![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
agentadvocate.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
booshslashhavenTitle: Becoming Heathcliff
Pairing: (implied) N/J
Summary: The lead up to the now infamous Let's Dance reunion, Noel convinces Julian to participate in his routine & recruits him to practice in the confines of his loft.
Word Count: 2'500
(1/4 is a sleepy, midnight phone call)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Fluff
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh and make no profit. Fun was had. No rights were owned.
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
purplefroth ♥
Author's Notes: I've never seen such an OTP in my life be so self-fulfilling in the slash department.
Everyone's doing such amazing pieces about their stage appearance. I wanted this to be a companion piece; the pre-events.
(The setting of furniture to the side is totally stolen with much love from voodoohedghog's Dance for Me, because it made so much sense & was a great inspiration)
“Ju?”
A gruff garbling on the line mumbles in response.
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
Julian leans against the headboard, scratching his face angrily at the obvious answer.
“Yeah, I know, thanks.”
“Why did you even ask then?”
“What?”
“There’s no point in asking what time it is if you know it’s late. I meant-”
“Are you pulling manic on me?”
“Oh, so if I call you up you don’t even ask if I’m all right? In mortal peril?”
Noel sounds like he’s casually crunching up sweets through his questions.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I could be calling you for help, though, and you shrug me off like that.”
“You’re clearly not. You’re still talking. Stop talking. Let me go-“
“No, no, don’t hang up on me!”
“What do you want, then?”
“I’ve been thinking.” Noel spins back and forth on a barstool in his loft, staring out the window. He’s left final restitches to be done on his costume on the kitchen island behind him.
“Can’t it wait?”
“No. No, no, no. I’ve been thinking about the show. What I want to do.”
“Keep it ‘til tomorrow. Just... write it down. Just write it and do-”
“Shit.”
“What?”
“I haven’t done this to you in a while, eh?”
“Done what?”
“Hold up your line in the middle of the night. ...Pushed all your buttons.”
A silent pause.
“Yeah.”
“I used to ring you.”
“What?”
“I used to ring you when I was out.”
“Out where?”
“When I’d be at the Hellfire, to tell you about something really funny we’d seen. We’d all fall over and I’d pay phone you after. Wake you up just to tell you a joke, all drunk.”
There’s a sound of fabric shifting and rubbing, feet padding and a door click shut.
“Why didn’t you wait?”
“Whot?”
“Why didn’t you wait to get back?”
“Back where?” Noel fiddles with a red thread dangling out the eye of an oversized needle.
“To the flat.”
“To our flat?”
“Five minutes by cab. You were always five minutes by cab. Why did you always have to ring that minute?”
Noel chuckles in a bubbling hush,
like he’s the one standing in the living room stark in a robe,
trying to be quite & not wake a household up.
“Because I wanted you to laugh too.”
Another pause.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks.”
“No, I didn’t mean-“
“Yeah, I know. ... You mean in general...”
“Just tell me what do you want, Noel. What do you want?”
“I want you to help me.”
Julian nuzzles his face into his hand and the arm of the settee underneath him creaks.
“With what?”
“The dance! I already said the dance.”
“Call Dave.”
“No. No, it needs to be you.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t.”
“I need you. I need you for this. I need you. I need it to be you.”
He hesitates.
“To do what?”
- - -
“Looks like you’ve been burgled.”
Noel’s apartment lacks it’s normal flow of shapes and trinkets, stripped down into makeshift studio mode. Furniture pressed up into corners makes the walls seem short and the floor a massive expanse of scuffs. A box of turpentine rags and acrylics balance atop an urn close to the fireplace, making Julian nervous.
“He’s been a pillock about escaping though.”
Julian eyes the room for possible punch lines and shucks his boots off near the closet.
“He’ll have boarded himself up in the chimney the way the couch is pressed up against.”
“All those plumes comin out the top? Just him in there, smoking a pipe. Stuffing it with newspaper clippings and crisps. Been in there for days. I don’t have the heart to let him out.”
