The phone call comes in the middle of the night, like he's always known it would.  He's imagined this night over and over, lying awake in various hotels and rooms around the country; the three a.m. phone call, Mike's voice on the line,

He's played it through in his head; dressing quickly in the dark, driving through the quiet late-night / early-morning London traffic to whichever hospital he's been directed to.  Listening to the aggrieved nightshift doctor lecturing Mike on his brother's unhealthy lifestyle, waiting for hours in a narrow, vomit-yellow corridor on a hard plastic chair, drinking too-strong coffee, waiting for the okay to drive his partner-in-crime home just as the city's waking to another random day.

What he hasn't prepared for, what's never featured in his mental film of this, is the sick feeling in his stomach and the pounding of his heart as he pulls on the first pair of jeans his fingers find on the messy floor of his room, the cold drip of panic as he thrusts his arms into the first shirt - the white crumpled one he wore to the meeting at the BBC that afternoon and dumped on the carpet the moment he walked through the door - buttoning it up so that when he reaches the last button he's one hole out, swearing harshly as he half-runs, half-jumps down the stairs, pushes his bare feet into uncomfortable shoes and feels like he's about to vomit as he grabs his coat and keys and leaves the house, slamming the door behind him, forgetting to set the alarm.

He reaches the hospital and parks at a fifteen-degree angle over two disabled spaces, ignoring at least two people telling him he can't park there, running along the pavement and almost tripping up the steps into A&E.  He's breathing hard as he barges through the throng of so-called emergencies - the results of tonight's varied fights and accidents for the most part - to hit the reception desk with his chest, palms coming down flat as he says, 'Fielding - Noel Fielding' as calmly as he's able in a voice low enough to keep the name from circulating the room faster than Noel himself could.

The quiet voice alone pulls him around.  It's Rich, standing with Dave and Mike, huddled together in a corridor everyone is somehow being kept out of by some invisible barrier.  As he approaches the first words into his head are directed at Mike - 'You called these guys first?' - and even as he's saying them he has no idea where they've come from.

Huh?  He glances at Dave, expecting to see a sterile dressing on his head or a cast on an extremity but there's nothing - he looks a little pissed but that's nothing new.  Turns out Dave's been involved in one of the bar fights that's filled A&E.  Not him personally but a friend of a friend, and Dave - for once - was the only one deemed sober enough by the attending police to go with him to the hospital to get his head stitched back up.  He's been doing some session work in the city which is his excuse for not being off his tits at this time of night.  Julian glances at his watch only to find it isn't on his wrist.  He's no idea what time it is.

Patting his pockets Julian suddenly realises he's got no idea where his mobile is.  'Where is he?  What happened?  Who found him?'

'Who found him?'

'Where is he?'

In one way he's expecting it, in another it doesn't seem possible.  'No.  Not Noel….  He uses a few recreational drugs but he's not stupid, he knows his own limits.  He wouldn't… it's not like he does coke or heroin!'

Julian glares at him but the sudden flash of anger is short-lived and for a moment he can't think of a response, so he asks, 'How's your friend?'

'Mr Fielding?'

Julian's the first to speak.  'How is he?'

'This is Julian, Noel's partner,' Mike's flustered, upset, like he just wants the news and whether or not the doctor's recognised them he looks like he doesn't have time to argue.  Julian and Mike are led apart from the other two.  'He's going to be fine; we've pumped his stomach, we've got him on saline IV, we've stabilised his blood pressure and heart rate.  We'll be keeping him in overnight to monitor him.'

'Yeah, and I've called the police.'  Julian's heart sinks, and he grabs Mike just as he goes for the doctor's throat.  'We think Noel ingested flunitrazepam, Rohypnol most likely.  We'll have to wait for the bloods to come back to be certain but I'd put money on it.  I'd then go on to take an educated guess that he didn't realise and did a tab of E.  Actually it's more likely he took the tab before the Rohypnol, because it's fairly fast acting.'

Mike holds Noel's hand for a few minutes before he kisses his brother's forehead like he's seen in the movies and stands back to let Julian take his place by the side of the bed.  A smile cracks his lips - Noel's sleeping, head to one side, mouth open, snoring softly like he always does.  If it weren't for the white gown he's been dressed in and the white sheets pinning him to the bed, he wouldn't seem so pale, so still and they might be in some random, faceless hotel room or back in Noel's flat in Camden.  Anywhere but in a fucking hospital.

