Page 33 of Electric Boy

Fuck it. If he was here, he was here. There was nothing else for it. He might as well let it all out. “He’s a creeper, all right? He’s trying to get into your pants. I just wanted to keep an eye on you, make sure he didn’t try anything.” Julian rolled his eyes and Rahul felt a deep need to defend himself. Behind him, Michael’s expression hardened but Rahul attempted to ignore it. “He’s not the knight in shining armour you think he is, all right? He followed Aisling. Threatened her. She told me herself. And the bloke he allegedly saved you from in the pub? There weren’t no bloke, mate. He saw you were pissed and took you back to his so he could get with you, simple as that.”

“He’s not like that!” Julian protested.

“Oh and you know how he is? A bloke you’ve known all of five minutes?”

“I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t go and do something like that.”

“Do you, now? And what makes you so bloody sure?”

“We’re dating, you bellend!” Julian cried.

The words hit Rahul in the chest like a ton of bricks. He was winded by them, gutted by them. He looked over Julian’s shoulder at Michael, who looked back at him with the solemn impassivity of a man who’d been vindicated by the truth. What was worse, there was a trace of pity in his eyes.

Dating. They were dating. Julian wasn’t being taken advantage of. He hadn’t been hoodwinked. He wasn’t just experimenting. Dating. They were dating. They were together. Why were there tears prickling the corners of his eyes? Why should he cry? So what if they were dating. That didn’t have a thing to do with him, did it? They’d never promised themselves to each other. They’d never made a pact that if Julian ever decided to go gay it would be with the obvious choice, Rahul Chaand, standing right here and pining away after him since eighth year. So what if they’d nearly kissed on the dingy carpet of Julian’s flat only a few hours ago? They’d been caught up in the moment. Maybe there hadn’t even been a moment. Maybe it’d all been wishful thinking on Rahul’s part like it had been so many times before. Like it had been that one night in their first year of uni. It had meant nothing. It had been an empty, meaningless experience, the only kind Julian was capable of giving. And Rahul had known this. He’d come to expect it. So why, then, did it feel like his heart was being summarily crushed to bits in the back of a bin lorry?

Julian must have seen something in Rahul’s expression because his own turned soft and -- for God’s sake -- pitying. More so even than Michael’s.

“Just… go home, Rahul,” Julian said, sounding as world-weary as Rahul had ever heard him. He turned away, back towards Michael, who draped his coat over his narrow shoulders, and as he did so Rahul watched the carefully reconstructed Jenga tower of their friendship collapse brick by brick. The look Michael gave Rahul before he turned away was so understanding that Rahul wanted to lunge forwards and pummel him in that perfect square jaw of his. Don’t understand me, sir. I can’t be understood. I’m an enigma. I’m Rahul Chaand. Coming at you like -- like a metric tonne of bricks. I’ll flatten you out, sir. They call me The Flattener. “Squish you down into a mince pie. Squish you flatter than a pound note. Yes, sir,” Rahul mumbled to himself, furiously wiping at his wet cheeks before taking off down the cold, damp street.

Chapter Eighteen: Orgasm Addict

Julian was livid as Michael shut the flat door behind them. He tossed his parka over the back of an armchair with no regard for the perfectly good coatrack by the door. He gestured wildly with his hands while he spoke, hands that were so starkly pale against the deep plum colour of his shirt they seemed much like agitated, fluttering doves.

“Just where does he get off following me anyway?” he was complaining. “Like he’s me mum or something. Like I haven’t had enough of that with Aisling. It’s like everybody thinks I’m some kind of slow child that needs minding after else he’ll run into the street with scissors and get flattened by a double-decker bus.”

His restless hands scrambled for the cigarettes in his pocket, at a loss for something to occupy them. Michael grabbed his wrists instead.

Julian had a heartbeat’s moment to look confused before Michael’s mouth crashed into his. Michael had been waiting for this since they’d left the club. He’d barely been able to restrain himself during the torturous taxi ride back. If Julian had driven him wild on the dance floor, it was nothing compared to the effect another man’s jealousy had.

When Julian broke off for air, he chuckled. “What happened to ‘taking it slow’?”

“Fuck slow,” Michael growled, taking his mouth back with a clash of teeth on lips.

