A World Within
Title: A World Within
Pairing: Noel/Julian
Summary: A road weary Noel seeks solace in someone who knows just what he needs.
Word Count: 4743
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: RPS
Disclaimer: As far as I know, Noel and Julian own themselves and are definitely not mine and all Boosh characters belong to them as well - the content/events here are purely fictional and a result of a fairly twisted imagination. No harm intended, the author is writing for fun and no profit.
Author's Note: A special thank you to oboewan-kenobi and worriedeye for giving this a once (or more!) over
Illuminated numbers on his mobile reminded him of the late hour. Julian knew he should have left earlier but, well, nothing to be done about it now. The show had been wonderful, a thrill to see his partner on stage.
A thrill, yes; and yet, it wasn’t strong enough to still the ripple effect from the ache of being in the audience rather than next to him.
It was an ache that had not lessened when they’d been together in the dressing room after the lights had come up either.
The shy awkwardness of being so close after so long and having an audience to that as well. Half-posing for the obligatory photo, to prove - what exactly? Noel sitting there on the couch, Julian couldn’t bring himself to do the same. They both were holding back. Something brief had started when they were alone there but it wasn’t meant to last. Soft fingers running over stubble that were quickly pulled away at the sound of a turning doorknob. The flutter of eyelashes against skin as faces closed in only to be halted before reaching their intended destinations. Pounding hearts beneath layers of clothing and coats they had tried silently to still. Oxytocin and dopamine racing through their brains, detectable to others only by the dilation of their pupils.
Embracing the younger man, Julian whispered well-wishes and congratulations. There were polite ‘I’ll call you’s” and “we’ll bring the boys round’s” as they released one another. Julian didn’t feel the hand in his pocket. It was three days before he found the note, its words delicately sketched on a napkin and giving voice to the ones that were left unspoken between them in that dimly lit space.
~~~
My Foxy Shambles,
I love this, but it’s not the same. Every comparison I make, conscious or not, shatters me a little more. I keep starting stories with “remember when” and sometimes I can’t finish them. When we break in December, you’ll know where to find me. Please do X
~~~
Julian padded down the street, the old familiar path. It was early, the morning light just breaking through the fog of the city. The few cars that idled by him were in no rush this morning despite the dwindling number of days until Christmas. A man walking his dog ahead of him crossed the corner with no need to look twice for traffic. Crisp air filled Julian’s lungs as he breathed in deeply. How rare, he thought, these mornings had become. Nostalgia crept into his chest as memories washed over him.
His key would fit easily into the lock were it ever to be needed on days like this. Julian’s copy had been painted over, a canvas as much as anything else for the artist. The nearly intact design that remained was a testament to the superfluous nature of the small piece of forged metal. Today the door was slightly ajar. Careless or intentional? Julian couldn’t decide as he crossed the threshold. Closing it fully behind him, he snapped the deadlock into place. It was the equivalent of a ‘do not disturb’ sign; only one person held the key to that mechanism and he was lounging sleepily on a couch, a tell-tale multi-colored socked-foot hanging over the armrest of one end.
The studio was littered with odds and ends. Noel had clearly been busy prepping works. Julian wondered, and then remembered, what had been weighing on Noel’s mind so heavily he’d taken to living at the studio again. Noel had a history of painting for hours and hours on end when he needed a break. Day turning into night and then day again, it could become a vicious cycle that worried and frustrated the people closest to him. Julian wondered what else Noel wanted to paint. Sleepy blue eyes peered at him over the back of the couch as he hung his coat on a chair and tucked his Converse in a corner behind the door.
“Ju.” The name like an audible smile floated through the open expanse.
“I see you’ve got a couch” Julian remarked turning and making his way to the voice’s point of origin.
“Mm. Needed a place to sleep, the floor was rubbish and canvas doesn’t make much of a cushion. I must be getting old, I’m 41 now you know” Noel grinned, propped up on his elbows and squinting in the face of a sliver of sunlight pouring through the window. Julian
did his level best not to focus on the deeper meaning he could ascribe to such a scene.
Was it the sunshine kid of years gone by sitting there? Time had flown too quickly past them both, not that Noel was looking his 41 years. Julian wore all of those and then some, though he wore them well by all accounts. The lines on his face were carved from smiles and laughter and he could still pull this raven haired beauty. Julian chuckled softly to himself at the thought, remembering that, for all intents and purposes, Noel had really been the one to pull him that first night.
“Tea?” Noel queried, swinging his legs around to stand and stretch. His fingers waggled towards the ceiling and beyond, his body looking like it was trying to will itself longer, taller, needing to undo the compression it suffered sleeping on a couch.
“You’ve really been at it” Julian commented as he nodded, looking around and trying to keep the conversation going. It shouldn’t be this hard, should it? It had been longer this time than the last, but their foundation spanned so much longer than that. From behind he could see Noel standing at the sink and Julian watched his hair shift slightly with the small nod of his head.
“I want to paint” he answered, barely audible over the running water filling the kettle.
Julian crossed the room until he was behind the smaller man.
“Sorry?”
“I - I want to…” Noel paused as Julian’s arms slipped around his waist, “paint.” He managed to finish the sentence and turn off the water before dropping his head down. The kettle abandoned in the sink, he sagged back against the taller man, his head lolling back and eyes closing like one of those dolls children played with. “I wanna paint, Ju” he repeated, more surely this time. The weight of his frame against Julian’s body seemed to force any remaining tentativeness from them. It was just the two of them now. No supporting cast, no eager young photographer, no stress of duties calling them away. With all of that gone they were awash in the simple comfort of a deeply forged love and friendship.