Julian grins.
He finds an open space on the chesterfield between a lampshade covered in seashells and a pile of NME’s wrapped in a red sarong. Noel runs around the kitchen across, stacking painted plates in the sink, eating peanut chicken out of a Thai take away container with his hand. He grabs Julian a beer without asking; Julian doesn’t inquire if Noel’s having one. The floor molding is lined with green Perrier bottles refracting pot lights above.
“Cleanest your loft’s been since you left for tour.”
Noel’s half posed in a stretch, foot up on the counter, straddling a chair. Julian looks away quickly.
“Yeah, the last time you were here was tour.”
“Shut it. That’s a lie.”
Julian glances back and watches Noel putting on black ballet flats, crouched close to the ground. He wonders how he manages to get the most delicate thin-soled shoes in a man’s size. Only Noel. Though he knows the Winklepickers are an overestimation, Julian can’t remember how big Noel’s feet are, bare. On tile, or up against his.
He looks away again and peels the label from his Heineken. He tosses it into a milk crate stacked with candles.
“I’ve been plenty of times since then. Hurry up and get your act together over there.”
Noel’s grasping for his toes at the end of an overextended calf, loose black sweatpants laying limp on opposite sides of his bones. His arms are bare and flexing in an equally dark but unnecessarily tight tank top.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing. You should be limbering up or you’re going to be in a world of pain.”
“All I have to do is spin around. Pretty sure I’ve done that.”
“I can’t even sit in the lav without hurting places. My tendons are piano string. I can’t reach for light switches. You’ll regret it.”
Julian pokes about with the buttons on the stereo system and finds the right number on the CD jacket. He presses play as Noel stands up. The chimes tinkle on, Julian yelling over the track.
“I don’t have to watch you do the whole thing, right?”
Noel strides up, pressing pause hard, shooting incredulous daggers.
“Of course you have to watch me do the whole thing. How the hell will you know where to come in?”
“I’ve seen it. I come in at the end, waltz you off. That’s it. I’ve seen you do it a thousand times.”
“On the telly, yeah! I can’t just lay down & have you come fetch me.”
“Why not?”
“There’s a rhythm to the whole thing! It doesn’t make any sense if I don’t go through the routine. Why would you even be here then?”
Julian sits back down silently and waves a hand dramatically towards the floor to signal Noel can start any time now.
Noel grimaces as he steps in place to steady his legs.
He angrily musses up his hair and takes a deep breath. He presses play and immediately ducks down at the base of the table as the song sooths to a start.
He kneels up, hands outstretched like scales on either of his shoulders, head cocked to the side like a pursed-lipped hieroglyphic.
He sweeps huge clockwork motions with his arms.
You had a temper, like my jealousy
Too hot,
Too greedy
Noel leaps forward towards the couch bracing the fireplace, Julian watching his profile as he snarls and runs a hand down it aggressively, a man entranced in his own act.
How could you leave me?
When I needed to
possess you?
Noel spins and throws a shape with hands to the left. He brings his body in close, looking passionately frustrated. Julian feels a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach and takes a sip of his beer.
I hated you.
I loved you too.
Noel throws down hard, turning to Julian as the camera, bringing flailing fingers up to his face on the last lyric with big eyes and open mouth. Julian laughs in spite of himself. The song’s definitely all about him now he figures.
Stomping away in zombie fashion, wrists wilted out in front, Noel strategically sidesteps to perform the rest facing Julian.
He windmills, hips rolling, his dangling limbs swinging in time with the music.
I'm coming back love,
Cruel Heathcliff
He flails so desperately with each movement his joints look as if they’re about to dislocate. Julian watches his muscles ripple and relax in tandem.
My one dream,
my only master.
Noel crumples, his knees banging against the hardwood. Back arched, he gazes intently the ceiling. His breath throws his chest up and down rhythmically, slack jawed and panting.
His eyes briefly flick to Julian’s. Julian’s looking at Noel’s exposed stomach, beer still in fist.
