booshslashhaven | A Summer Afternoon (Noelian RPS)

rachellanuit.livejournal.com posting in

Title: A Summer Afternoon
Pairing: Noel/Julian
Summary: Julian takes Noel on holidays and they clear the air.
Word Count: 2,574
Rating: PG
Warnings: Fluffy fluff yet again, so keep a toothbrush handy!
Disclaimer: I don’t own the boys, this didn’t happen, so on and so forth.
Author’s Notes: So this is my second foray into the world of fanfic. My first one was well received so I felt inspired to try another! It's in Paris again, but hopefully that’s alright.

It’s hot. So hot that I can even see the steam rising from the pavement as it sizzles in the afternoon sun. Paris is swarming with people – tourists and locals – trying to escape the scorching heat by skipping from shadow to shadow. Vendors stand on corners under the shade of their stalls, distributing cool drinks to their waiting customers. Somewhere in the distance an accordion plays, and the gentle melody floats in the air like a lullaby. It’s the perfect image of Paris in summer, I think, looking around me. Exactly what I would expect to see on a postcard.

Noel is lying in the grass, bowler hat tipped to shield his eyes from the sun, his pale arms bent up behind his head. Slipping my light jacket off, I prop my head up on my hand and watch him for a while, a welcome distraction from the cloying warmth that’s pressing in all around me. Tracking the slow up and down motion of his chest as he breathes, I watch entranced as tiny trickles of sweat form at the base of his neck. It’s by instinct (and with a daring that surprises even me) that I lean in close and lick them away, savouring his salty taste on my tongue. He giggles at the feeling and raises his hand to lift his hat from his eyes. The sparkling blue orbs shine out at me from beneath rim of the bowler, like beacons luring me in. I lean into him and go in for a kiss, not caring that the contact will only serve to make us even hotter. I can taste the sweetness from that morning’s pancakes on his tongue as it slides over my lips. Pulling back, I grin and softly nudge the tip of his nose with my own.

With his hat off his face, it’s clear how much the heat is bothering him. His face is red and flushed (whether from the heat or the kiss I cannot tell) and sweat plasters his feathered fringe to his forehead. He looks well and truly exhausted.

“You look awful,” I state as a look of indignation crosses his face. But then he sees me smiling and he laughs.

“Well you don’t look much better yourself!” He retorts, chuckling. “You know I can’t stand the heat. Can’t we just go back to the hotel?” He puts on his best puppy-dog eyes, the ones he knows I can rarely ever say no to.

“Come on Noel, we’ve been in bed all week, we need to get out! Experience some culture! What’s the point of a romantic holiday in Paris if we never even leave the room? Or even get dressed at all, for that matter.” I raise my eyebrow at this, a mischievous grin playing at my lips.

“Well can we at least go inside then? Somewhere with air conditioning? I’m dying here!” He finishes melodramatically, putting the back of his hand to his forehead in a flawless imitation of a damsel in distress. The image makes me laugh and he scowls at me, but there’s no disguising that smirk behind it.

“Alright, up you get little man.” I sigh, resigned. Standing up, I brush the grass off my trousers and reach down to help him up, my grip slipping slightly due to the thin film of sweat covering our palms. It makes him snort, and I look down at him questioningly.

“Just figured if we’re going to get all sweaty it may as well be while doing something we both enjoy.” He murmurs, winking at me playfully. I whack him on the seat of his pants and he jumps slightly, surprised at my brazenness.

“Careful, Barratt, or I’ll have to take you roughly in the toilets.” He warns.

“Is that a threat, Fielding?”

“Do you want it to be?”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, anyway. But now’s not the time. I brought us here to Paris and I’m going to get my money’s worth, even if it does mean forcing him to get out of bed and put some clothes on (coincidentally the very opposite of what I feel like doing right now). I slip my hand into the back pocket of his jeans to guide him in the right direction. Not all that long ago I would have shied away from doing this. But we’re in Paris. Nobody knows us, and now that I’ve had my hands on every single inch of his body it’s difficult to keep them off it for long.