A low growl rumbled in Julian’s throat. He knew now for certain why Noel had been locked in here for days this time, painting and painting but still wrestling with an itch he couldn’t scratch alone. Noel didn’t ask for these things often, only when he was feeling a bit out of control. Julian didn’t go for these things often either, only when he knew it was what his partner needed.
When it was what they both needed, if he was honest with himself.
Something in that ineffable part of their relationship, the part that tied - no, bound - them together, that linked them through time and space also led them here, to where they each were everything and the only thing the other needed all at once, overwhelming them until they could be joined.
“Is everything here?” Julian whispered into Noel’s ear, his tongue tracing lightly over its shell before his chin nestled into the crook of the smaller man’s neck.
Noel twisted in Julian’s arms and met his eyes, the swirling of his physical form matching for a brief moment the swirling inside of him. It had been churning for days now, an angry sea in the midst of a hurricane. Julian’s presence here - his words, his tacit agreement to participate - was like finding safe port. Soon all would be right in his world.
The layout of the studio was easy, open, uncomplicated. Everyone on Noel’s team knew every item there-its name, location, and function. There was a singular exception to all of these assumptions. One locked door. No one knew its contents, and no one asked. They always had everything they needed, and more importantly so did Noel. If he’d had no observable reason to enter that room in their presence, they had no reason to learn its secrets.
Fingers slotted in between Julian’s and led him gently to that door, slightly ajar now in the manner the front door had been. With a gentle push it swung wide and Julian took in a familiar sight. He knew that once they entered the room the delicate balance between them would become more assured. This was Noel’s space, and Julian was an invited guest. The rules set long ago still applied and any questions must be asked before their bodies were on the other side of the doorframe.
On the back wall, mounted on shelves, were mannequin torsos Noel had collected. He’d taken only one on tour, here were the others. From this distance, to a casual observer anyway, they appeared to be wearing sleeveless jumpers of various colors and designs. The center of the room was clear of any clutter or objects, though dotted along the floor, close to the walls, small crockpots and their contents waited. Packs of new, cheap brushes in had been dropped in one corner, piled on top of one of Noel’s plastic sheets. Palette knives were scattered and, nearby, a few small cups stood stacked and waiting. Closer to the door, several tapered candles and a gallon of water they always hoped they’d never need.
“You knew I’d come” Julian said, his statement bearing no ill will or matter of fact tone, it was merely a simple truth.
“How - how long can you stay though?” Noel eyes searched Julian’s face for micro-expressions that would give any hesitation away.
He felt the flush spreading from his chest, his question lending evidence to a sense of fear. He wouldn’t be able to bear starting this if there wasn’t time to finish, or if Julian would be antsy to go and cause him to rush through the process.
There was that falter in his voice again, Julian noted. Concern for Noel flared in his gut once more. It was tempered by the knowledge that Noel was asking for help, but still present.
“I’ve got more than enough time, little man. Can that couch sleep two?”
Noel’s cheeks warmed at the ancient term of endearment, the affection conveyed within it always making him feel like a small child in the warmest way. It was the feeling of having someone communicate their unconditional love and making you feel safe and warm and protected. His fingers laced through Julian’s other hand and he walked backwards, fully into the other room, leading his partner all the way to its center.
Placing their drop cloth took no time at all. Julian stood on it now, in his own socked feet, and Noel took his spot on the floor; kneeling, breathing, waiting. Slowly, so very slowly, Julian disrobed. Each article of his clothing dropped to his side in a careless heap. He watched Noel’s chest rise and fall as wide eyes surveyed his model. Noel fought his inner urges to rush the other man, undo the buttons on his shirt and wash his palms over the planes of the taller man’s chest. He took in the features he knew by heart as they were exposed to him. If he closed his eyes in this moment, the gestures and physical rhythms Julian’s body was making would play on the insides of his eyelids like they were projection screens. The clink of a belt and the purr of a zip bounced around in Noel’s inner ear. The socks, plain and white and in stark contrast to the other pair in the room, were the last to go. Julian’s hands clasped over his flaccid cock, an old habit revealing the modesty he’d been raised with and betraying the notion that Julian had no qualms about nudity. He’d bared nearly all for their act, but that? That was another matter entirely. It wasn’t about baring all in front of Noel either though. That particular hang up, if it had ever been there in the first place, had been overcome years ago. No, covering himself in this moment was because this, this part, was not about sex or desire or carnal needs. That would come later, in due time.
From his perched position Noel raised himself to gather up the divested garments and Julian laid himself, chest down, on the plastic sheet. He placed his hands under his chin - breathing and waiting, he prepared himself for the sensations Noel would control for the next several hours.
As he carefully ladled the clear wax he’d use for base into one of the cups, Noel’s mind ran through every stressor and challenge. He listened to the sharp whistle of air through teeth as Julian inhaled when the wax was applied to his left shoulder. Noel concentrated harder and Julian breathed out as the liquid cooled and settled into place. He continued brushing and listening to the man laid out before him as he covered Julian’s back with the weight of the past six months.