He claws forward, baring his teeth. Julian’s suddenly paying attention. He jokingly pulls his feet up onto the cushion out of harm’s way.
Heathcliff, it’s me, Cathy
Come home, I’m so cold.
He thumps the boards hard as he cartwheels across the room. Julian’s even more impressed in person, watching Noel airplane on tiptoes.
Without missing a step, he bends and flourishes imaginary leaves up at the couch. Julian shakes his head quick in a cautionary no, but Noel’s got a hold of his collar and yanks him forward to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, mostly tongue on stubble. He wipes it off in jest as Noel’s off spiraling up and over.
You know me,
It’s Cathy.
The music stops. Noel’s flat against the ground. Julian stares blankly.
Noel takes his arm down and curls up like an egg. He leans his cheek against the floor and furrows his eyebrows, exhausted. His eyes close.
Julian stands.
Taking five immense steps, his stocking feet are within inches of Noel’s head. He reaches a hand down as an invitation. Noel’s pupils dilate in the light and shine up at him.
Julian feels Noel slap his palm against his and a pull upwards until they’re chest to chest. He wraps a thick arm around Noel’s waist. Eye to eye in all seriousness, they twirl around in slow circles to the side, spinning together hand in hand as they cross the floor.
His wrist feels moist from the sweat seeping through Noel’s tank top. He holds their hands high above his head, turning Noel around on his heels in a pirouette as they reach the cusp of the eat-in.
Julian lets go of Noel and brushes his clammy forearm onto his jeans.
“I don’t think I liked that.”
Noel runs his tongue across his parched lips and swallows hard.
“Piss off.”
“No- I meant-“
“I meant piss off!” Noel jabs his hand against Julian’s collarbone. “I’m not doing it again.”
“I meant me! I mean my part.”
Noel bends over and hoarsely croaks out words.
“I really can’t afford to take suggestions this late in the game, mate.”
“Yeah, me walking on is funny. But that’s not enough.”
“What I just did wasn’t enough? It’s enough for a lifetime, I’ll tell you that much.” Noel’s voice squeaks up in emphasis.
Julian’s expression softens.
“Try it again. Just me. Just my part. An idea came.”
Noel looks him up and down and drinks from a fizzing cup of water on the counter. He wipes the corners of his mouth and warns that if he’s pulling any funny business he’ll take him out with every last ounce of strength he can gather.
He proceeds to splay back out in the middle of the living room, hand jutting into the air like a white flag.
Julian goes as far as to play the last few seconds of the track, chimes out and a hush oozing from the speakers.
He’s in position again at Noel’s side. Their hands clasp, but their bodies don’t connect.
Julian braces his forearm behind Noel’s back, cupping his ribcage with a firm palm. Noel relaxes backwards as if to slide into a dip; Julian stoops and sweeps his legs off the ground.
“Ju, no-“
Noel’s words catch in his throat as if through a hiccup and gasp.
He’s against his chest, feeling like they’re somehow cheating physics.
His feet point down at each other in a V and he feels a knot floating around in his stomach. Julian’s face is solid, leering down at him, an eyebrow cocked sky high.
He moves his entire body with a jerk to the side and he’s off spinning them both around in a circle. Noel’s hands go from his lap to pasted around Julian’s neck in the breath it takes to complete one revolution.
He musters the courage to open his eyes on the third go round. Julian’s beaming. Noel laughs nervously like he’s on a rollercoaster.
Pasty arms relax and reach straight to the wall. Noel tips his head back and closes his eyes again, locks of his hair sticking to Julian’s bicep by centrivical force.
Julian whips around a fourth time, building momentum. He holds the body in his hands out like a gothic shroud draped in sacrament to the comedy gods. Noel’s knees knock.
The spinning stops. Noel steadies an arm behind Julian’s back, keeping his other hand’s fingers dug tight into neck muscle.