Mike pushes the plastic chair from the corner of the room up behind Julian's knees and he drops into it like some mental command has been given without his knowledge.  He glances up as Mike's heading for the door.

Julian nods, thanks him, and shuffles the chair close to the bed, not letting go of Noel's hand.  Mike flicks the light off as he leaves but it only dims the brightness, the strip lights in the corridor shining through the glass in the door.

'Someone tried to hurt you,' he murmurs softly.  'If I find out who, Noel, I swear I'll kill them.'

Squeezing Noel's hand gently, Julian rests his arms on the edge of the mattress, puts his head down and closes his eyes.  He won't sleep, he tells himself, he's too wound up, too much cold adrenaline sitting in his blood stream, his heart still hammering even if his pulse has stopped racing.

He listens to the sounds of Noel sleeping - sounds he's so familiar with it's easy to believe they're both somewhere else, sometime else; stuffed into a bland hotel room in a bed not big enough to be called a double but all they can afford; sitting on the floor of Noel's flat in Kentish Town watching Noel scribble characters from his head while he writes words to fall from their strangely shaped mouths; upside down on his own bed with his feet on the pillow and a pen in his mouth, Noel lying beside him with his head on his shoulder as they talk nonsense to one another and it slowly becomes a script.  A partnership.  A marriage… no, not a marriage.  An affair, a wild affair.  With his best friend.   An affair without the sex.  It doesn't seem to matter.  Nothing really matters except Noel.

Something's gripping his hand and he pries his eyes open, wakefulness hitting him like a bucket of cold water when he chokes on the antiseptic stink and is blinded by the white of the room.  Something's still gripping his hand.

Noel's voice is rough but it's no less incredible to hear. 

'What happened?'

'Sorry….'  His rough voice is shaky and immediately Julian regrets his words.

He watches Noel run his fingers over his face.  'Shit, Ju… roofies?  Did someone…?  Was I…?'

Exploratory fingers go to his hair and he pulls them away when he encounters the dried waste.  'Blood?'

Noel drops his hand back to the mattress, grabbing Julian's on the way down.  'Will you stay?'

Bright blue eyes close against the harsh light from the corridor and Noel's breathing evens out again.  Julian wonders if he should tell someone that Noel woke up, or if he should have got him to drink some water or something.  But he seems to be sleeping peacefully again so he tries to stop worrying.  But he doesn't go back to sleep.  His protective streak's kicking in with full force; he doesn't want Noel to be alone, not for a second.

They've asked Julian to leave twice but Noel won't let him, throwing a hissy fit when they tried to make him leave after which they've decided it's not worth it.  Nothing like a grown man trying to break everything in the room from his hospital bed to persuade a nurse to bend the rules slightly.

A nurse takes the IV from the back of his hand and they're left with the policeman.  Julian's already told him not to mention he took any drugs and Noel whole-heartedly agreed with the advice.  The policeman doesn't care about that anyway, he takes a note of Noel's movements the previous night - starting at a bar in Camden, then meeting some people he knew and going off to a club.  Had anyone bought him a drink, someone he didn't know?  No.  Yes.  A guy in the club had put a beer down in front of him while he'd been standing at the bar.  Could he describe him?  Pink T-shirt, black jeans, short black hair….  Just a guy.

Still Julian commits the description to memory as the policeman writes it in his notebook.  To the man's credit he admits there's little chance of finding the guy, and tries to reassure them that there's little chance he'll try it again.  Noel's lucky, he tells them, and Julian holds back the comments he wants to make.  He's tired, exhausted, and so's Noel.  The doctor releases him, gives him some basic instructions around what not to do over the next seven days, and after Mike returns with some clean clothes from Noel's flat, Julian takes him home.

Julian doesn't know either.  'How about I make the tea?'

Pushing open the front door of his terrace home immediately causes a landslide of mail on the other side and he's forced to squeeze through the gap before extracting several envelopes that have stuck under the draft excluder.