The touch of Noel’s brush, loaded with wax, on Julian’s back sent shivers through him. The delicious burn he’d come to love swirled with the motion of the bristles. There was implicit trust between them, with Julian lying there naked and relying on Noel not to hurt him - to know how long to let the wax sit in the cup before brushing it on, to remember that Julian actually hated the sensation of drops hitting his skin, to let one patch cool and Julian come back to baseline before adding more. Julian closed his eyes, recalling the first time he’d been ‘painted.’ It had come out of Noel wanting to try a new medium and, having painted Julian’s body with more traditional paints once before, a desire to involve him in some way. A few internet searches and a slightly embarrassing trip to the store (they looked like they were preparing for the apocalypse with all of the candles in the cart) later, they were panting and gasping together on the floor of the flat for very new reasons. For Julian, playing with the wax gave him access to Noel’s art in a new way. The comedy duo had their clear connections to one another through their double act, music, and even acting, but painting - that was Noel’s and Noel’s alone, until he painted Julian. For Noel, the wax work was a different kind of catharsis than he’d had from anything he’d created before. The physical response, for both men, was actually an unintended side effect. Neither saw what they were doing through a sexual lens.
When the base was thick enough and cool enough Noel traded his brush for the palette knives and set to work on the design. He cut away traffic jams and delayed flights. He carved out drunken fans too inebriated to realize they were being obscene. He whittled away venue managers lacking basic respect for artists. Wax bits representing pills he’d waved away, and drinks he hadn’t, fell to the floor around Julian’s torso. He removed sections of nights alone on the bus while others caroused until the sun broke through the sky and banished the moon. A long, winding piece stretching from Julian’s neck to the small of his back was excised and Noel’s anxiety of performing in front of, rather than beside, his partner was thrown, with no small degree of force, into the corner furthest away from him. Rocking back to sit for a moment on his heels, Noel came to the realization that if he wanted to extract the complicated sadness he felt of touring without Julian, without Dave, without Rich, there’d be nothing left of the piece and so he decided to cover that feeling up instead. He’d fill in the gaps he’d made with pleasant memories and then paint the dreams he’d worn over all of it.
These interactions were the closest Julian had ever come to feeling colors. All of the wax had the same melting point, but the temperature of the wax itself was different for each since some colors retained heat longer. As Noel worked Julian was able to create his own mental version of the piece. It was harder when Noel did the plain base first but if it was thin enough Julian could still guess the colors with a fair degree of accuracy.
New brushes, freed from their plastic confines, brought sunny yellow days to the piece. They added gentle green smiles from fans in the street and the orange brotherly love of touring with Mike again. The colored wax inserted kind reviews in purple and the pink prospect of reuniting with friends far across the oceans. Another brush, coated in red, wove in behind the scenes cuddles with Julian in the dressing room at Brixton. Finally, black outlines tinged in blue gave form to the masks Noel had worn for all, even himself, to see.
Noel breathed out. The exhalation of a thousand breaths he’d been holding for ages, the weight of it lifting and leaving him feeling iary. He sat back and swung his legs around and out to sit cross legged in line with Julian’s shoulders. Julian looked up at the artist, his artist, and felt the weight that had been, quite literally, transferred onto him.
The process of peeling the piece away was slow, mirroring the manner Julian had removed his clothes hours earlier. He could feel Noel press at the skin here and there to loosen the wax when it verged on pulling or hurting Julian. As he got closer to the last section adhered to Julian’s body, Noel balanced on his toes, readying himself to pick it up. Rotating his body he placed the sheet of wax on a fresh mannequin’s back, letting it droop and conform to the shape before turning back to Julian.
Careful fingers moved to address any lingering bits of wax, dancing here and there across Julian’s back until it was smooth and soft. His skin was still slightly red from the heat and weight it had borne. Letting the older man rest a bit, Noel picked up the discarded packaging, tossing it into a pile once more and clicked off the crock pots before lying down next to Julian. The two men smiled at one another, Julian’s eyes and face drowsy but his grin giving his excitement away all the same. Despite having worked non-stop for hours Noel actually looked rested. He slid Julian’s water cup closer to himself and took a long drink before pushing it away again and laying his head on the floor so they were eye to eye.
“Thank you.”
“Mmmmm. Thank you. “ Julian sounded intoxicated. Noel supposed he was, in a way. “You were right, by the way. The floor is rubbish, and I am old.”
“Stay here a minute, alright? I’ll take care of it, just hold on.” Noel left the room. It felt like hours that he was gone but it could have been minutes. Time was a bit fucked up for Julian after these encounters, being in a room with no windows didn’t help and a man who didn’t believe in time most certainly did not have a clock on the wall.
“Ju?” Noel sounded tentative, Julian thought to himself.
“Mmm?”
Noel moved closer and dropped so his hand was brushing lightly over Julian’s back. A low moan passed Julian’s lips before he realized it.
“Com’on Ju, I’ve made up the bed.”
A quizzical look took over Julian’s features. “What bed?”
“The couch, silly, it’s a fold away.”
The sun had finished its work for the day, leaving the only light to make its way through the studio windows that coming from lamps along the street below. His eyes adjusting to the darkness, Julian spotted the tapered candles, now lit, circling around the room. Shadows danced on the walls behind them and Julian slipped into the bed, shivering at the cool touch of bedsheets on his still warm skin.
“Will you be keeping me warm?” he asked, seeing the answer on Noel’s lips as his tongue ran idly over them before he’d even finished the question. He read it too, in the shifting that was happening just under the fabric of Noel’s y-fronts. A few hours into the painting process, feeling physically restricted, Noel had removed his own shirt. Closer to the end of the piece, and wanting to straddle Julian’s legs to work over the small of his back, he’d given up on his skinnies as well.
Noel pulled the covers up and tucked himself into Julian’s chest. Julian smelled like plastic and wax and sweat. Underneath all of that was Julian though - pure and unaltered and his. Noel began to kiss gently along the pale expanse of his tall Northerner. He felt hands running over his own back and arms pulling him closer. When their lips finally met they formed the heavy, lazy kisses of unhurried adoration.
“I missed you” Noel started, “so much.”