His face is closer to Julian’s than it’s been in the last six months. He feels his breath rasping against his forehead. He feels their pulses hitting each other in a million different connections of skin on skin. He feels lightheaded.
Julian jostles up to grab a better hold. Noel clings on, latching onto Julian’s t-shirt.
In a blink he has Noel bounced on the couch, collapsing beside him with a deep grunt. Julian sits sideways on the floor, smashing his head down onto the cushion, ruining the fabric as he sweats down into the lining.
“Not a bad idea, eh?”
Noel stares down at Julian’s lips gone loose as he heaves each breath out, teeth slick. His tongue falls out down his chin to signal he’s utterly and completely died.
“That was brilliant.”
He’s in the fetal position, afraid to extend and confront the damage done to his cramping deltoids. His thighs scrunch up behind Julian’s head, spooning the top of his wet skull against the bare gap between his tank top and pants.
Damp strings of hair stick and weave a map across Julian’s brow. Noel hesitates to brush them away.
Right now, Noel thinks, he looks like a fuller, grown-up version of the face that would pop up swarthy and disoriented at the edge of his mattress at three in the morning, sideways haircut diagonally plastered to his face, breathing ale about a sketch idea he’d had while walking home.
Noel would pull back the comforter, long legs crawling all over, finally settling down against him, fully dressed, sometimes still in muddy sneakers. Julian would murmur something about a moose and a truncheon, fumbling to take off his own belt unsuccessfully. Noel picked the strands away, running his hand through Julian’s greasy roots. Julian would drool and bite at Noel’s fingers cradled against his mouth.
He feels Julian’s heavy digits grab around the length of his wrist. He brings it to his face, planting it on his red cheek. Noel’s comforted by the fact that they can still read each other’s minds.
Noel runs his fingertips against the lines of crow’s-feet forming around Julian’s temples as he smiles. He touches his chin, lingering on the space between his nose and upper lip.
“Wait. Wait.” Noel rubs the spot, staring intently.
Julian twitches and opens his eyes, hand still wrapped around Noel’s wrist.
“Where’d your moustache go?”
Julian squints up into a breathy laugh.
He kisses Noel’s palm and nuzzles his face into it.
Pairing: (implied) N/J
Summary: The lead up to the now infamous Let's Dance reunion, Noel convinces Julian to participate in his routine & recruits him to practice in the confines of his loft.
Word Count: 2'500
(1/4 is a sleepy, midnight phone call)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Fluff
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh and make no profit. Fun was had. No rights were owned.
Beta:
purplefroth ♥Author's Notes: I've never seen such an OTP in my life be so self-fulfilling in the slash department.
Everyone's doing such amazing pieces about their stage appearance. I wanted this to be a companion piece; the pre-events.
(The setting of furniture to the side is totally stolen with much love from voodoohedghog's Dance for Me, because it made so much sense & was a great inspiration)
“Ju?”
A gruff garbling on the line mumbles in response.
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
Julian leans against the headboard, scratching his face angrily at the obvious answer.
“Yeah, I know, thanks.”
“Why did you even ask then?”
“What?”
“There’s no point in asking what time it is if you know it’s late. I meant-”
“Are you pulling manic on me?”
“Oh, so if I call you up you don’t even ask if I’m all right? In mortal peril?”
Noel sounds like he’s casually crunching up sweets through his questions.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I could be calling you for help, though, and you shrug me off like that.”
“You’re clearly not. You’re still talking. Stop talking. Let me go-“
“No, no, don’t hang up on me!”
“What do you want, then?”
“I’ve been thinking.” Noel spins back and forth on a barstool in his loft, staring out the window. He’s left final restitches to be done on his costume on the kitchen island behind him.
“Can’t it wait?”
“No. No, no, no. I’ve been thinking about the show. What I want to do.”
“Keep it ‘til tomorrow. Just... write it down. Just write it and do-”
“Shit.”
“What?”
“I haven’t done this to you in a while, eh?”
“Done what?”