Throwing his coat onto the bottom few stairs he leans down, collects up the mail, shuffles it into a neat pile in his large hands and quickly rifles through it.  Bills, bank statements, letters from his agent, fan mail - two of which are for Noel.  He puts them on the sideboard to take back with him if he remembers and as stares at the pink and green envelopes he wonders for the first time if what happened to Noel made the newspapers.  He doesn't know, he realises, what kind of media coverage there's been.  Noel barely watches television, preferring to stick a CD on if he needs background sound or a DVD if he actually wants something to hold his attention, and Julian – for the first time in his life – hasn't really cared about what's been happening anywhere but in the Camden flat where they've been holed up.  It could be that well-wishing fan mail is piling up at their agent's office, or at the BBC, and he makes a mental note to call Paul or Spencer and get one of them to go over there sometime and find out.

He opens a couple of letters on his way along the hall; a invitation to a charity event in the south of France, notification of nomination for a People's award by some magazine he's never heard of, and a personalised opportunity to own an apartment in sunny Florida.  His intention is to throw all three envelopes away along with their content, but upon opening the kitchen door and taking in the havoc wreaked by Fulcher with little surprise, he's distracted and dumps them on the counter top instead.  In protest of Julian's prolonged and unplanned absence from the house, Fulcher (being his black Burmese cat and not their mad American friend, although one is named after the other) has left an intricate pattern of fresh scratches in the expensive dark wood doors of the kitchen cupboards and neatly deposited two dead birds on the back door mat, one already starting to decompose.

Fulcher's not around to face the music, of course.  Julian's convinced he's head of the Camden cat mafia, or at least the Don's second-in-command.  He only ever drops home when there's a shortage of road-kill or it's particularly cold and wet outside and he's after somewhere warm and comfortable to wash and sleep.  Julian's sofa was a prime candidate for most of last winter, which is the reason the kitchen door stays almost permanently closed now, and he's glad he doesn't own a car because he's sure he'd wake up in the middle of the night to look out of the window and see the driver's door closing behind the swish of a thin black tail.

He disposes of the dead birds before putting out a bowl of cat food, a bowl of water and some nibbly treats, as an apology.  Then he jogs upstairs to shower and change. 

He smells of Noel, he realises as he strips off.  He's been using Noel's shower gel, Noel's shampoo, Noel's deodorant, for the last week and it's on his skin like a marker.  Putting the back of his hand to his nose he breathes in the scent, so many emotions tumbling through him.  It's too obvious to blame the changes in his feelings for Noel on everything that's happened over the last seven days, they've just brought everything into sharp focus, pushed to the forefront of his mind. 

The shower's running and he steps into the sluice of water, tipping his head back, washing the product from his hair, blindly reaching for his cheap and cheerful apple shampoo.  He has other stuff, shampoos and conditioners that Noel's been buying him since he first laid eyes on the Tesco own brand green bottle in the shower when his took his first piss in Julian's bathroom.  Everything's changed since then, and nothing.  This relationship between them growing, blossoming, flourishing. 

He's been off-balance these last few days, needing answers just as much as his best friend did.  Sticky bits of adrenaline are still cloying in his blood stream.  He raises his face to the powerful jets and tries to clear his mind for at least a few minutes.  Fitting this shower and painting all the walls in the house are the only changes he's made to the terrace since moving in two years ago.  He's done everything required to make it his home he told Noel one evening and it's true.  Noel's shower is pathetic - lame in comparison with this walk-in, pan-lid-headed power-shower.  And what's more it's never, ever failed to give him a hard-on.  Still, today's is a surprise, like an old friend making an unexpected return.  Julian glances down at his bobbing cock and bites back words of welcome.  Not even alone in his bathroom should a sane man really talk to his tackle, so instead he gives it a handshake, settling into a push-pull rhythm that starts to speed up quickly.  Head down, other hand flat against the wet tiles, his heart starts pounding as snippets of favourite fantasies rush through his head - teeth on his nipples, full lips sliding along his cock, breasts spilling over his hands, hands over a curvy arse, long hair falling across his thighs….

He comes hard and while his pulse slows and the shaking in his knees eases he stares blindly at the snapshot image left in his mind's eye in the wake of his orgasm - black hair, blue eyes and the steep slope of a Roman nose on a very familiar face.

~

Walking into Noel's flat is like walking into a hotel room full of women before an awards ceremony.  Only without the women.  Unless he counted the naked Rich Fulcher running from the living room into the bathroom to be met by low-pitched yell and a smack of hard flesh on soft.