“Shhhh, I know.” Julian’s hands twisted in Noel’s hair. If he didn’t know better he’d swear Noel purred.
A leg made its way over Julian’s hip and Noel pushed his way up along Julian’s body.
“You don’t though. Nights alone in that bunk, there were times you were all I could think of.”
His mind was racing with the memories. Hard and panting as his fingertips had grazed across his length, he had tried to imagine it was Julian’s fist sliding along his shaft and tracing over the tip. Noel had focused on the sensation of his fingers inside himself, aching and desperate to recreate the feeling of being filled. Terribly awkward positions and paranoia about being caught left him with ragged breath and a leaking cock more than once; so many nights he’d abandoned his plans and closed his eyes until by some miracle it was morning.
Palms now pressed firm against Julian’s shoulders, Noel rocked the other man. Once he was flat on his back Noel rose up until his knees were planted firmly on either side of Julian’s hips.
“Tell me. Make me feel how much you missed me. Show me.” Julian whispered, staring up at Noel’s face. His cock twitched in the little crease of Noel’s arse cheeks.
Brain still clouded from the painting, Julian was only vaguely aware of what he was saying. Lowered inhibitions - what a beautiful side effect he thought, feeling his heart pound and rattle his ribs. Noel would never know how many times Julian had wanted it. He could count the times Julian had asked for this on his left hand. Tonight he would need to start using his right. Or his dick. Both, he decided.
“Fuck, Julian, every time I got on stage I was half hard” Noel swirled his hips and let his weight push again Julian’s groin, delighting in the stilted gasp the motion drew from Julian’s lips. “There were nights I was delirious with it by the end of the show.”
“I’d be buzzing on it Ju, wanting - needing - a good fuck.” Noel bent himself over until his mouth was level with Julian’s ear. “At Brixton, I had a wank in our old dressing room, remembering how tight you were around me. How you whimpered and whispered ‘deeper’ and ‘harder’ and God knows what else. What it felt like to come inside you, still drunk from the show and those kisses in the wheelbarrow.”
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. His own memories of feeling complete in way that happened only with Noel like lighting bugs in his brain. Memories of warmth filling him as he had held onto the edge of the table with all of the strength he could muster, because letting go would mean falling down a rabbit hole he might never find his way out of. Noel’s hips snapped against him and he returned to the present; maybe that rabbit hole wouldn’t be such a bad place.
“More” he grunted, impatient now.
He rubbed against the material of Noel’s pants, against the cock still trapped there inside them. The heat from it radiated through them and made a warm spot on Julian’s belly. It was ludicrous the feeling building within him, but it was also more powerful than he could stand. His hand found Noel’s thumb, the one he was always sticking in his mouth while managing to look coy and deep in thought all at once. Wrapping his lips around it now, he sucked hard and watched Noel’s head drop back. This must be what it would be like to stick your finger in a wall socket, to feel the electricity course through you from tip to toes. Julian began to swirl his tongue around the digit, lapping at it, and murmured “more” again.
Noel kept on. He walked Julian through backrooms and stairwells they’d haunted together years before. Recalled closets with locks so loose the doors had to held shut with the weight of their bodies. With words he reformed the world they’d created for themselves, one separate from the others or the fans. A world of purer fantasy than any Boosh episode, set higher than the drink or drugs had ever gotten them. Julian was bound in the spell, aching and leaking, his hips beginning to thrust involuntarily upwards.
It was faster than Noel wanted it to be but as hard as Julian needed it. He sank deeply into Julian with only as much prep as he could stand before half-snarling at, half-begging Noel to “just do it already” and little more than spit and the mingled precum Noel had managed to swipe from their cocks. It was rough; from this angle he could see Julian’s face twist and lips tremble over and over, the sounds of colliding damp flesh filling the studio. Julian reached forward to pull Noel’s hips closer, harder, towards him, into him. They were racing somewhere together now, closer to that home feeling neither one could quite achieve anywhere, or with anyone, else. Julian knew that Noel would arrive there first and watched the other man’s body still for a fraction of a second, then shudder as the orgasm worked through him.
Panting quietly, Julian continued to work his own cock. He knew he was close and when Noel’s hips resumed their rhythm the noises the two men made pushed him further towards oblivion.
“Fuck…Go - Noel, m’nearly…almost….”
Sensations racking his body, Julian barely registered Noel extricating himself. He was, however, keenly aware of the moist warmth enveloping his dick shortly thereafter, the tip of his cock bumping against Noel’s hard palate and the cessation of semen spurting onto Julian’s skin.
“Yes” was probably what came out of his mouth next, but it was low and almost guttural. Any specific sounds that would clue someone into one particular letter or another were drawn out and drowned in moans while Noel licked and lapped at Julian’s cock and stomach. This, out of all of them, was Noel’s favorite call back; an echo of the first time he’d fucked Julian.
Julian’s belly gently rose and fell and the fingers of his left hand played loosely in Noel’s hair. He marveled at the faded color and how long it was getting again. Still catching his breath, Julian remarked his surprise that Noel could still do that move. Noel just smiled coyly in a way that suggested he wasn’t sure he could either, or that he’d been practicing somehow.
Satisfied his work was done, Noel slipped his tongue back into his mouth and turned to rest his head on Julian’s chest. Their breathing would begin to match eventually, he knew this. And so he waited, trying not to hold his any longer.
“Julian?”
“Mmm”
“Next time…”
“Mhmm”
“Well, next time, do you think - I mean…“
“As long as I get the bottom bunk Fielding.”
Noel smiled, closed his eyes, and readied himself for a gentle swat on the back of the head.
"Shouldn't be a problem, I quite like the top."
