Blockade

Julian and Noel get writer's block while writing in America leading to all types of things I haven't dreamed up yet.

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Chapter 5

Contents

Chapter 5

Author’s Notes: Things go a bit, well quite, unexpectedly.


Silence filled the foyer, building with every second. Was this the first time?

No. But then why did every expected reaction not occur as Julian anticipated.

No curses, no cheeky insults, no storming out, no apologies. He just lay there like a broken toy with its voice box ripped out. He couldn’t sit and watch but neither could he console. That would connote regret or guilt and he felt neither. He felt nothing.

Not bothered enough to walk out the door Noel was currently blocking but just enough to retreat. The upstairs bathroom would have to be his solace.


His eyes squeezed shut, tight to allow him to focus. The stinging of his face, the bruises beginning to form on his wrists and shoulders, the humming of his crotch, the breath trying to reach his lungs but failing… all distracted the ever pressing matter of his hearing. He needed to hear every step that bastard took up those stairs. Noel didn’t even shift his position once he knew Julian was gone. He wanted to remain still because maybe that would make everything stop.

He knew he rarely tapped into his full mental capacity and now he wished he could transport himself so that he were walking amongst the yellow and orange again. He wanted sunlight and breezes, not the oncoming thunder twisting through his body. It hadn’t happened in a while but his body didn’t know that. It picked up the steps like a dance his muscles remembered and almost seemed to miss as he slinked upward like a lazy feline.

He slid the jacket off, folded it cleanly, laid it over the banister. Nonchalantly, he leaned over, cocking his head to the left, to see the light from the bathroom.

Hot water running.

He couldn’t help but smirk. The pleasure of his current position allowed him not to register the pain of his cheek. He made his way down the hall, past the mirror into the kitchen and in his swift movement appeared as a black streak.

The knife of choice was the largest he could find, a chef’s knife he believed its called. He caught a glimpse of himself in the glimmering silver blade. The redness was starting to spread all over his left side to give him a unbalanced glowing flush. He smiled. Julian’s passion was all over his face.

He thought quickly of how to reciprocate. The knife would be handy, yes, but that wasn’t enough. The water running reminded him he was on a timetable.

“Fuck it.”

His aqua tee hit the floor, in mid stride he left his sliver boots in the hallway. Keep the jeans though, he paused to think at the bottom of the stairs.

He took one last look at the door, walked over slowly to deadbolt it. Quick as a flash, Noel leapt from step to step, careful to keep his grip on the black knife handle, and to avoid all the creaky steps Julian had traversed.

He smiled childishly once at the top, as he knew he hadn’t made a sound and he could no longer hear the water. Silence filled the hallway like the steam escaping from the bathroom door. He followed in Julian footsteps, decisively.

He squeezed his eyes shut, listening to every shuffle, every breath, every movement, as his hand pumped around the blunt handle.

He was ready. Thud, thud with the handle on the door.

A huff, almost a groan. Click.

Devilish grin and his teary blue eyes popped open.

“Look, No–”

Thud.

Groan.

Crash.

Chuckle.

Sigh.

Click.