'Don't you dare break the toilet again, Mike!'  Noel's voice rises from down the corridor and with a smile Julian walks through into the living room, catching Noel coming out of the bedroom at the back of the flat.  For a moment he's held suspended mid-step, wondering why he's never seen this before.  Then he realises that of course he has, he's just never seen it with the same eyes he's looking at it with now.  Noel - in a skin-tight, dark blue satin shirt with the first few buttons left undone, white jeans and the white cowboy hat he designed - the one with blue stars around the underside of the brim.  His hair's feathered on his cheeks and at his neck, held by twice as much product as Julian washed out of his own mop.  But Noel has always been able to carry this off.  He's stunning.  Beautiful.  It's the first time Julian's ever thought that about another guy.

Blue eyes lock with his own, twinkling with mischief.  'What?' And Julian realises he's staring.

'Nothing.  Sorry.  You look great - suits you.  Obviously.'

Noel grins and nods, tapping his long index finger against Julian's chest.  'You look good too.  I like this.'  He says it in a way that suggests he'd have the orange shirt off Julian's back if it would fit him, and Julian's brain supplies a brief snapshot of Noel wearing it tomorrow morning over a bare arse as he makes the coffee.  He hopes to God he isn't blushing.  'Are you okay?'

He nods his head.  'Got a beer?'  The question's pointless - he's the one who last filled Noel's cupboards (definitely not a metaphor) and he knows there were two six-packs in the fridge.  He heads for it purposely, asking Noel if he wants one, grabbing two cold cans without waiting for an answer.  Handing one over, opening one, he looks over Noel's shoulder into the hall.  'Who's here?'

'Just the guys.'  The guys - Mike, Dave and Rich.  Their first night out after last weekend and Noel said earlier that he wanted it just to be them - the Boosh family as he often referred to the small group - and Julian's happy with that.

'Please tell me Rich isn't going out dressed as a woman.'

Noel giggles.  'I've no idea, he was naked when he arrived.' 

Julian is still trying to work out if he really heard that when a yell of, 'Noel!  Fetch me a beer!' rises from the bathroom.

Automatically he takes a third can out of the fridge at Mike's loud request and Noel takes it from him without looking at him even as he's shouting back in response, 'Fetch your own fucking beer, little Fielding.'  He walks away from Julian and something about his brother's command and the sight of Noel's back pushes forward an idea that he's had no clue has been germinating.

'Noel?'  Noel stops in the doorway and turns back, brows raising in question.  Julian tastes the words tumbling into his mouth from his brain and almost loses his nerve.  'Will you do me a favour tonight?'

'Course.'  There's such open trust in his expression and Julian can't do it, can't say it, can't ask it of him,

He shakes his head.  'Don't worry, doesn't matter.'

Stepping back into the room, Noel frowns at him.  'Ask.'

'No.'  He waves his friend away with a self-conscious smile.  'Give Mike his beer.'

'Ask me!'

'It's fine.  Honestly.  It's nothing.'

'Ju... everything you've done for me these last few days.  Whatever - just ask.'

He means to tell Noel to leave it, that it's fine, but instead the wrong words come out.  'Don't pull tonight.'  He can't quite believe he's said it, but now he has he's determined to stand by it as Noel's eyes widen and his mouth opens into a surprised smile.

Julian thinks he's about to take the piss and gets ready to turn it into a joke but instead he just nods.  'Okay.'  There's a moment when he thinks there's going to be more - Noel licks his lips a little consciously and appears to be forming words in his mouth.  One of them has stepped towards the other - although Julian's no idea who made the move - and they're inches apart, eyes locked, airtight.  "Ju…?"

A crash from the bathroom cracks the tension and although neither of them reacts to it immediately the moment is spoilt.  Noel finally smiles, rolls his eyes and heads off to bang on the bathroom door and repeat his non-specific threat against anyone breaking his toilet.

Lost in following Noel's lithe form strolling purposely down the hall, Julian starts when a hand taps him on the shoulder and spins to see Dave standing behind him.  'Where...?'  He must have been in the room the whole time, Julian thinks, and not once has he noticed.  'Sorry.  I really didn't see you there.' 

Dave grins and murmurs, 'I was hiding behind the elephant,'  There's a glint in his eyes that Julian doesn't have a response to.  Luckily, Mike and Rich choose that moment to burst out of the bathroom, Mike all in black, Rich still stark-bollock naked. 