Pairing: Noel/Julian
Summary: A road weary Noel seeks solace in someone who knows just what he needs.
Word Count: 4743
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: RPS
Disclaimer: As far as I know, Noel and Julian own themselves and are definitely not mine and all Boosh characters belong to them as well - the content/events here are purely fictional and a result of a fairly twisted imagination. No harm intended, the author is writing for fun and no profit.
Author's Note: A special thank you to oboewan-kenobi and worriedeye for giving this a once (or more!) over
Illuminated numbers on his mobile reminded him of the late hour. Julian knew he should have left earlier but, well, nothing to be done about it now. The show had been wonderful, a thrill to see his partner on stage.
A thrill, yes; and yet, it wasn’t strong enough to still the ripple effect from the ache of being in the audience rather than next to him.
It was an ache that had not lessened when they’d been together in the dressing room after the lights had come up either.
The shy awkwardness of being so close after so long and having an audience to that as well. Half-posing for the obligatory photo, to prove - what exactly? Noel sitting there on the couch, Julian couldn’t bring himself to do the same. They both were holding back. Something brief had started when they were alone there but it wasn’t meant to last. Soft fingers running over stubble that were quickly pulled away at the sound of a turning doorknob. The flutter of eyelashes against skin as faces closed in only to be halted before reaching their intended destinations. Pounding hearts beneath layers of clothing and coats they had tried silently to still. Oxytocin and dopamine racing through their brains, detectable to others only by the dilation of their pupils.
Embracing the younger man, Julian whispered well-wishes and congratulations. There were polite ‘I’ll call you’s” and “we’ll bring the boys round’s” as they released one another. Julian didn’t feel the hand in his pocket. It was three days before he found the note, its words delicately sketched on a napkin and giving voice to the ones that were left unspoken between them in that dimly lit space.
~~~
My Foxy Shambles,
I love this, but it’s not the same. Every comparison I make, conscious or not, shatters me a little more. I keep starting stories with “remember when” and sometimes I can’t finish them. When we break in December, you’ll know where to find me. Please do X
~~~
Julian padded down the street, the old familiar path. It was early, the morning light just breaking through the fog of the city. The few cars that idled by him were in no rush this morning despite the dwindling number of days until Christmas. A man walking his dog ahead of him crossed the corner with no need to look twice for traffic. Crisp air filled Julian’s lungs as he breathed in deeply. How rare, he thought, these mornings had become. Nostalgia crept into his chest as memories washed over him.
His key would fit easily into the lock were it ever to be needed on days like this. Julian’s copy had been painted over, a canvas as much as anything else for the artist. The nearly intact design that remained was a testament to the superfluous nature of the small piece of forged metal. Today the door was slightly ajar. Careless or intentional? Julian couldn’t decide as he crossed the threshold. Closing it fully behind him, he snapped the deadlock into place. It was the equivalent of a ‘do not disturb’ sign; only one person held the key to that mechanism and he was lounging sleepily on a couch, a tell-tale multi-colored socked-foot hanging over the armrest of one end.
The studio was littered with odds and ends. Noel had clearly been busy prepping works. Julian wondered, and then remembered, what had been weighing on Noel’s mind so heavily he’d taken to living at the studio again. Noel had a history of painting for hours and hours on end when he needed a break. Day turning into night and then day again, it could become a vicious cycle that worried and frustrated the people closest to him. Julian wondered what else Noel wanted to paint. Sleepy blue eyes peered at him over the back of the couch as he hung his coat on a chair and tucked his Converse in a corner behind the door.
“Ju.” The name like an audible smile floated through the open expanse.
“I see you’ve got a couch” Julian remarked turning and making his way to the voice’s point of origin.
“Mm. Needed a place to sleep, the floor was rubbish and canvas doesn’t make much of a cushion. I must be getting old, I’m 41 now you know” Noel grinned, propped up on his elbows and squinting in the face of a sliver of sunlight pouring through the window. Julian
did his level best not to focus on the deeper meaning he could ascribe to such a scene.
Was it the sunshine kid of years gone by sitting there? Time had flown too quickly past them both, not that Noel was looking his 41 years. Julian wore all of those and then some, though he wore them well by all accounts. The lines on his face were carved from smiles and laughter and he could still pull this raven haired beauty. Julian chuckled softly to himself at the thought, remembering that, for all intents and purposes, Noel had really been the one to pull him that first night.
“Tea?” Noel queried, swinging his legs around to stand and stretch. His fingers waggled towards the ceiling and beyond, his body looking like it was trying to will itself longer, taller, needing to undo the compression it suffered sleeping on a couch.
“You’ve really been at it” Julian commented as he nodded, looking around and trying to keep the conversation going. It shouldn’t be this hard, should it? It had been longer this time than the last, but their foundation spanned so much longer than that. From behind he could see Noel standing at the sink and Julian watched his hair shift slightly with the small nod of his head.
“I want to paint” he answered, barely audible over the running water filling the kettle.
Julian crossed the room until he was behind the smaller man.
“Sorry?”
“I - I want to…” Noel paused as Julian’s arms slipped around his waist, “paint.” He managed to finish the sentence and turn off the water before dropping his head down. The kettle abandoned in the sink, he sagged back against the taller man, his head lolling back and eyes closing like one of those dolls children played with. “I wanna paint, Ju” he repeated, more surely this time. The weight of his frame against Julian’s body seemed to force any remaining tentativeness from them. It was just the two of them now. No supporting cast, no eager young photographer, no stress of duties calling them away. With all of that gone they were awash in the simple comfort of a deeply forged love and friendship.