We stroll like this for a while along the footpath, our jackets slung over our shoulders and watching the paddle boats float along the river. We haven’t said anything in a while, but strangely I find myself okay with this. I used to feel the need to populate every quiet moment with noise, and when I ran out of words I would replace them with kisses, craving the connection that the words couldn’t provide. But now it was different. We had settled into a rhythm, things were comfortable. It was pure bliss just being around him and I didn’t feel the need to fill every silence. There were things we could say without words.

A group of children runs up the footpath beside us, dragging a kite in their wake. Noel lets out a tinkly laugh and there’s a look in his eyes that suggests he’d like to join in. If there’s one thing that I really love about Noel it’s that he’s never really lost his ability to have fun. His childlike naiveté and willingness to get involved in just about anything is inspiring, and I often find myself jealous of this quality. I slip my hand out of his pocket and wrap my arm around his neck, pulling him closer to me. If the heat bothers him, it doesn’t show, and he leans into the contact and sighs in contentment.

Smiling down at him, I see his gaze move behind me and he grins, pointing to a spot above my shoulder.

“Look, they’re playing that film you love! You know, the one about that French girl, with the bob cut.”

"You mean Amélie?" I say with a smirk.

"Yeah, that's the one."

I turn around and peer at the poster displayed above an old looking cinema behind us. The movie starts in 10 minutes.

“What do you think?” He asks eagerly. I’m slightly reluctant – partly because sharing things I love with people makes me nervous, I want them to love it as much as I do, especially if it’s Noel; and partly because I know the film has subtitles, something which he has expressed distaste for in the past.

“You do know it has subtitles, don’t you Noel?”

“So what, I can read! I’m sure I’ll be able to follow it without them anyway.” He grins confidently and grabs my hand, tugging me into the foyer of the cinema. I know he’s just doing this for me, and my heart swells with appreciation for how he pretends to be so excited to be here.

The cinema is old and beautiful, with red and gold detailing covering the walls. I can almost see the grand premieres that have happened right on this spot in eras past – glamorous women in long silk dresses sweeping up the red carpet, soft furs adorning their delicate shoulders. It’s a beautiful image and I watch as Noel turns his face to the ceiling, drinking in the splendour of the cinema’s architecture.

I purchase our tickets and steer him away from the candy bar, ignoring his weak protests over needing to have popcorn. He won’t eat it anyway; we’re usually too distracted with each other to even think about eating anything.

I let Noel choose the seats and shuffle along the aisle behind him, glad that the cinema is relatively empty. Dropping into our seats, he lifts the armrest between us and immediately wriggles closer to me. I raise my arm on instinct and drop it around his shoulders to settle him against my side. The closeness doesn’t matter in here, as the air conditioning is so strong that I start to shiver and have to put my jacket back on. We sit like this comfortably through most of the movie. Noel surprisingly doesn’t stir at all or even ask me any questions about the plot like he usually does. I start to wonder if he’s actually fallen asleep – it wouldn’t be the first time. Turning my attention back to the movie, I focus on the beautiful language.

This movie never fails to make a part of me wish that I was French, that I was inclined to romance like a fish to water. I’ve tried to be romantic before, but it always comes out as awkward. The closest I have come to romance was bringing him a cup of tea without being asked, along with a plate of biscuits that I had arranged in the shape of an 'N'. Wow, big gesture, you great Northern berk, I had thought to myself. I couldn’t help it though. Being around him was like walking too close to a black hole – I just got sucked in whether I was ready or not and often found myself struggling to keep up. I wouldn’t change it for anything though, I think happily as he breathes softly against the fabric of my shirt.

The music swells and I look up at the screen to see Amélie finally unite with Nino behind the soft lace curtains of her window. They do not speak, they barely make a sound. That’s what love is, I say to myself. Not having to say it, just simply knowing it. He chooses this moment to look up at me and I am surprised to see a look of nervousness and uncertainty in his eyes.