Julian gasped as his legs hit the back of the sofa and they went toppling, Michael landing over him. Without missing a beat, he pinned Julian’s wrists over his head and angled himself between his splayed thighs to grind his hips down into him the way he’d been trying to at the club. Julian wasn’t as hard now as he had been then, but he was getting there, if the soft whimpers and breathy sighs were anything to judge by. Michael found that soft spot on his throat once again, marked by the pink bruise already blooming there. The younger man tilted his head back against the sofa cushions, allowing Michael greater access. He took the hint and latched on, sucking for all he was worth, biting for good measure.

“Mmf-fuck, Michael. That’s quite good,” Julian breathed, hips rolling up into Michael’s. He was driving Michael crazy. He wanted more of him. Needed more of him. All of him. Danger be damned, he was going to have all of him. The way Julian’s best friend would never be able to.

He unbuttoned Julian’s shirt and kissed every inch of white flesh as it was exposed. He got as far as his sternum before giving up in frustration. Too many buttons. He focused instead on the one button that mattered and got his trousers open. He pulled free the swollen red head of Julian’s cock, glistening with just a dab of precum. He really was so terribly beautiful. It was positively mind melting to take that first taste of him, the flat of his tongue against the sensitive slit. Salty and funky and amazing. Julian’s back arched off the cushions, his head thrown back over the armrest.

He was so vulnerable like this. So oblivious, lost in sensation and entirely trusting. It wouldn’t be hard for Michael to wrap one of his large hands around Julian’s slender throat and --

Michael blinked and only then did he realise his vision had begun to cloud over, blood thundering in his ears. This was bad. He needed to breathe, to rest, to get himself back under control. He’d thought he could control it this time. It’d been so long since he was overtaken by his violent impulses, he’d thought that perhaps he’d managed to sequester them away for good, somewhere they couldn’t do any damage. But just now he’d been moments away from… It didn’t bear thinking about. If he didn’t get himself back under control, there was no telling what he might do to Julian, who was putting his fragile life in Michael’s hands.

“Michael?” came the soft voice above him. Michael looked up to find Julian gazing back at him, blue eyes wide with concern.

He could do this. He was stronger than his base urges. He wouldn’t let the opportunity to ravish this exquisite creature pass him by just because he was afraid of himself. He was Michael Howard Chapel, Goddamnit. Award-winning novelist, successful property manager, English Adonis. He’d spent gruelling years depriving himself, living a semi-monastic lifestyle of unyielding discipline all to wrest some sort of control over the despicable tendencies which had once caused an event so foul that he would never be able to fully atone for it. He would not let all of that work be for nothing. He would prove to himself once and for all that he was his own master and finally be free of this fear.

He took Julian entirely in his mouth, down to the hilt, his nose touching soft, brown pubic hair, and let the head of Julian’s cock slip to the back of his throat. Julian cried out in surprise and ecstasy, hastily stuffing a fist into his mouth to stifle his sounds. Michael pulled that fist free just as he pulled off Julian’s cock and repeated the manoeuvre. He wanted to hear him. He wanted to hear every sound, every gasp, every sordid little noise that he was able to force out of him.

Julian made incoherent, choked noises, one hand buried in Michael’s hair and the other scrabbling at the cushions. Michael rose and dipped, again and again, with practised ease, sucking hard whenever finding himself at the tip. Julian’s hips made little aborted movements as if longing to buck upwards. He rested his cheek against one exposed shoulder, his heavy-lidded eyes two dark slits as they looked down at Michael. Michael gazed back unflinchingly.

“Michael,” Julian whimpered, seconds before his breath caught and thick, tangy fluid filled Michael’s mouth.

* * *

Michael knocked back a whiskey from his bar cart, washing down the spunk in his throat. Replacing the tumbler on the glass cart with a sharp clink, he turned to watch Julian where he lay still on the sofa, decadently dishevelled and half naked with an arm flung over his face. Julian could’ve probably fallen asleep like that if Michael had let him. But there was much Michael had left to prove to himself, and sleeping didn’t figure into his plan yet.

He unceremoniously scooped Julian up and threw him over his shoulder, making Julian exclaim in surprise. He carried him off to the bedroom and tossed him down on the bed. Julian laughed wildly as he flopped back, clearly enjoying being manhandled. Michael didn’t bother with his own shirt buttons, opting instead to rip the damned thing open and toss it aside. Julian stopped laughing then. He crawled forwards on the bed and splayed his hands over Michael’s expansive, well-sculpted chest. His eyes closed, dark lashes against pale cheeks, as he kissed a trail from Michael’s collarbone, down through his fair chest hair, to one pebbled nipple.