drying already, feeling stiff and unpleasant, but all he can do is watch as Julian pants heavily for a short while then virtually runs from the room.