A low growl rumbled in Julian’s throat. He knew now for certain why Noel had been locked in here for days this time, painting and painting but still wrestling with an itch he couldn’t scratch alone. Noel didn’t ask for these things often, only when he was feeling a bit out of control. Julian didn’t go for these things often either, only when he knew it was what his partner needed.
When it was what they both needed, if he was honest with himself.
Something in that ineffable part of their relationship, the part that tied - no, bound - them together, that linked them through time and space also led them here, to where they each were everything and the only thing the other needed all at once, overwhelming them until they could be joined.
“Is everything here?” Julian whispered into Noel’s ear, his tongue tracing lightly over its shell before his chin nestled into the crook of the smaller man’s neck.
Noel twisted in Julian’s arms and met his eyes, the swirling of his physical form matching for a brief moment the swirling inside of him. It had been churning for days now, an angry sea in the midst of a hurricane. Julian’s presence here - his words, his tacit agreement to participate - was like finding safe port. Soon all would be right in his world.
The layout of the studio was easy, open, uncomplicated. Everyone on Noel’s team knew every item there-its name, location, and function. There was a singular exception to all of these assumptions. One locked door. No one knew its contents, and no one asked. They always had everything they needed, and more importantly so did Noel. If he’d had no observable reason to enter that room in their presence, they had no reason to learn its secrets.
Fingers slotted in between Julian’s and led him gently to that door, slightly ajar now in the manner the front door had been. With a gentle push it swung wide and Julian took in a familiar sight. He knew that once they entered the room the delicate balance between them would become more assured. This was Noel’s space, and Julian was an invited guest. The rules set long ago still applied and any questions must be asked before their bodies were on the other side of the doorframe.
On the back wall, mounted on shelves, were mannequin torsos Noel had collected. He’d taken only one on tour, here were the others. From this distance, to a casual observer anyway, they appeared to be wearing sleeveless jumpers of various colors and designs. The center of the room was clear of any clutter or objects, though dotted along the floor, close to the walls, small crockpots and their contents waited. Packs of new, cheap brushes in had been dropped in one corner, piled on top of one of Noel’s plastic sheets. Palette knives were scattered and, nearby, a few small cups stood stacked and waiting. Closer to the door, several tapered candles and a gallon of water they always hoped they’d never need.
“You knew I’d come” Julian said, his statement bearing no ill will or matter of fact tone, it was merely a simple truth.
“How - how long can you stay though?” Noel eyes searched Julian’s face for micro-expressions that would give any hesitation away.
He felt the flush spreading from his chest, his question lending evidence to a sense of fear. He wouldn’t be able to bear starting this if there wasn’t time to finish, or if Julian would be antsy to go and cause him to rush through the process.
There was that falter in his voice again, Julian noted. Concern for Noel flared in his gut once more. It was tempered by the knowledge that Noel was asking for help, but still present.
“I’ve got more than enough time, little man. Can that couch sleep two?”
Noel’s cheeks warmed at the ancient term of endearment, the affection conveyed within it always making him feel like a small child in the warmest way. It was the feeling of having someone communicate their unconditional love and making you feel safe and warm and protected. His fingers laced through Julian’s other hand and he walked backwards, fully into the other room, leading his partner all the way to its center.
Placing their drop cloth took no time at all. Julian stood on it now, in his own socked feet, and Noel took his spot on the floor; kneeling, breathing, waiting. Slowly, so very slowly, Julian disrobed. Each article of his clothing dropped to his side in a careless heap. He watched Noel’s chest rise and fall as wide eyes surveyed his model. Noel fought his inner urges to rush the other man, undo the buttons on his shirt and wash his palms over the planes of the taller man’s chest. He took in the features he knew by heart as they were exposed to him. If he closed his eyes in this moment, the gestures and physical rhythms Julian’s body was making would play on the insides of his eyelids like they were projection screens. The clink of a belt and the purr of a zip bounced around in Noel’s inner ear. The socks, plain and white and in stark contrast to the other pair in the room, were the last to go. Julian’s hands clasped over his flaccid cock, an old habit revealing the modesty he’d been raised with and betraying the notion that Julian had no qualms about nudity. He’d bared nearly all for their act, but that? That was another matter entirely. It wasn’t about baring all in front of Noel either though. That particular hang up, if it had ever been there in the first place, had been overcome years ago. No, covering himself in this moment was because this, this part, was not about sex or desire or carnal needs. That would come later, in due time.
From his perched position Noel raised himself to gather up the divested garments and Julian laid himself, chest down, on the plastic sheet. He placed his hands under his chin - breathing and waiting, he prepared himself for the sensations Noel would control for the next several hours.
As he carefully ladled the clear wax he’d use for base into one of the cups, Noel’s mind ran through every stressor and challenge. He listened to the sharp whistle of air through teeth as Julian inhaled when the wax was applied to his left shoulder. Noel concentrated harder and Julian breathed out as the liquid cooled and settled into place. He continued brushing and listening to the man laid out before him as he covered Julian’s back with the weight of the past six months.
The touch of Noel’s brush, loaded with wax, on Julian’s back sent shivers through him. The delicious burn he’d come to love swirled with the motion of the bristles. There was implicit trust between them, with Julian lying there naked and relying on Noel not to hurt him - to know how long to let the wax sit in the cup before brushing it on, to remember that Julian actually hated the sensation of drops hitting his skin, to let one patch cool and Julian come back to baseline before adding more. Julian closed his eyes, recalling the first time he’d been ‘painted.’ It had come out of Noel wanting to try a new medium and, having painted Julian’s body with more traditional paints once before, a desire to involve him in some way. A few internet searches and a slightly embarrassing trip to the store (they looked like they were preparing for the apocalypse with all of the candles in the cart) later, they were panting and gasping together on the floor of the flat for very new reasons. For Julian, playing with the wax gave him access to Noel’s art in a new way. The comedy duo had their clear connections to one another through their double act, music, and even acting, but painting - that was Noel’s and Noel’s alone, until he painted Julian. For Noel, the wax work was a different kind of catharsis than he’d had from anything he’d created before. The physical response, for both men, was actually an unintended side effect. Neither saw what they were doing through a sexual lens.