He hears Noel; 'Put some clothes on, you yankie lump!'  And hears him laughing.  In the living room the tension instantly evaporates and Dave pushes him forward, walking him out into the corridor, and as the urge takes him, Julian grabs Noel around the waist, lifting him off his feet as he gives a surprised yelp.  Hands fly to Julian's arms but instead of fighting him off he holds on while he laughs.  Dave's chased Rich into the spare bedroom and Julian carries Noel bodily, easily towards the door to witness Rich's attempts to pull on a pair of loose jeans with Dave hanging on to his shins.

Julian leans into Noel's shoulder, not too sure what he's going to do until Noel reaches his arm up and back around Julian's neck, bringing his head down, bringing them mouth to mouth as Noel tilts his head.

'Put him down, you queers.'  Mike's snapped words don't quite break the moment.  Noel pulls back slightly and Julian lifts his face so he can meet the expression in the bright shining eyes and in that second he knows now that it isn't 'if' but 'when' something filthy, wonderful and utterly inappropriate happens between them.  He's half-hard at just the idea and there's no way Noel can't feel the start of an erection pressing against the base of his spine.  Julian wants to run his hand down the front of Noel's jeans to see if the response is mutual but Mike's still glaring at him - he can see it out of the corner of his eye - and he doesn't want to wind him up and spoil the fun tonight.  Not that Mike Fielding's disapproval is going to prevent the inevitable - he and Noel are chemistry, pure and simple, and the reaction is unstoppable.  But it might slow things down and suddenly Julian wants Noel in every way physically possible right now.

Mike's attentions have shifted to Rich and Dave on the bed in the spare room, still apparently arm wresting Rich's foot.  'Are we going out or what?!'

It makes Julian wonder if Mike's had a row with his girlfriend and the thought at least means he's further distracted when Rich's somehow still naked body saunters passed him back into the bathroom.

~

As they walk into The Arms, a shout goes up from the bar and before they know it, the staff and some of the patrons are clapping.  Luka moves out from behind the bar and grins, slapping Julian on the shoulder. 'Mr Barratt!  Just the man we've been waiting to buy drinks for!'  He leans in.  'You were brilliant, Julian.  Best right hook I've ever seen."

Behind him, Julian feels Noel's hands rest on his waist, squeezing gently before he rises up on tip-toes and whispers into Julian's ear, 'My hero.'

'It was nothing.'  Julian tries to dismiss it, at the same time banishing the words, 'petty little revenge' from his head.  They're accurate enough and at least he had good reason.  A pint's put in his hand and he realises Noel's not behind him any longer - a quick reccy finds him at the bar, leaning on the mahogany surface, hands at his elbows, watching his own drink being poured and talking to the barmaid.  A fierce wave of protectiveness surges over him - Noel hasn't been out and out of his sight for a week, and the first time he is Julian knows he's going to be texting every half hour to make sure he's okay.  But Noel's like a rare and beautiful bird - he has to fly or he'll wither.  Camden is hardly the most dangerous of places, but it won't stop Julian from worrying for weeks to come.

'I can hear the rusty cogs turning,' Noel jokes, in his face, and Julian looks down at the glass held in long, narrow fingers, a glass containing something yellow and fruity-smelling.  'Flirtini,' he introduces his drink proudly and it makes Julian smile.

There's one big leather sofa free behind a low, long table and Noel drops into the corner of it followed by Julian.  But by the time Mike, Dave and Rich have sat down too, Noel's been pushed out and is perched on the wide, padded arm like a gargoyle, wondering - judging by the expression on his face - what has just happened.  Julian apologises and his face breaks into a smile - he looks happy enough as leans his elbow on Julian's shoulder, and Julian wraps his hand around the soft leather ankle of Noel's white cowboy boot.  'Are you okay up there?'

Noel nods, grins, before burrowing the toes of his boots under Julian's thigh.  Julian lifts his legs slightly to accommodate him, curls his fingers tight so Noel can feel it and listens abstractly to Rich talking about a bunch of girls in the far corner of the pub who are all dressed like nurses - hopefully on a hen night. 

