Last Night…
Category: Real Person Fic
Characters: Julian Barratt, Noel Fielding
Pairing: Noel Fielding/Julian Barratt
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Smut (graphic sex scenes)
Status: Complete
Length: 5-10k words
Chapter 3
Contents
Chapter 3
They are both surprised at the easy routine they fall into. Work becomes the thing they each looked forward to most. Snatched kisses, rough sex backstage in any place they can find. Sometimes it is just a passing grope, a squeeze of a hand to say I’m still thinking of you, I still want you. The want, the need for each other never seems to cease, it thrives on the secrecy, the excitement, the danger.
Often they wind each other up by trying to get the other one horny at inappropriate times. Before live TV appearances or in a room full of people, dirty whisperings and the suggestive slow licking of lips. They could make each other hard with a look or the muttering of a word to purposely bring back graphic memories.
“Bonnet,” Noel would whisper into Julian’s ear and his head would be filled with the image of Noel bent over the bonnet of his car, trousers round ankles, white arse cheeks spread and Julian’s cock ramming into him, their groans disappearing into the dark still of the night.
“Wrap party,” Julian would retaliate, grinning as Noel shudders at the memory.
He’s being forced down in a chair, his trouser and pants are being yanked down, the noise of the party is loud from below. He’s telling Julian to stop, he’s practically begging, saying that they’ll be caught, his own words making his cock harder. Then Julian’s sucking on it, taking it all in and it’s hitting the back of his throat and it feels too, too good. He’s wriggling, trying to push Julian’s head away, trying to stand, but Julian is too strong and he’s holding on to his waist, pinning his legs down with his arms and his weight. Noel can’t do anything but surrender to Julian’s mouth, and writhe as he comes for what feels like forever.
There are close calls, flustered faces and stammers but they never get caught red handed. One time Noel had to stay under the counter in Julian’s dressing room for what seemed like an age, until the coast was clear and he could crawl back out again, his chin all sticky.
Another time they were mucking about on set, laughing, arms wrapped tightly round waists, teasing each other with insults and kisses. They sprung apart at the sound of some one clearing their throat and had looked up to see Paul, the director, looking intensely at a bit of back drop. He looked up at them.
“Oh, hello you two. I didn’t see you there,” he’d said quietly, fixing them with a look that suggested otherwise. But he’d given them a broad smile and after that he seemed to come up with excuses for them to go and rehearse together privately, passing keys to rooms with locks, shooing people out of dressing rooms and tour buses.
There were signs that the others knew something had changed too. They became aware of them using noticeably loud voices when approaching rooms they were alone in together. There’d be a knock now and a pause for the ok before walking in. They were surprised, (and relieved), at their friends’ instinct and tact.
One time, snuggled together in Julian’s bed on the tour bus they were alerted by a knock from outside and Dave’s loud voice saying, “Oh hi Dee. Yeah I think Noel’s asleep, check his bed.”
Noel had just had time to scramble back in to his own bed, pulling his blanket over him before he heard Dee open the door of the bus and step in.
They were touched by these reactions, the unspoken acknowledgement and acceptance, deeply grateful at the help they got in keeping it a secret from the rest of the world. They were relieved that they were never asked, never forced to explain. Even Mike seemed to understand and let them get on with it, never mentioning it or giving Noel a hard time, not even a nasty look when they got too drunk to care and flirted outrageously in front of him.
He and Dave and Rich would catch each other’s eyes and there’d be raised eyebrows and smiles. Sometimes retching noises if things got too much, or the occasional, “Get a room”, but on the whole they were happy for them. They’d always sort of known there was something between them, and now they felt protective of it and happy to be so.
They got away as often as they could, but it was hard to find the time between work and other commitments or the excuse for it to be just the two of them. Instead they both worked really hard to be happy with what they could get, concentrating on feeling lucky for anytime they spent together.
Obviously there was guilt, and lots of it. When it got too much, when the pressure became unbearable there’d be explosive rows, threats to end things, tears and anger. But they were few and far between and they never lasted long. The promise of greedy makeup sex was usually enough of an incentive for them to stop shouting and start kissing.
Bizarrely things at home improved for both of them. They hadn’t noticed the strain of it before until now, when in contrast they felt happier, more relaxed. Unburdened and no longer wrangling with unspoken feelings they were freer to enjoy and appreciate what they had at home and they both made efforts to make sure everyone was happy. Their minds often wandered to thoughts of each other of course, but even that got easier as they became more trusting of the knowledge that always somewhere near by, the other was wanting them, loving them. When they remembered that, they could cope with anything.
End Notes: I hope you enjoyed that. Please tell me any thoughts on it.
