Note: This piece isn't quite a novel, but it's not necessarily a short story either. It's almost entirely about the characters, and it won't have a very solid plot. I don't know how long it'll be, and since there won't be a clear resolution I'm planning to continue it indefinitely. This isn't really relevant to Part 2, just something I figured I should throw in.
The air outside is cold, bitter. It adds an extra ten minutes on the walk to Jules' apartment, but he uses the weather as an excuse to press close to Christian. When he feels him shivering between their layers of clothes and jackets, he plants a kiss on his cheek and promises, "We'll be there in, like, five minutes. Do you want my scarf? Here."
Jules pulls off the knitted scarf, tossing it around both of their necks and giggles. "Look, it's like we're in a romcom full of straight people." When Christian gives him an odd look, he shushes him and says, "Give me a break, I'm tipsy." It makes them both laugh.
The rest of the walk is short, shorter because they spend it grinning and joking. They get to the apartment without any trouble, and without losing feeling in their fingers or toes.
It’s clean, especially for a twenty-something, and clean enough to impress Christian. The room is bordered with a single wall of shelves, stacked with books and movies and a few shirts that haven’t gotten put in drawers yet. Windows dot the wall adjacent to it, and there are at least a dozen potted plants scattered in front of them. A leather couch sits in front of a glass coffee table, and that’s where Jules leads him. “You can sit down. I’m still freezing, I’m going to make something hot to drink. Do you want anything?”
“Tea?” Christian mumbles, his attention caught by a violin and a stack of sheet music on the table. He hovers over it, humming the first measure of a piece whose title is hidden. "How long have you been playing? The violin, I mean."
Jules spins back around, and he smiles at Christian and then the violin. "Ages. Like, ages. I started when I was seven, so it's been about fifteen years. It was my major- wait, fuck, don't get me to start talking about music. You'll never get me to shut up."
"Mm, that's alright."
"Good, because you'll hear it eventually. Okay, what kind of tea do you want? I've got, like, every type of tea you can think of. I have a whole damn cabinet full of tea."
"Oh. Uh... regular tea?" He shrugs, afraid to ask, What kind of tea is Lipton?
"I'll just make you some Earl Grey" Jules swings open the door to a small cabinet, pulling down metal jars and looking at their labels.
Ten minutes and twenty tea-related questions later—Honey? Sugar? Milk? How strong?—he brings over two mugs. When he hands Christian his, he makes sure that their hands brush against each other.
“Careful, it’s hot,” Jules cautions. He keeps his in his hands, smelling it but not drinking the tea that’s still steaming.
Christian is not so careful. He takes a gulp of his, nearly spilling his glass when he yelps, “Shit, that’s hot.”
Jules laughs again—at him, this time. “Did you think I was kidding?”
From there on, the tea drinking becomes less dangerous and the small talk more flirtatious. Jules moves both of their mugs to the table before he slides close to Christian. They both spend a moment hesitating, and the silence becomes almost awkward. "How fast do you want this to move?" Jules almost whispers it, afraid to break the silence too suddenly.
Christian responds just as quietly, but for him it has nothing to do with the volume. "I'm- nervous? I'm sorry. Would you mind if we did this kind of slow?"
"That's perfect. We can do this as slowly as you want, just let me know when you want to take it to the bedroom, alright?" He takes the nod as an invitation to continue, leaning in and kissing him. At first, it's awkward, almost uncomfortable for the both of them—but then Christian relaxes into it and kisses him back. Guess kissing girls gives you just as much practice...
The thought quickly fades away, fades into,He's good. It's too sloppy to be a picture perfect scene, but that doesn't change the fact that it's making them both breathe harder, kiss harder. It's just when Jules is sliding his hand under Christian's belt that Christian mutters, "Can we-"
"My room?"
"Please."
Jules leads him to one of only four doors in the apartment, warning, “My bedroom is a bit messier than the rest of the apartment.” Christian thinks, That’s an understatement, when he has to step over dirty laundry and an empty cereal box. “Ugh, sorry, I didn’t have time to clean up.”
The bed is free of debris, and Christian feels comfortable enough to sit down on it. Jules joins him, saying, “This is easier if we get undressed before hand.”
Jules helps him slide the sweater over his head, and he smiles as he undoes the button of his jeans. Christian is slow to kick off his pants and everything that follows, but he’s soon left unclothed—and overly aware of it. On the other hand, Jules takes no time getting his clothes off. He carelessly tosses them all to the floor, and then plants a kiss on Christian’s cheek. “Are you sure you want to do this? You seem hesitant.”
“Yeah… I do, I mean. But it feels like having sex for the first time all over again, you know?” He shrugs, but turns to look at Jules and smiles.
“Ah, yeah, I can understand that. You at least know more than you did your first time, though.” When Christian looks doubtful, he says, “Oh boy. Do you know anything about fooling around with a guy?” Christian’s expression gives him his answer. “Am I going to need to give you gay sex ed? I think I’m going to need to give you gay sex ed.”
Jules hops up, turning to his nightstand and pulling open drawers. He tosses their contents on the bed. Condoms, lube, a handful of sex toys, and some things that Christian doesn’t know the name of. Jules takes the time to explain to him, giving him as much information as he needs and wants and making sure he knows what the night is going to entail. When he’s certain that they’re on the same page, he puts everything back in the drawers, leaving out only a few items.
“Here, I don’t want my sheets messy.” He holds out a condom to Christian, helps him slide it on. He tenses when Jules touches him, but the more it happens the more he gets used to it.
Jules moves carefully, brushing his fingers over Christian's chest, his thighs, and everywhere else. He stretches over to kiss the side of his neck, ending up straddling him for a better angle.
He plants kisses down his jawline, down his neck, his collarbone. Christian lets out a muffled moan, squirming—a good kind of squirming—at every kiss. There are more moans and harder breathing the lower Jules goes.
Jules' hands are far from idle, teasingly brushing the insides of Christian's thighs. Soon, he stops teasing.
Hands soon turn to mouths, and when he has Christian panting and moaning, he tells him to turn over. Jules leads him into it with fingers and plenty of lube. His shyness has worn off, and he’s soon insisting that has to have more. He gets it when Jules eases himself into him. Christian draws in a sharp breath, and at first, he tries to keep his noises small and quiet. Once Jules promises no one can hear them, all bets are off.
It doesn’t take long for either of them to finish. They fall back onto the bed, relaxed, sweaty, and trying to catch their breath. It’s a long time before either of them say anything, but Christian is the first to speak up. “Jesus Christ” is all he has to say.
Jules laughs—giggles, almost—and grins at him, turning just enough to kiss him. A moment later, he asks, “Do you want to take a shower?” Christian shakes his head, and he says, “Good. I don’t feel like getting up.”
After awhile, though, he begrudgingly pulls himself out of the bed. The used condoms go in the trash can, and everything else goes back in his drawers. He takes a quick trip to the bathroom to wash his hands and grab two bathrobes and returning to bed. He pulls one on, tossing the plusher of the two to Christian. “Want to spend the night? It’s late, I don’t know if it’s even worth going home.”
Christian slides the robe over his shoulders, thinking for a moment before saying, “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
“Mm, alright. If you don’t need anything, crawl back in bed and I’ll turn out the lights.”
The bed has plenty of room to suit two people, but Jules and Christian barely take up half of it. They lie pressed up against each other, and as Jules falls asleep he contemplates the possibility of a two-night-stand.
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