Noel leans down and tells him he's had an idea for the movie they're writing between the script for the tour, music for the album and what Noel refers to as 'solo projects'.  Before all this, Noel was writing something for TV with Chris Morris, and Julian still hasn't worked out if he's jealous or not.  Noel's talking about a ginger cat with no hair who shaves hamsters and glues their fur to his own back, and Julian lets it wash over him because he knows Noel will say it all again when Julian asks him to - word for word.  He can't learn scripts but he can recall an idea without a single change if he wants to, and it's just the sound of Noel's voice speaking just to him that he wants more than anything else right now.

Somehow, sometime later, there are four empty pint glasses on the table in front of him and Noel's asking him privately if he wants to go back to his flat.  The others are talking about a club and Julian forces his brain to focus on Noel's words rather than the sound of his voice.  Or maybe he needs to listen to both, because something in the angular face is suggesting more than a DVD and a nightcap.

'I'm drunk,' he states pointlessly.  'You're drunk.'

'I haven't touched a drop.  Lemonade and pineapple juice.  I made Luka promise.'  It's an old trick he used to use when he thought people expected him to be drinking when he couldn't be.  Despite that, just for a second, he sounds like Vince and it makes Julian hurt inside.  'Besides, you've only had three.  Dave drank your fourth when you were zoned out.'  The others are getting impatient.  'Club or flat?'

'Flat.'  And he knows by Mike's accusing look exactly who will hate him in the morning.  As long as it isn't Noel he can't quite bring himself to care, and as they leave the pub and leave the others, Noel's arm snakes around his middle and he possessively holds Noel in return.

Something breaks the second they get into Noel's living room.  Noel jumps up to sit on the kitchen counter separating, grabbing Julian's coat as he goes, muttering something like 'c'm'ere' as he pulls Julian towards him, wraps his arms and legs around him and finally kisses him like he did that morning over the shopping as they stood almost in this exact same spot.  His tongue slides into Julian's mouth and he hums deliciously as Julian sucks on it before sliding his own tongue between Noel's lips.

Whatever this means for them, right now it doesn't matter.

Pulling away from the kiss, Julian pushes the white cowboy hat back on Noel's head and bringing them forehead to forehead says, 'You have to be sure, because I can't lose you.'

Noel gently lifts Julian's head with his hands until they're eye to twinkling eye.  'You're not going to lose me.  We were made for each other.'

It's such a Noel-esq thing to say that it reassures Julian more than any throwaway declaration of love would do.  He starts to unbutton Noel's skin-tight blue shirt, pushing the material apart, putting one hand sideways on Noel's flat stomach while he moves to gently bite pebble-hard nipples and lick their stippled surrounds.  he can feel sound vibrations in Noel's chest, long fingers tangling in his hair and cooler air on his back where Noel's pulling up his shirt to get to bare skin.

He hears Noel muttering his name in the company of a couple of well known religious figures, bites and tongues his nipples until the blasphemy turns into bright swearing, then lifts off to stick his tongue down Noel's throat and remove their shirts almost at the same time.  Orange and blue pool to the floor where carpet meets tiles, and while Noel does his damdest to distract him by rolling his thumb over nipples connected directly to his cock, Julian gets his tight jeans open and works them off over bony hips and a small, tight arse, leaving them half-way down his thighs, pleased with the obscene view of Noel's genitals exposed between drainpipe legs pinned together by the makeshift denim restraints.  Noel leans back, weight on one hand on the counter top, as Julian lowers his head and falls on his erection, sucking on him lavishly.

He can hear Noel muttering, feel his free hand roaming his shoulder, his arm before settling on his head.  That just makes Julian hotter and he moans loudly, giving Noel permission to go ahead, to fuck his mouth - permission Noel takes, fingers tightening in Julian's messy hair, raising his hips to meet Julian's falls, thrusting up into the hot, wet mouth, taking him quickly to the edge of a blinding orgasm before stopping, lifting Noel's hand from his head, stepping back and grinning wickedly as he takes in Noel's wet, shining cock, the open, naked pleading on his face, beautiful body trembling.

'Wait,' he half-instructs, half-begs.

Noel shakes his head and desperately insists, 'I can't.'

'I want us to come together.'

Taking a deep breath, Noel nods and sits up and pushes his jeans all the way off his legs to the floor then reaching for Julian's crotch.