“Hold up your line in the middle of the night. ...Pushed all your buttons.”
A silent pause.
“Yeah.”
“I used to ring you.”
“What?”
“I used to ring you when I was out.”
“Out where?”
“When I’d be at the Hellfire, to tell you about something really funny we’d seen. We’d all fall over and I’d pay phone you after. Wake you up just to tell you a joke, all drunk.”
There’s a sound of fabric shifting and rubbing, feet padding and a door click shut.
“Why didn’t you wait?”
“Whot?”
“Why didn’t you wait to get back?”
“Back where?” Noel fiddles with a red thread dangling out the eye of an oversized needle.
“To the flat.”
“To our flat?”
“Five minutes by cab. You were always five minutes by cab. Why did you always have to ring that minute?”
Noel chuckles in a bubbling hush,
like he’s the one standing in the living room stark in a robe,
trying to be quite & not wake a household up.
“Because I wanted you to laugh too.”
Another pause.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks.”
“No, I didn’t mean-“
“Yeah, I know. ... You mean in general...”
“Just tell me what do you want, Noel. What do you want?”
“I want you to help me.”
Julian nuzzles his face into his hand and the arm of the settee underneath him creaks.
“With what?”
“The dance! I already said the dance.”
“Call Dave.”
“No. No, it needs to be you.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t.”
“I need you. I need you for this. I need you. I need it to be you.”
He hesitates.
“To do what?”
- - -
“Looks like you’ve been burgled.”
Noel’s apartment lacks it’s normal flow of shapes and trinkets, stripped down into makeshift studio mode. Furniture pressed up into corners makes the walls seem short and the floor a massive expanse of scuffs. A box of turpentine rags and acrylics balance atop an urn close to the fireplace, making Julian nervous.
“He’s been a pillock about escaping though.”
Julian eyes the room for possible punch lines and shucks his boots off near the closet.
“He’ll have boarded himself up in the chimney the way the couch is pressed up against.”
“All those plumes comin out the top? Just him in there, smoking a pipe. Stuffing it with newspaper clippings and crisps. Been in there for days. I don’t have the heart to let him out.”
Julian grins.
He finds an open space on the chesterfield between a lampshade covered in seashells and a pile of NME’s wrapped in a red sarong. Noel runs around the kitchen across, stacking painted plates in the sink, eating peanut chicken out of a Thai take away container with his hand. He grabs Julian a beer without asking; Julian doesn’t inquire if Noel’s having one. The floor molding is lined with green Perrier bottles refracting pot lights above.
“Cleanest your loft’s been since you left for tour.”
Noel’s half posed in a stretch, foot up on the counter, straddling a chair. Julian looks away quickly.
“Yeah, the last time you were here was tour.”
“Shut it. That’s a lie.”
Julian glances back and watches Noel putting on black ballet flats, crouched close to the ground. He wonders how he manages to get the most delicate thin-soled shoes in a man’s size. Only Noel. Though he knows the Winklepickers are an overestimation, Julian can’t remember how big Noel’s feet are, bare. On tile, or up against his.
He looks away again and peels the label from his Heineken. He tosses it into a milk crate stacked with candles.
“I’ve been plenty of times since then. Hurry up and get your act together over there.”
Noel’s grasping for his toes at the end of an overextended calf, loose black sweatpants laying limp on opposite sides of his bones. His arms are bare and flexing in an equally dark but unnecessarily tight tank top.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing. You should be limbering up or you’re going to be in a world of pain.”
“All I have to do is spin around. Pretty sure I’ve done that.”
“I can’t even sit in the lav without hurting places. My tendons are piano string. I can’t reach for light switches. You’ll regret it.”
Julian pokes about with the buttons on the stereo system and finds the right number on the CD jacket. He presses play as Noel stands up. The chimes tinkle on, Julian yelling over the track.
“I don’t have to watch you do the whole thing, right?”
Noel strides up, pressing pause hard, shooting incredulous daggers.
