Category: Real Person Fic
Characters: Julian Barratt, Noel Fielding
Pairing: Noel Fielding/Julian Barratt
Genre: Character Study/Reflection
Challenge: Challenge 05: Picture Challenge
Length: 1-5k words
Challenge: Challenge 05: Picture Challenge
Electro Suit by sherlock
Noel grabbed the collar of Julian’s heavy fur coat and gave him a half-playful bat on the chest. Julian tried once more not to laugh as he let his hat and goggles fall off his head. Somewhere in the background, Steve Bendelack groaned audibly and told the crew to take their lunch. They weren’t going to get anywhere with those two for a while.
“I can’t help it,” said Julian, mock-apologetically. He looked down, trying to appear contrite, but all he could see was Noel’s red, spandex-clad crotch. He giggled, a giggle far too high-pitched for a man. He looked up, changing his tack, going more for angelic. Noel shook his head.
“You’ve gone wrong,” Noel sighed. A full hour, they’d been trying to get this shot. He played pensively with his hair. The crew were going to lose patience—he was going to lose patience. First he couldn’t stop laughing at Julian’s frosty beard, now Julian couldn’t stop laughing at his electro ski suit. It was getting stupid, he told himself, forcing down the smile that teased at his lips. Stupid. Unprofessional!
Julian buried his face in the soft collar of the mink coat. He was blushing, again. Once more he was so distracted by what Noel was wearing, he could hardly concentrate. He closed his eyes and tried to focus—but there was Noel, strutting around inside his head, making him wonder where the fastenings on that suit were. He linked his hands across his front and tried to look nonchalant.
Noel watched Julian try to compose himself. The salty frost make-up on his beard was rubbing into the collar of the coat, so he reached forward and moved Julian’s head with the tips of his fingers. “You’re ruining the costume. Come here,” he said, helping Julian shrug off its weight. His face softened, Julian seemed genuinely uncomfortable at the time he had wasted. “Let’s get a cup of tea or something, yeah?”
Julian’s cheeks burned. “I’m—I’ll just go and sit in the tent for a bit. Try to relax, shake the giggles.” He turned away, still feeling electric where Noel had touched his face, and ducked into the tent. The sounds of the crew downing tools eventually faded away as the last people went to the canteen. He breathed deeply, sweating in the warm Tundra costume, the closeness of the tent and the studio lighting making him sticky and prickly. He lay down on his back. He remembered the meetings when they’d designed the costumes, months ago. He’d known what it would be like. He gulped, guiltily—he’d chosen the red, suggested something skin-tight, Noel had been really enthusiastic. Now he was painfully aware of every arc of bone that grazed the material, every joint and angle of Noel’s body. He shifted uncomfortably.
Noel trotted back to the tent and kicked off the huge snow boots that, in his opinion, made the whole episode. Genius, he thought, balancing two cups of tea, trying to make enough noise that Julian would hear he was there. He didn’t want to surprise him, for some reason. He stood still and listened. Julian must be lying down in there, he thought. I wonder what he’s up to?
“Can I come in? I bring tea, hot and tasty tea, PG and Darjeeling—Twinings’ finest… I am cam-o-mile oh! I am a sleepy tea oh!…” Noel stopped chanting as Julian coughed and made sudden activity within the tent. He raised one eyebrow.
“Yeah, just a sec…” called Julian, bolting upright and trying to position himself so the erection he’d been battling all morning wouldn’t be too obvious. He crossed his legs schoolgirl fashion and rested his chin on his hand, leaning over awkwardly. “Alright, er—come in.” He patted his hair down fervently.
Noel entered the tent, cup first. Julian took it not wanting to drink it—he was hot enough—but glad of something to hold over his crotch. He took one sip and then placed his arm across his lap, attempting to look casual. The heat didn’t seem to bother Noel. Maybe that material is breathable; maybe his skin is cool and pale underneath… Julian stopped himself, biting hard on his lip to bring his mind back to the moment. The Boosh boys, just hanging out between takes, joking and messing about. Right?
Noel felt a little concerned, looking at his friend. His face was red and his hair was curling around his face, a sure sign that he was sweating. It wasn’t that hot. He clambered into the tent, slopping a little of his own tea about, and sat down next to Julian.