He pushes Ju back a step, slides from the counter top and drops fluidly to his knees, yanking down jeans and boxer shorts with a perfectly ungraceful motion.  When his tongue slips up along the underside of Julian's cock it's electric.  He imagines Noel's own precarious state will make him hurried but Noel takes his time, licking, nibbling at his foreskin with ever-so-tender motions, sucking the purple head before swallowing slowly, agonisingly slowly, sliding his way down until Julian's balls are against his chin.  Julian steps out of his pooled clothes with care and plants his feet slightly apart for balance.  Noel, however, takes this as a less-than-subtle hint and cupping heavy balls in his palm slides a single finger back to push it up between his cheeks.  Julian's whole body shudders and he reaches for Noel, lifts him to his feet, back up onto the counter, and before he can apologise for a mis-interpreted mistake, Julian's kisses him, long and deep, mouth open, Noel's fingers buried in his hair.

He steps as close as he can to the counter and Noel immediately wraps his legs around his waist, pulling him closer still, Julian's height just perfect to bring their cocks clashing together, sandwiched between them, the friction in itself almost but not quite enough.  Reaching between them it's Noel's obscene hand that mashes them together in his long grip and with three jerks sends them both crashing into orgasm, Julian's hand at the back of Noel's head, crushing their mouths together, feeding off each other's muffled groans and gasps.  Noel only pulls away when Julian releases him and only to get his breath back and regard his best friend with a heady mix of adoration and awe.  It's a look Julian knows he'd never tire of seeing.

'Love you,' he murmurs when he finally rests his damp forehead against Julian's sweaty shoulder and Julian turns to kiss his temple, running a hand over his hair, repeating back to him, 'Love you too.'

Leaving their clothes on the floor, Noel takes Julian's wrist and leads him along the corridor to his bedroom.  They've laid together loads of times on Noel's kingsize bed, writing, talking, smoking.  This is the first time they've done it naked, the first time they've crawled under the duvet together, the first time Julian's kissed him with bare skin touching head to toe.  It could change everything, but then Noel and Julian like the way things are, and this is definitely under their control.

Noel remembers being introduced to the real meaning of the term 'rude awakening' at the tender and impressionable ago of fourteen when he and a girl called Linda fell asleep under her parent's duvet after drinking nearly a litre of neat cranberry vodka.

Over the years there have been many more, most of them involving waking up in beds he shouldn't have been in with people he shouldn't have been with.  Like this morning, he thinks, feeling that same mix of glee and guilt as his higher brain functions slowly wake up.  But as he becomes more lucid he's fairly certain that this is his bed, that the man next to him at least isn't not supposed to be here, and apart from a very large number of fans sending the resulting story around the Internet faster than a Dali cartoon around an arts college once the media gets hold of it, he's fairly sure there won't be any dire consequences just because he's spent a night - and definitely not the first night - sharing the same bed as his comedy partner.

Admittedly it's the first time they've woken up together naked, and it's definitely the first time they've woken, shared a long, wonderful beer-breath snog and jerked each other off before falling asleep again in a sticky heap.  But, again, apart from enough smug fans, friends and family members to fill Wembley stadium saying to them, 'I told you so', with huge and annoying shit-eating grins on their faces, it's doubtless anyone will want to physically hurt them for it. 

He dreams briefly of walking up the red carpet at the next Pegg/Frost movie premiere, holding hands with Julian and telling the amassed press that they were very, very much in love, and no it wouldn't change the way Howard and Vince feel about each other because they're already in love and have been since high school.

When he wakes this time it's to a lot of unexplained activity in his previously silent flat, and to Julian's amused and adoring gaze smiling at him from under mussed hair on a head propped up on one elbow.

'What's going on?' he mutters, turning so his back is pressed against Julian's front and he can feel the stirrings of a third northern erection in the space of twelve hours.  It makes him flush and he wriggles his bum against it, not quite teasing.  Julian blows the hair from his neck and trails his mouth along the line of his throat, something which makes his own sated dick sit up and take notice.

'Bad news,' Julian murmurs softly, that so-familiar voice now laden with overtones he barely understands yet.   He can translate well enough, though, to know that they won't be taking their new relationship into unexplored territory in the next few minutes.  There are people in his flat, he realises, and those people are about to start demanding attention from him when he doesn't want to give them any.  As he's making the mental decision to confiscate everyone's key except Julian's, he hears Dave's voice, clear, out in the hall, calling Mike's name in what sounds like a long-suffering whine.