“Of course you have to watch me do the whole thing. How the hell will you know where to come in?”
“I’ve seen it. I come in at the end, waltz you off. That’s it. I’ve seen you do it a thousand times.”
“On the telly, yeah! I can’t just lay down & have you come fetch me.”
“Why not?”
“There’s a rhythm to the whole thing! It doesn’t make any sense if I don’t go through the routine. Why would you even be here then?”
Julian sits back down silently and waves a hand dramatically towards the floor to signal Noel can start any time now.
Noel grimaces as he steps in place to steady his legs.
He angrily musses up his hair and takes a deep breath. He presses play and immediately ducks down at the base of the table as the song sooths to a start.
He kneels up, hands outstretched like scales on either of his shoulders, head cocked to the side like a pursed-lipped hieroglyphic.
He sweeps huge clockwork motions with his arms.
You had a temper, like my jealousy
Too hot,
Too greedy
Noel leaps forward towards the couch bracing the fireplace, Julian watching his profile as he snarls and runs a hand down it aggressively, a man entranced in his own act.
How could you leave me?
When I needed to
possess you?
Noel spins and throws a shape with hands to the left. He brings his body in close, looking passionately frustrated. Julian feels a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach and takes a sip of his beer.
I hated you.
I loved you too.
Noel throws down hard, turning to Julian as the camera, bringing flailing fingers up to his face on the last lyric with big eyes and open mouth. Julian laughs in spite of himself. The song’s definitely all about him now he figures.
Stomping away in zombie fashion, wrists wilted out in front, Noel strategically sidesteps to perform the rest facing Julian.
He windmills, hips rolling, his dangling limbs swinging in time with the music.
I'm coming back love,
Cruel Heathcliff
He flails so desperately with each movement his joints look as if they’re about to dislocate. Julian watches his muscles ripple and relax in tandem.
My one dream,
my only master.
Noel crumples, his knees banging against the hardwood. Back arched, he gazes intently the ceiling. His breath throws his chest up and down rhythmically, slack jawed and panting.
His eyes briefly flick to Julian’s. Julian’s looking at Noel’s exposed stomach, beer still in fist.
He claws forward, baring his teeth. Julian’s suddenly paying attention. He jokingly pulls his feet up onto the cushion out of harm’s way.
Heathcliff, it’s me, Cathy
Come home, I’m so cold.
He thumps the boards hard as he cartwheels across the room. Julian’s even more impressed in person, watching Noel airplane on tiptoes.
Without missing a step, he bends and flourishes imaginary leaves up at the couch. Julian shakes his head quick in a cautionary no, but Noel’s got a hold of his collar and yanks him forward to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, mostly tongue on stubble. He wipes it off in jest as Noel’s off spiraling up and over.
You know me,
It’s Cathy.
The music stops. Noel’s flat against the ground. Julian stares blankly.
Noel takes his arm down and curls up like an egg. He leans his cheek against the floor and furrows his eyebrows, exhausted. His eyes close.
Julian stands.
Taking five immense steps, his stocking feet are within inches of Noel’s head. He reaches a hand down as an invitation. Noel’s pupils dilate in the light and shine up at him.
Julian feels Noel slap his palm against his and a pull upwards until they’re chest to chest. He wraps a thick arm around Noel’s waist. Eye to eye in all seriousness, they twirl around in slow circles to the side, spinning together hand in hand as they cross the floor.
His wrist feels moist from the sweat seeping through Noel’s tank top. He holds their hands high above his head, turning Noel around on his heels in a pirouette as they reach the cusp of the eat-in.
Julian lets go of Noel and brushes his clammy forearm onto his jeans.
“I don’t think I liked that.”
Noel runs his tongue across his parched lips and swallows hard.
“Piss off.”
“No- I meant-“
“I meant piss off!” Noel jabs his hand against Julian’s collarbone. “I’m not doing it again.”
“I meant me! I mean my part.”
Noel bends over and hoarsely croaks out words.
“I really can’t afford to take suggestions this late in the game, mate.”