When the base was thick enough and cool enough Noel traded his brush for the palette knives and set to work on the design. He cut away traffic jams and delayed flights. He carved out drunken fans too inebriated to realize they were being obscene. He whittled away venue managers lacking basic respect for artists. Wax bits representing pills he’d waved away, and drinks he hadn’t, fell to the floor around Julian’s torso. He removed sections of nights alone on the bus while others caroused until the sun broke through the sky and banished the moon. A long, winding piece stretching from Julian’s neck to the small of his back was excised and Noel’s anxiety of performing in front of, rather than beside, his partner was thrown, with no small degree of force, into the corner furthest away from him. Rocking back to sit for a moment on his heels, Noel came to the realization that if he wanted to extract the complicated sadness he felt of touring without Julian, without Dave, without Rich, there’d be nothing left of the piece and so he decided to cover that feeling up instead. He’d fill in the gaps he’d made with pleasant memories and then paint the dreams he’d worn over all of it.
These interactions were the closest Julian had ever come to feeling colors. All of the wax had the same melting point, but the temperature of the wax itself was different for each since some colors retained heat longer. As Noel worked Julian was able to create his own mental version of the piece. It was harder when Noel did the plain base first but if it was thin enough Julian could still guess the colors with a fair degree of accuracy.
New brushes, freed from their plastic confines, brought sunny yellow days to the piece. They added gentle green smiles from fans in the street and the orange brotherly love of touring with Mike again. The colored wax inserted kind reviews in purple and the pink prospect of reuniting with friends far across the oceans. Another brush, coated in red, wove in behind the scenes cuddles with Julian in the dressing room at Brixton. Finally, black outlines tinged in blue gave form to the masks Noel had worn for all, even himself, to see.
Noel breathed out. The exhalation of a thousand breaths he’d been holding for ages, the weight of it lifting and leaving him feeling iary. He sat back and swung his legs around and out to sit cross legged in line with Julian’s shoulders. Julian looked up at the artist, his artist, and felt the weight that had been, quite literally, transferred onto him.
The process of peeling the piece away was slow, mirroring the manner Julian had removed his clothes hours earlier. He could feel Noel press at the skin here and there to loosen the wax when it verged on pulling or hurting Julian. As he got closer to the last section adhered to Julian’s body, Noel balanced on his toes, readying himself to pick it up. Rotating his body he placed the sheet of wax on a fresh mannequin’s back, letting it droop and conform to the shape before turning back to Julian.
Careful fingers moved to address any lingering bits of wax, dancing here and there across Julian’s back until it was smooth and soft. His skin was still slightly red from the heat and weight it had borne. Letting the older man rest a bit, Noel picked up the discarded packaging, tossing it into a pile once more and clicked off the crock pots before lying down next to Julian. The two men smiled at one another, Julian’s eyes and face drowsy but his grin giving his excitement away all the same. Despite having worked non-stop for hours Noel actually looked rested. He slid Julian’s water cup closer to himself and took a long drink before pushing it away again and laying his head on the floor so they were eye to eye.
“Thank you.”
“Mmmmm. Thank you. “ Julian sounded intoxicated. Noel supposed he was, in a way. “You were right, by the way. The floor is rubbish, and I am old.”
“Stay here a minute, alright? I’ll take care of it, just hold on.” Noel left the room. It felt like hours that he was gone but it could have been minutes. Time was a bit fucked up for Julian after these encounters, being in a room with no windows didn’t help and a man who didn’t believe in time most certainly did not have a clock on the wall.
“Ju?” Noel sounded tentative, Julian thought to himself.
“Mmm?”
Noel moved closer and dropped so his hand was brushing lightly over Julian’s back. A low moan passed Julian’s lips before he realized it.
“Com’on Ju, I’ve made up the bed.”
A quizzical look took over Julian’s features. “What bed?”
“The couch, silly, it’s a fold away.”
The sun had finished its work for the day, leaving the only light to make its way through the studio windows that coming from lamps along the street below. His eyes adjusting to the darkness, Julian spotted the tapered candles, now lit, circling around the room. Shadows danced on the walls behind them and Julian slipped into the bed, shivering at the cool touch of bedsheets on his still warm skin.
“Will you be keeping me warm?” he asked, seeing the answer on Noel’s lips as his tongue ran idly over them before he’d even finished the question. He read it too, in the shifting that was happening just under the fabric of Noel’s y-fronts. A few hours into the painting process, feeling physically restricted, Noel had removed his own shirt. Closer to the end of the piece, and wanting to straddle Julian’s legs to work over the small of his back, he’d given up on his skinnies as well.
Noel pulled the covers up and tucked himself into Julian’s chest. Julian smelled like plastic and wax and sweat. Underneath all of that was Julian though - pure and unaltered and his. Noel began to kiss gently along the pale expanse of his tall Northerner. He felt hands running over his own back and arms pulling him closer. When their lips finally met they formed the heavy, lazy kisses of unhurried adoration.
“I missed you” Noel started, “so much.”