“This is alright, like being a scout again,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “Look—Ju, I’m sorry if I was short with you. I was frustrated that we weren’t getting anywhere with the scene, and-” he put his hand on his friend’s knee and was cut off as Julian jumped about a foot, sending both of their cups flying and covering his own trousers and the ski suit in piping hot tea. “Christy!” Noel shouted, feeling the heat of the tea sinking into his legs but unsure of what to do about it; trapped in the one-piece which was now stained a darker red.
“Shit, shitty shit shit shit!” cried Julian, as he struggled out of his trousers to get the hot liquid away from his skin, his embarrassing boner gone and forgotten. He turned to Noel, his trousers caught at his ankles, and discovered that most of the tea had gone on him. “Bollocks, Noel, shit, sorry—take your suit off! You’ll burn!” His shyness forgotten, he started searching for Velcro or anything that would give him purchase to help Noel, who didn’t need telling twice and reached behind his neck to the zip fastening that ran down his back.
Between them they opened the suit up, and Julian helped Noel slip it off his shoulders, exposing a perfectly pale back, the skin of which was temptingly soft—but Julian bit his lip again, tasting a little blood, and finally Noel was out of the suit—and bollock naked. They froze, red-faced and panting, facing each other on their knees, both of their thighs pink and glowing from the tea spill.
Julian swallowed hard, frantically looking anywhere but down. “I didn’t know you were commando under there,” he said, with more control in his voice than he felt.
“Visible panty line? In this thing? It’d be a crime,” replied Noel.
They both looked at each other for a long moment, mentally assessing the scene: two grown men hiding in a tent on a sound stage with their trousers around their ankles. Their breathing slowed. Finally, Noel said: “You’re bleeding. You bit your lip,” and wiped the tiny trickle of blood away from Julian’s mouth with his thumb.
Julian had a very clear feeling of a branch in time approaching. He could either do something about this tension now, or wait until he got home, drink a bottle of wine, slump in front of the television and watch whatever was on, stagger to bed and masturbate pathetically into his spit-slicked hand, trying to fool himself that it was Noel’s mouth. Like yesterday, and the day before.
Or, he thought, his fingers trembling by his sides, he could return the touch. A tingling feeling spread over him at the idea. Before he could move, Noel was slowly bringing his thumb to his mouth, staring straight at Julian, piercing the warmth of the tent with a cool gaze, and Julian let out an involuntary ‘ah’ of desire as Noel’s tongue licked the blood away in one tender movement.
“Oh, Noel…” said Julian, realising that his secret was out.
“Shut up you daft bugger,” said Noel, his eyes flicking downward. Julian followed his gaze down, over Noel’s perfect, taut stomach, to where his electro-suit had fallen away—revealing his surprisingly large cock. He threw a mock-annoyed pose. “Now look what you’ve done—I’ve been trying to ignore your attention all day.” His stern face cracked into a huge, cheeky grin. Julian practically cried with relief.
“I told you to stop talking,” said Noel, leaning into Julian’s torso, swiftly pushing both hands up into his hair, cradling his head and bringing his own face within millimetres of Julian’s, holding him there for one breath, two, three—“You’ll spoil it.” Noel’s tongue flicked out over Julian’s lower lip and the paralysis in Julian’s arms suddenly broke; he pulled Noel’s tiny frame hard against him and kissed him deeply, seconds spiralling into minutes, sharing a lungful of air, crushed against each other in a perfect embrace. Julian pulled back first, inhaling desperately.
“More,” whispered Noel, in a tone Julian couldn’t disobey. They kissed again, harder, fighting their way out of what little clothing they were still wearing, clashing teeth and tearing at each others’ hair. Finally, they slumped down onto the floor together, a tangle of limbs and tea-soaked costumes, of pale skin and sinew.
“Where are they?”
“I don’t bloody know.”
Noel and Julian lay side by side on their backs, looks of open surprise and mild exhaustion on both of their faces.
“I’ve gone into the future,” Noel puffed.
“What’s it like?” asked Julian, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“It’s a bit like this, but with a bed,” replied Noel, chirpily.
“I could get involved with that,” said Julian, an expression of pure joy spreading across his face at the thought of the evening to come, and the next, and the next.