“Yeah, me walking on is funny. But that’s not enough.”
“What I just did wasn’t enough? It’s enough for a lifetime, I’ll tell you that much.” Noel’s voice squeaks up in emphasis.
Julian’s expression softens.
“Try it again. Just me. Just my part. An idea came.”
Noel looks him up and down and drinks from a fizzing cup of water on the counter. He wipes the corners of his mouth and warns that if he’s pulling any funny business he’ll take him out with every last ounce of strength he can gather.
He proceeds to splay back out in the middle of the living room, hand jutting into the air like a white flag.
Julian goes as far as to play the last few seconds of the track, chimes out and a hush oozing from the speakers.
He’s in position again at Noel’s side. Their hands clasp, but their bodies don’t connect.
Julian braces his forearm behind Noel’s back, cupping his ribcage with a firm palm. Noel relaxes backwards as if to slide into a dip; Julian stoops and sweeps his legs off the ground.
“Ju, no-“
Noel’s words catch in his throat as if through a hiccup and gasp.
He’s against his chest, feeling like they’re somehow cheating physics.
His feet point down at each other in a V and he feels a knot floating around in his stomach. Julian’s face is solid, leering down at him, an eyebrow cocked sky high.
He moves his entire body with a jerk to the side and he’s off spinning them both around in a circle. Noel’s hands go from his lap to pasted around Julian’s neck in the breath it takes to complete one revolution.
He musters the courage to open his eyes on the third go round. Julian’s beaming. Noel laughs nervously like he’s on a rollercoaster.
Pasty arms relax and reach straight to the wall. Noel tips his head back and closes his eyes again, locks of his hair sticking to Julian’s bicep by centrivical force.
Julian whips around a fourth time, building momentum. He holds the body in his hands out like a gothic shroud draped in sacrament to the comedy gods. Noel’s knees knock.
The spinning stops. Noel steadies an arm behind Julian’s back, keeping his other hand’s fingers dug tight into neck muscle.
His face is closer to Julian’s than it’s been in the last six months. He feels his breath rasping against his forehead. He feels their pulses hitting each other in a million different connections of skin on skin. He feels lightheaded.
Julian jostles up to grab a better hold. Noel clings on, latching onto Julian’s t-shirt.
In a blink he has Noel bounced on the couch, collapsing beside him with a deep grunt. Julian sits sideways on the floor, smashing his head down onto the cushion, ruining the fabric as he sweats down into the lining.
“Not a bad idea, eh?”
Noel stares down at Julian’s lips gone loose as he heaves each breath out, teeth slick. His tongue falls out down his chin to signal he’s utterly and completely died.
“That was brilliant.”
He’s in the fetal position, afraid to extend and confront the damage done to his cramping deltoids. His thighs scrunch up behind Julian’s head, spooning the top of his wet skull against the bare gap between his tank top and pants.
Damp strings of hair stick and weave a map across Julian’s brow. Noel hesitates to brush them away.
Right now, Noel thinks, he looks like a fuller, grown-up version of the face that would pop up swarthy and disoriented at the edge of his mattress at three in the morning, sideways haircut diagonally plastered to his face, breathing ale about a sketch idea he’d had while walking home.
Noel would pull back the comforter, long legs crawling all over, finally settling down against him, fully dressed, sometimes still in muddy sneakers. Julian would murmur something about a moose and a truncheon, fumbling to take off his own belt unsuccessfully. Noel picked the strands away, running his hand through Julian’s greasy roots. Julian would drool and bite at Noel’s fingers cradled against his mouth.
He feels Julian’s heavy digits grab around the length of his wrist. He brings it to his face, planting it on his red cheek. Noel’s comforted by the fact that they can still read each other’s minds.
Noel runs his fingertips against the lines of crow’s-feet forming around Julian’s temples as he smiles. He touches his chin, lingering on the space between his nose and upper lip.
“Wait. Wait.” Noel rubs the spot, staring intently.