“Shhhh, I know.” Julian’s hands twisted in Noel’s hair. If he didn’t know better he’d swear Noel purred.
A leg made its way over Julian’s hip and Noel pushed his way up along Julian’s body.
“You don’t though. Nights alone in that bunk, there were times you were all I could think of.”
His mind was racing with the memories. Hard and panting as his fingertips had grazed across his length, he had tried to imagine it was Julian’s fist sliding along his shaft and tracing over the tip. Noel had focused on the sensation of his fingers inside himself, aching and desperate to recreate the feeling of being filled. Terribly awkward positions and paranoia about being caught left him with ragged breath and a leaking cock more than once; so many nights he’d abandoned his plans and closed his eyes until by some miracle it was morning.
Palms now pressed firm against Julian’s shoulders, Noel rocked the other man. Once he was flat on his back Noel rose up until his knees were planted firmly on either side of Julian’s hips.
“Tell me. Make me feel how much you missed me. Show me.” Julian whispered, staring up at Noel’s face. His cock twitched in the little crease of Noel’s arse cheeks.
Brain still clouded from the painting, Julian was only vaguely aware of what he was saying. Lowered inhibitions - what a beautiful side effect he thought, feeling his heart pound and rattle his ribs. Noel would never know how many times Julian had wanted it. He could count the times Julian had asked for this on his left hand. Tonight he would need to start using his right. Or his dick. Both, he decided.
“Fuck, Julian, every time I got on stage I was half hard” Noel swirled his hips and let his weight push again Julian’s groin, delighting in the stilted gasp the motion drew from Julian’s lips. “There were nights I was delirious with it by the end of the show.”
“I’d be buzzing on it Ju, wanting - needing - a good fuck.” Noel bent himself over until his mouth was level with Julian’s ear. “At Brixton, I had a wank in our old dressing room, remembering how tight you were around me. How you whimpered and whispered ‘deeper’ and ‘harder’ and God knows what else. What it felt like to come inside you, still drunk from the show and those kisses in the wheelbarrow.”
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. His own memories of feeling complete in way that happened only with Noel like lighting bugs in his brain. Memories of warmth filling him as he had held onto the edge of the table with all of the strength he could muster, because letting go would mean falling down a rabbit hole he might never find his way out of. Noel’s hips snapped against him and he returned to the present; maybe that rabbit hole wouldn’t be such a bad place.
“More” he grunted, impatient now.
He rubbed against the material of Noel’s pants, against the cock still trapped there inside them. The heat from it radiated through them and made a warm spot on Julian’s belly. It was ludicrous the feeling building within him, but it was also more powerful than he could stand. His hand found Noel’s thumb, the one he was always sticking in his mouth while managing to look coy and deep in thought all at once. Wrapping his lips around it now, he sucked hard and watched Noel’s head drop back. This must be what it would be like to stick your finger in a wall socket, to feel the electricity course through you from tip to toes. Julian began to swirl his tongue around the digit, lapping at it, and murmured “more” again.
Noel kept on. He walked Julian through backrooms and stairwells they’d haunted together years before. Recalled closets with locks so loose the doors had to held shut with the weight of their bodies. With words he reformed the world they’d created for themselves, one separate from the others or the fans. A world of purer fantasy than any Boosh episode, set higher than the drink or drugs had ever gotten them. Julian was bound in the spell, aching and leaking, his hips beginning to thrust involuntarily upwards.
It was faster than Noel wanted it to be but as hard as Julian needed it. He sank deeply into Julian with only as much prep as he could stand before half-snarling at, half-begging Noel to “just do it already” and little more than spit and the mingled precum Noel had managed to swipe from their cocks. It was rough; from this angle he could see Julian’s face twist and lips tremble over and over, the sounds of colliding damp flesh filling the studio. Julian reached forward to pull Noel’s hips closer, harder, towards him, into him. They were racing somewhere together now, closer to that home feeling neither one could quite achieve anywhere, or with anyone, else. Julian knew that Noel would arrive there first and watched the other man’s body still for a fraction of a second, then shudder as the orgasm worked through him.
Panting quietly, Julian continued to work his own cock. He knew he was close and when Noel’s hips resumed their rhythm the noises the two men made pushed him further towards oblivion.
“Fuck…Go - Noel, m’nearly…almost….”
Sensations racking his body, Julian barely registered Noel extricating himself. He was, however, keenly aware of the moist warmth enveloping his dick shortly thereafter, the tip of his cock bumping against Noel’s hard palate and the cessation of semen spurting onto Julian’s skin.
“Yes” was probably what came out of his mouth next, but it was low and almost guttural. Any specific sounds that would clue someone into one particular letter or another were drawn out and drowned in moans while Noel licked and lapped at Julian’s cock and stomach. This, out of all of them, was Noel’s favorite call back; an echo of the first time he’d fucked Julian.
Julian’s belly gently rose and fell and the fingers of his left hand played loosely in Noel’s hair. He marveled at the faded color and how long it was getting again. Still catching his breath, Julian remarked his surprise that Noel could still do that move. Noel just smiled coyly in a way that suggested he wasn’t sure he could either, or that he’d been practicing somehow.
Satisfied his work was done, Noel slipped his tongue back into his mouth and turned to rest his head on Julian’s chest. Their breathing would begin to match eventually, he knew this. And so he waited, trying not to hold his any longer.
“Julian?”
“Mmm”
“Next time…”
“Mhmm”
“Well, next time, do you think - I mean…“
“As long as I get the bottom bunk Fielding.”
Noel smiled, closed his eyes, and readied himself for a gentle swat on the back of the head.
"Shouldn't be a problem, I quite like the top."