“Julian?”

“Yes, Noel?”

He pauses for a moment, thinking it over. “Nothing.”

He goes to turn his head but I reach out and catch his cheek softly, lightly brushing my thumb across his bottom lip, which quivers daintily in response. We hold each other’s gaze for a while, neither of us wanting to break the eye contact first.

“What is it, Noel?” I ask, slightly concerned.

“I....” He falters. He seems to be struggling to make the words come and I find myself extremely curious at what could be affecting him this much. I’ve never seen him this uncomfortable before, not even the first time we kissed, when he’d admitted to me that he was so nervous he thought he might throw up.

“...Je t'aime, Julian.” He whispers softly and quickly leans forward to press his lips to mine, preventing me from reacting. When he pulls back his cheeks are flushed and he is clearly embarrassed at having spoken so openly. I want to respond but it feels like I’ve swallowed a bucket of sand and it’s a struggle to make my mouth work. He’s never said that to me before, in any language.

Of course, I knew that he did. I’ve known for a while now. Ever since that day he cooked breakfast for me in just a pair of pants and then watched me from the doorway when he thought I was sleeping. I could see him though, and I remember feeling as though my heart would burst at the realisation that this was it, he had really fallen in love with me, just as I had him. It was almost painful to think about and I was too scared of breaking it to say it out loud. But here he was, saying it out loud to me, in French no less, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing.

I regain my voice and breathe out, not quite sure of how to express what I mean to say. The words I love you don't seem enough somehow.

“Noel, I more than love you. There’s no word in any language that can really express what I feel about you.” I say gently, seeing him blush even harder, but this time he's smiling, and it makes my heart soar. “Every time I wake up to you lying next to me, it feels like the very first time all over again, every day. I don’t think I can really define it with a word. I’m scared that if I do, it will go away.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” He says with his eyes glittering. “I said the words in a language I don’t understand because I don’t really feel like my heart can comprehend it. I love you just doesn't cover it. You’re my soul mate Julian.”

I'm slightly ashamed of myself for being surprised at how profound he sounds, and he must take my blushing as embarrassment, because he laughs sweetly and kisses me, wrapping his arms around my neck. If I thought I loved him a moment ago then it’s nothing compared to now, and my heart aches with a need to consume him, to become a part of him and have him become part of me even more so than he already is.

The credits roll on the screen as I stand and take his hand in mine, pulling him into a crushing hug. It feels like I can’t hold him tight enough and I don’t even think about the fact that I might be hurting him. I can only focus on the steady pounding of his heartbeat, tapping against my chest as he runs his hands in circles on my back.

We stroll hand in hand out into the evening air, which is significantly softer and clearer than the heat of earlier in the day. In a way it feels symbolic – the intense heat that had built up between us with the words that were left unsaid, now washing away in a wave of confidence and clarity. He loves me, he loves me. I keep saying it over and over to myself, not quite believing it. Perhaps I will wake up in a moment, twisted in my bed sheets back in London, and realise this was all a dream. Please, don’t let this be a dream. I only realise I have been speaking out loud when he stops and turns to me, laughing softly.

“Yes, Julian, I love you. Now will you shut up, you garlic twit!”

He’s laughing, and I laugh with him, overjoyed at how we can still be ourselves after such an intimate moment. I tackle him into the soft grass by the river and we wrestle playfully for a few minutes, shouts of joy erupting from his throat when I inadvertently tickle his ribs. I make a mental note to remember that weakness for later.

We collapse onto our backs side by side, exhausted and giddy, and I reach between us and take his hand in mine as we fall into an easy silence. We watch the sun drop behind the horizon and it casts a luminous glow over the city. It’s almost magical, and he says this aloud, exclaiming that it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. But I’m not looking at the sky. My eyes are travelling the curve of his jaw, the soft flutter of his eyelashes, the way his cheeks dimple when he smiles, and I can’t help but agree.

Current Mood: creative
Current Location: A complex pond.
Current Music: Voodoo - RiD