Julian twitches and opens his eyes, hand still wrapped around Noel’s wrist.
“Where’d your moustache go?”
Julian squints up into a breathy laugh.
He kisses Noel’s palm and nuzzles his face into it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 06:33 am (UTC)MISSING MOUSTACHE! ALL THE STUFF IN THE FLAT! NOEL NEEDING TO DO THE ENTIRE DANCE! :D
<3333333333333333333 I love it.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-24 02:42 am (UTC)Regardless, I loved both critiques, even if this one was all yelling! Love you for reading, as usual ♥
no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 07:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-24 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-24 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 09:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 11:02 pm (UTC)Julian can’t remember how big Noel’s feet are, bare. On tile, or up against his. It's cool how subtly you worked in an outrightly slashy moment here, in what is otherwise a somewhat ambiguous relationship. Well done.
Noel runs his fingertips against the lines of crow’s-feet forming around Julian’s temples as he smiles. Love the little insinuation of age here.
Awesome job!!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-24 02:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-14 11:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-24 02:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-15 03:21 pm (UTC)*blubbers* AWW, THIS IS SO FLIPPING SPOT-ON AND BEAUTIFUL
*sniffle*
no subject
Date: 2011-03-24 02:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-16 04:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-24 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-24 10:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-16 11:59 pm (UTC)The physical descriptions of the dance were also great and concrete. I kind of wanted to know more about what Julian was thinking, he's so inscrutable at the best of times. But maybe since the dance wasn't new to him he wouldn't have as much of a reaction? I don't know, that was the only thing I wondered about.
I love the lift being Julian's idea. And Noel's reaction and him not expecting it - a perfect interpretation.
Basically this whole thing was lovely and intimate. I like the way you keep referencing the past, because it's important to remember that they actually have known each other for over a decade, and (in my experience) it's really difficult to convey a relationship that has so much history and baggage and do it believably. This part especially:
"Right now, Noel thinks, he looks like a fuller, grown-up version of the face that would pop up swarthy and disoriented at the edge of his mattress at three in the morning, sideways haircut diagonally plastered to his face, breathing ale about a sketch idea he’d had while walking home.
Noel would pull back the comforter, long legs crawling all over, finally settling down against him, fully dressed, sometimes still in muddy sneakers. Julian would murmur something about a moose and a truncheon, fumbling to take off his own belt unsuccessfully. Noel picked the strands away, running his hand through Julian’s greasy roots. Julian would drool and bite at Noel’s fingers cradled against his mouth."
Yeah so as you can tell, I liked it a lot.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-18 08:58 pm (UTC)It's slightly bittersweet and achy to start, with that sense of certain gaps that have grown between them (it's a bit heartbreaking that Noel is still calling Julian up as though nothing has changed, and yet Julian is all too aware that a lot has), and there's also that sense of history and friendship and understanding and affection they still share, deeper than all the other things that have come between them. That comes across so well in the way they see echoes of the past in each other, and in the way they're still collaborating and creating without having to put it all into words. I love Noel's reaction to Julian literally sweeping him off his feet without warning--perfection--and the way he gradually relaxes into it, lets himself go and find joy in it and trust in Julian to carry it off... it feels like something is healed there. It's a gorgeous moment, in a story full of them.
And on a purely shallow note, I absolutely adore you for having Julian notice Noel's little ballet slippers, because I have personally been completely fascinated with how itty-bitty Noel's "pixie feet" look when they're all vulnerable and not hidden in those big boots. But that's probably just me being weird. :D
no subject
Date: 2011-10-23 09:28 am (UTC)This is possibly the most thoughtful, longest and well articulated comment I've ever received & it well deserved a response!
". . .it feels like something is healed there. It's a gorgeous moment, in a story full of them."
^ THAT is a lovely compliment that shall stay with me the next time I revisit this story. I'm so glad all of my intentions & nuances came through, and I wanted to clarify that I appreciated you reading it to no end (even 8 months later!).