Bits of last night come back to him like a film montage without the music and he has a vague recollection of his brother not being too impressed with the physical moves Julian was making on him.  Before last night Noel has been the forward, sluttish one, initiating the kisses, touching, dancing, flirting with him.  Yesterday was different, and yesterday led to Julian being in his bed.

'Guess we shouldn't have stripped off in the kitchen,' Julian whispers, arm tight around Noel's naked, taut body.  And almost in the same breath, he adds, 'I want to fuck you so much I dreamt about it.'

Noel groans softly with sudden, aching want and doesn't tell him about the red carpet dream.  Instead he says with regret, 'I'm absolutely not doing it with my brother and college friend in the flat,' just as the front door slams shut.

'I don't think they're in the flat anymore.'  But there's an inevitability in his voice that's like cold water over them and it's with a dramatic sigh that Noel climbs out of bed and Julian lets him go.  Good to know there's a total lack of awkwardness between them, no regrets or second thoughts or worry over what they've done.  Noel knows Julian better than he knows himself, or even his own brother, and right now that appears to be a problem for Mike.

Pulling on a white shirt over black jeans, leaving both unfastened, Noel goes out into the hall, closing the bedroom door behind him, smiling a 'good morning' at Dave who's standing in the doorway to the living room and indicating the front door.  'Mike?'  Dave nods and Noel goes after him, leaving the door on the latch, taking the one flight of stairs three at a time. 

Mike's already out on the pavement when Noel reaches him, starting to cross the quiet Camden road.

'Mike!'

The small man stops on the centre white lines and turns.  'So he's bumming you now, right?'

Noel joins him in the middle of the road.  'What the fuck's it got to do with you?'

'I'm your brother!'

'Like that gives you any vested interest in my sex life!'  Taking a deep breath he drops his voice an octave.  This is just inviting the news to hit the Internet that little bit faster.  'What's it to you what Julian and I do?'

Mike shakes his head, spitting the words, 'It's wrong!' at him.

Stepping back, Noel crosses his arms, offended.  'Never pegged you as a homophobe for fuck's sake.'

'I'm not!'  And now he's starting to sound almost sorry.  'You know I'm not.  I just don't want my brother getting bummed!'

He seems genuinely upset and it sets Noel on the metaphorical back foot.  'You know Julian would never do anything to hurt me, Mike.  You know that.'

'Doesn't matter.'  But Noel's lowered voice has Mike calming too.  'It's still a great Yorkshire hulk fucking you up the arse.'  Noel thinks laughing is probably inappropriate right now but he really, really wants to because the mental image is as funny as it is startling arousing.

'Mike?'  Julian's voice, calling down from somewhere and Noel twists to see him and Dave leaning out of his first floor flat window, smoking, mugs of coffee in their hands.  'If it's any help,' he calls out, 'I am very in love with your brother.'

Noel melts.  'Aw, Ju….'  Putting his right hand on top of his left over his heart he grins up at him before turning back to see Mike scowling up at the window.  He tries again, 'Come on, Mike, listen to that - public declarations of love from Julian Barratt.  What more do you need?  You know how we feel about each other, how we've always felt.  There was never really going to be anyone else.  You knew that.'  He watches as Mike deflates, eyes dropping to stare at the grey asphalt, head following, shoulders drooping.  Stepping forward, Noel puts his arm around his brother's shoulders and hugs him into his side.  'Come on, come back in and I'll make toast with Marmite.'

'You hate Marmite.'

'But I keep some in for you.'  Mike's sigh sounds reluctant and Noel feels the slightest resistance when he starts to walk them both towards the flat.  But it only lasts a second, then Mike's meekly with him and he's faintly hopeful they haven't woken the neighbours.

Julian's in the hall when Noel pushes the door open, clicking the latch down, watching as Mike walks into his open arms and mutters apologies as they share a tight hug.  Julian drops a kiss to the top of Mike's head, tells him it's okay, nothing to be sorry for, then he lets him go, and Mike falls into the living room while Julian walks forward and wraps Noel in the same hug only tighter, more intimate.  Noel puts his arms around him and flattens his hands on his wide back.

'If it's going to be a problem….'

Noel closes his eyes, breaths in smoke and coffee and sweat.  'It isn't.'  They both need a shower he reckons.  Then bed.