Page 36 of Electric Boy

Michael didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled out enough to make a difference before pushing back. Then again. And again. Each time was more incredible than the last. He wasn’t going to last at this pace. He reached under Julian and took his erection in hand, pumping him in time with his thrusts and trying to angle his hips downwards to find the right spot, the one he knew would make him --

“Fucking fuck Christ!” Julian swore loudly, hips pushing back against Michael’s. “Yeah,” he cried, voice high and reedy. “Yeah, there. Right there. God, again. Please. Like that, Michael. Please.”

Michael was helpless against that begging. He fucked him like his life depended on it, hips pistoning as he made sure to hit him just right with every thrust. The room echoed with Michael’s heavy panting, the wet slapping sound of his balls against Julian’s arse, and Julian’s almost pained cries of pleasure. His mouth ran a mile a minute, every word as filthy and arousing as the last.

“Fuck, Michael, you’re so -- God, it’s so good. Don’t -- Oh God, Michael, you’re so big, I -- Fuck, I’m gonna come. Don’t stop. Jesus Christ, fuck me, Michael, fuck me, fuck --”

His prattle choked off, entire body tensing like a bowstring, and then the warm wetness exploded over Michael’s fist and his insides gripped Michael so hard it made him see stars. His forehead fell onto Julian’s back as his orgasm barrelled through him like a speeding juggernaut. He felt it from his balls to his toes to the tips of his ears. It was like an exorcism, with every sin being forcibly expelled from his body. The world bent in on itself, as if his climax was the singularity and all existence was being swallowed up with it.

He gasped suddenly, realising that he’d forgotten to breathe. As oxygen and blood once again began circulating through his body, he came to enough to pull out of the body beneath him, tie off and dispose of the condom. He flopped down on the bed, every muscle in his body pleasantly sore and utterly exhausted, and he couldn’t help grinning up at the ceiling. He’d done it. He’d come close a few times, but he never lost control. He’d conquered his inner demons, he’d mastered restraint. Long gone were his boyhood days of letting himself be swept away by passion. He felt a great weight, born from years of fear, finally lifted from him. He was free now to indulge to his heart’s content. And his heart craved nothing but Julian.

He realised then that he hadn’t heard from the normally quite vocal Julian in some time, and he rolled onto his side to look at him.

Julian remained in the same position, arse up and face buried in the pillows. Michael felt a small, unfamiliar twinge of concern. He’d thought he’d managed to hold himself back but maybe he hadn’t after all. Tentatively he asked, “All right there?”

“Christ,” Julian exclaimed, muffled by the pillows. “Why isn’t everybody bloody gay then?”

Michael laughed, loud and surprised. He grabbed Julian by his narrow waist and pulled him to his chest. Julian threw an arm and a leg over Michael, tucking his chin into the hollow of Michael’s shoulder. Michael could feel his breath against his neck, ragged at first, then gradually slower.

“I’d do that again,” Julian said at last, voice sleep-slurred.

Michael smiled, too tired to laugh, and tugged the duvet over them both to ward off the November night chill. How’s that for getting in his knickers then, Rahul?

Chapter Nineteen: Everybody’s Happy Nowadays

Michael woke Julian with a kiss to the sharp angle of his bare shoulder blade. He looked good in Michael’s bed. Asleep on his stomach, face buried in the pillows, the hair he usually took pains to maintain now devolved into a veritable rat’s nest.

He didn’t wake at first, merely made a muffled noise of protest from deep in his pillow burrow. Michael kissed him again, this time on the tiny mole that stood out starkly on his pale shoulder like an ink spot. An eye made an appearance between the mess of hair and the pillowcase. It squinted up at him, bleached by the white morning light, making it look grey and colourless.

“Morning,” Michael said, rubbing circles over the smooth planes of Julian’s back.

“Morning,” came the slightly less muffled reply as Julian freed his smiling mouth enough to speak. He revealed an adorable crease in his cheek made by the pillow.

Michael leaned forwards to kiss him but Julian quickly reburied his face.

“I’ve got morning breath, haven’t I?” he complained from within the pillow’s recesses.

“I don’t mind.”

“I do!” His voice went up an octave in outrage. “It’s embarrassing, innit? Especially when we only just started seeing each other.” He looked up so Michael could see his earnest expression -- one that was hard to take seriously with pillow marks crisscrossing it like a tube map. “Nine out ten relationships end because of morning breath. Ask anybody. It’s the leading cause of divorce in Britain.”

“Would you like if I gave you an unopened toothbrush with which to brush your teeth?” Michael supplied, trying hard to mask the amusement in his voice.

“Well, why didn’t you start with that?”

They brushed their respective teeth side by side in front of the bathroom mirror. Julian kept wrinkling his nose at his reflection. Whatever eyeliner he’d applied the night before had disappeared through a combination of rubbing and sweat, and with the barest hint of a shadow appearing on his jaw and upper lip he looked rather more masculine than Michael had seen him in some time. Julian clearly didn’t approve of this. Or of the wild state of his hair.

Michael was fascinated by these little hangups of his. He thought Julian looked just as handsome with a freshly scrubbed face and a bit of stubble as he did kitted out on stage with eyeshadow and lip gloss. They were two facets of the same person whom he’d grown to desire with a feverish passion from afar, then with an ever-mounting intensity as he came to spend more time with him.

But Julian clearly didn’t see it that way. It seemed to Michael that the persona he crafted was one he wanted others to see of him at all times, and not just a conceit for special occasions or stage presence. He wanted to be someone else. He wanted to be this mien he was fabricating for himself. If he held onto that persona even behind closed doors, Michael would have been inclined to allow him that concession. But he’d seen him when he was alone, at his most vulnerable and raw, and that facade fell away as readily as makeup washed off the face. It was the closest people in Julian’s life whom he allowed to see him in such a state. His sister. And… Michael’s mouth soured even as he thought it… Rahul.

Michael spat out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth with water from the tap. He met Julian’s eye in the mirror.

“You’re stunning,” he told him in a tone that brooked no room for argument.

Even so, Julian snorted and tore his gaze away to spit and rinse. Michael frowned at his own reflection. Julian hadn’t believed him. But he’d told him the truth.

“Mind if I use your shower?” Julian asked cheerfully as he stood back up. “Reckon I smell as bad as I look.”