rivers_bend

I've been longing for a Rupert plot bunny to pay me some attention for ages, and thanks to tigertrapped's sexyhot pron, Ship Street, to which this is a sequel, one hopped up and asked to play. Thanks go to her also for beta. adult rated, 1,300 words.

Summary: I don't kiss and tell



The knocking turned to banging and Julian decided that whoever it was wasn’t going away, wasn’t rousing Colin or his girlfriend, Janet, or Janice, or whatever her name was. He looked at his watch. 7:45 in the morning. This had better be good.

The door was dead-bolted. The knocking continued while he struggled with the key, until he banged back. When he finally got the door opened, Rupert was standing on the other side, arms crossed. 'You're here then,' he said.

'I thought we were leaving at ten?'

'I got worried. Let me in. And Colin better have some coffee.'

'They're still asleep.'

'Well, you know how to put the kettle on, don't you?'

'Rupert, why aren't you sleeping?'

'George has the most uncomfortable sofa on earth. I didn’t sleep a wink.'

'I slept fine on the floor. Until someone woke me banging on the door, anyway.'

'Point me in the direction of the kettle and go take a bath. You stink, and I'm not having you in the car smelling like that.'

'Seriously, what happened to leaving at ten?' Julian looked longingly at the pile of cushions and blankets on the floor.

'I managed to get us a car to come down here, I get to decide when we leave.'

'You're a spoiled brat. You know that, I hope. Kitchen's through there.' Julian pointed towards the back of the house. 'I'll go have a bath then.'

He lay back in the shallow water, deciding warmth was more important than depth, and saw in his mind's eye the boy from the night before. Max, his name was. Julian brushed fingertips over his hipbones, where Max had gripped him as he'd, god, done the most amazing things with his mouth.

Julian had had his fair share of blowjobs in the last six months, some better than others, but nothing like the hunger of Max's tongue, like the clutch of his throat. Julian's fingers slid down his thighs, feeling the muscles that tightened in concert with his groin. Stomach flipping over as he thought of Max's heat pressed against him, he started to reach for his cock, but was interrupted by a tapping on the door.

'For fuck's sake, Tremont. What are you doing in there? Having a wank?'

'Piss off, Charles.' Julian reached for the soap and began to wash.

'I've made you a cup of tea. It's going cold out here.'

'Give me five minutes. You're the one who insisted.'

'Like you've gone a morning in your life without a wash. You're as fastidious as I am. That's why I like you.'

'Rupert, will you go away. I'm not sitting here talking to you through the door while I have my bath. Go and watch TV or something.'

'No wanking. I'll know.' The sound of footsteps in retreat followed Rupert's parting words.

He would, as well, which thought put Julian off as much as the rapidly cooling water around his waist. The towel he'd been given the night before, when Colin's girlfriend (it was awful that he couldn't remember her name) handed him the stack of bedding, was so violently coloured that Julian could only imagine that it had come back from a holiday somewhere hot, where you'd want to be able to distinguish your towel from all the others on the beach. It felt still full of sand as well, and he dried as quickly as he could, pulled on his jeans over still damp skin and only then remembered that his clean shirt was out in the front room. With Rupert.

Rupert had found a HELLO magazine and was leafing through it and drinking from a mug with Shakespeare's head on the side. He'd left the bedding in its pile on the floor. Not in such a hurry as he'd pretended then. It was, of course, too much to hope that whatever celebrity pad he was looking at would keep Rupert's attention. He looked up and grinned, then his eyes fastened on Julian's chest.

Julian wanted to reach into his bag, find his shirt, but he was pinned by Rupert's narrowed-eyed stare.

'What?' he finally asked when Rupert didn't speak, just bit his cheek and raised his eyebrow.

'I've been waiting for you to apologise. I thought you got too drunk and forgot about me. But you got distracted, didn’t you?'

Julian looked down and saw the bite-mark over his collar bone.

'You said you were going to get cash. You never came back.'

'You were holding court. I didn't think you'd miss me.'

'I waited til closing. You could’ve warned me you were going out on the pull.'

Julian finally moved to find his shirt and pulled it over his head. 'I was going to get cash. But then I got offered a cigarette and-'

'Julian Tremont, you don't smoke. What would your father say?'

'Up until last night I didn't give head in doorways either, but…'

Rupert had the grace to look shocked and delighted in equal measure. 'All right, you're forgiven, but only if you tell me everything. Every detail.' He put aside his mug and pulled Julian down onto the sofa next to him.

'I don't kiss and tell.'

'Do you want a lift back to Cambridge?'

'You're not going to leave me here.'

'I told you what I did to get Jonah to loan me his car.'

'And now I'm scarred for life. Just because you're a filthy gossip doesn’t mean I am.'

'You had it off in the street! You did have it off? He returned the favour, I hope.'

'I thought you wanted to leave.'

'You haven't drunk your tea.'

'Rupert.' Julian tried to sound as stern as he could.

'Julian.' Not giving an inch.

'Actually, it was me returning the favour,' Julian said when there was no sign of Rupert's grip on his wrist letting up.

'And I was pleased I got a handjob in the pub toilets.'

'Which one was it?' Rupert was most easily deflected by the subject shifting in his direction.

'The Spanish one.'

'There was a Spanish one?'

'Well, he looked Spanish. He might have come over after you left anyway.' Rupert settled back against the cushions as though preparing for a long natter. 'So, what did your man look like?'

'He's called Max. And he is gorgeous. You didn't go home with your Spaniard?'

'I wish I had done. Anywhere would’ve been more comfortable than that sofa. He was a bit odd though. Licked his fingers after.'

Julian thought of the taste of Max on his tongue, the feel of him going limp against the wall for a moment before he'd pulled Julian up and in, licking his own taste out of Julian's mouth, kissing him hungrily. That must have been when he'd got the mark on his clavicle. Max had cupped one hand around the back of his head, tilting it to the side to bare Julian's neck, while the other hand roamed under his jumper, pressing heat into the skin of his back, curving round the shape of his ribs.

He hadn't cared where they were, hadn't heard the sounds of other students roaming the streets, had only felt the heat of Max's mouth and hands, the press of his thigh where Julian leaned into him. He'd wanted-

'Tremont, hello? Have I lost you?'

'Sorry. What?'

'I said he licked his fingers, and you were off. Was your, what's his name, Max? Was he a licker too?'

'Help me fold up these blankets and we can get going.'

'One of the advantages of men, they don't mind if you kiss and tell. Not that he'd know. I mean, what’re the chances you're ever going to see him again?'

Slim, Julian knew. But that's what he wanted. To see Max again.