As they climbed into the SUV, Rafi took his phone from his pocket and handed it to Julian.
“What,” Julian said, “tired of carrying its vast weight?”
“Well, I did take a lot of pictures today, makes sense that it’s gotten heavy.” Rafi grinned. “No, I thought you might feel safer running interference between me and the great irresistible screen while I drive.”
“According to you, you’ve never actually used it while driving,” Julian said. “But I suppose we musn’t underestimate you.” He tucked the phone away.
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Rafi ventured, “You don’t seem to be mad about it anymore, but—just in case it was bothering you, I really am sorry about what I said to Hollywood Reporter. I had no idea you would find it…hurtful.” To be frank, he still wasn’t sure exactly what Julian had found objectionable about it, but he was sorry regardless.
Julian drew a careful breath. “I find it…uncomfortable, sometimes, being praised for my appearance. It’s one thing from fans, strangers, even journalists. Somehow it’s different coming from…” He seemed at a loss for words, which was worthy of making a note in the calendar. “To know that someone is looking at me—me, not the public persona, not the image on the screen—and thinking of me that way is…startling.” He wet his lips, and clarified, “Invasive.”
Dismayed, Rafi struggled for a response. He didn’t want to be a creeper, desperately wanting Julian when Julian did not want to be wanted. He could feel all his shy, cautious hopes for them crumbling.
“I’ve had time to grow used to the idea now, however,” Julian continued, not looking at Rafi. “I know you well enough to know that you don’t…mean it in the way that would bother me most.” Abruptly, he turned to face him, eyes intent. “You see me as an equal.”
Rafi blinked. “Of course I do. What else would you be?”
“A toy,” Julian said. “A…tool, to be used. A pet, to be stroked and pampered and then discarded.”
Rafi found himself staring at Julian in horror, and had to tear his gaze away to focus on the road. “Julian,” he said carefully, “I hope you know that if anyone has treated you that way, it is a judgment—the worst possible judgment—against them, not you.”
“I do know that,” Julian said, “in my better moments. What I mean to say is that you did not deserve the harshness of the reaction I gave you, and for that I’m sorry.”
Rafi waved a hand. “I’m a big boy. I can take a few hits.”
“We should test that sometime,” Julian said, a smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. “So long as you promise not to throw me off a stage.”
“Oh, that part’s inevitable. The only question is whether I’ll fall on top of you after.”
Julian laughed. “A dire fate indeed!” He was fiddling with the lacy ruffles of his shirtfront—disentangling a flower, Rafi realized, that was caught there, perhaps fallen from Christian’s crown. Julian reached out and tucked the half-wilted white bloom behind Rafi’s ear. “But not, perhaps, the direst.”
Rafi smiled, and hoped he wasn’t blushing, and felt his hopes revive just a bit.
Chapter 9
Ice ice baby! Pregnant Bo Thomas keeps cool during East Village baby-shopping excursion
Bo Thomas’s baby bump is growing by the day! The 25-year-old Distant Kingdom singer and keyboardist cooled down with an ice cream in NYC’s East Village yesterday, apparently in the midst of a baby shopping spree. Sporting an adorable polka-dot sundress and sunglasses that would have made Jackie O jealous, everyone’s favorite rock soprano was surrounded by bags from Pink Olive, Little Moony, and Ibiza Kids when she was spotted taking a break at Morgenstern’s Finest Ice Cream.
Never one to lose her cool in public, Bo seemed unconcerned by the ongoing battle for ownership of rock band Distant Kingdom, which splintered in June—when Bo ended her relationship with front man Rafael Reyes and became engaged to his brother and fellow band member, Carlos Reyes. All official announcements have indicated Carlos as the father of the baby, but rumors are flying that Rafael wants a paternity test! No wonder Bo needs an ice cream break.
—Daily Mail, 8/26/19
Newest comment: Holy crap, is that a bruise on her face?
* * * *
It’s not that complicated
Though it sure can be a mess
Hold me, baby, just tonight
I don’t care about the rest
Touch me, baby, just like that
I want your skin on mine
Claim me, baby, call the shots
Put me on Cloud Nine
—“Cloud Nine,” from Epicurious by Distant Kingdom
* * * *
This time, instead of darkness and rain, they had a view of the sunset over the Hudson, every surface of Rafi’s condo painted gold and orange and pink. The mushroom tartlets hadn’t reheated well, but they were both eating them anyway, sitting across from each other at Rafi’s marble-topped dining table. Scuffing his foot forward to touch Julian’s felt daring, even if Julian’s only reaction was a glance up at him through red-gold lashes.
“You managed not to burn yourself,” Rafi said, gesturing at Julian’s cheeks, undamaged by the sun.
“No, our friends delivered all the burns,” Julian replied.
“Alleged friends!” Rafi laughed. “Your cousin is a handful. Where did your uncle find him?”
“Foster care. A talent scout saw him at a school play.” Julian fiddled with his fork. “His foster parents couldn’t wait to unload him.”
Rafi winced. “That’s rough. Still, talk about a rags-to-riches story.”
Julian raised an eyebrow at him. “Whereas other celebrities have more of a riches-to-riches story.”
“I’ve had my own problems. Suffering in golden shoes is still suffering,” Rafi said primly. “Speaking of which, my entire body is starting to protest its encounter with the ground earlier. I probably have some aspirin somewhere…” He twisted around in the chair, trying to rub at a knot in his back—and froze in shock as Julian came around the table and started massaging his shoulders.
“Oh,” Rafi said, whimpering as Julian bore down on exactly the right spot. “Oh. Julian, you are an angel and a gift.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys.”
“And girls. I’m equal-opportunity that way.”
He could hear a smile in Julian’s voice. “Yes, and I’m sure you’ve had quite a few of those equal opportunities. How do you normally go about it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…dating. Courtship, since you’ve won that right. How,” he hesitated a moment, though his hands on Rafi’s shoulders never paused, “how might you have gone about it with me, if things had been different?”
Rafi made a thoughtful noise. “We might still have met at the Gala. I would have asked you to dance. You would have told me to eff off, but who knows, I could have charmed you.”
“Hmm. Unlikely. Try again.”
It was hard to think through the delightful tingles traveling down Rafi’s back and shoulders, but he tried his best. “All right. I see you from afar, across the glittering expanse of the Gala, but can’t get close enough to speak to you. Entranced by your beauty and your sparkling wit—as practiced on others who were unfortunate enough to get closer—I become determined to court you. I write you a letter professing my love—”
“Ah, fan mail. I’ve certainly never received propositions that way.”
Rafi huffed. “Fine, then. We meet in high school. I’m not even out yet, but the moment I see you, I know I’m about to be. I sit behind you in algebra, and don’t learn a single thing, too mesmerized by the way the light hits your hair, the way you hold your pencil, the way you don’t seem to pay attention but always know the answers when the teacher calls on you.”
Julian made a pleased sound. “How would you ask me out?”
“Oh, I’d be far too terrified to ask you out. I’d send Amber to talk to you first.”
/> “And when she came back licking her wounds, none the wiser about my feelings?”
“Then I would approach with gifts. Flowers—no, flowers are too obvious, what if you don’t like boys? Something more subtle, so we can both save face if you turn me down. A book. You’re always reading, so I buy the sequel to the book you’ve been reading this week, and when I give it to you I ask if you’d like to go to the dance with me.”
“And what would we do together, if you took me to the dance?” Julian sounded wistful.
“Well, I’d pick you up at your house, charm your parents. Open doors for you, help you in and out of the car—trying my best to treat you right, awfully heteronormative because at that age I only knew how to treat a girl date. Guys don’t always appreciate chivalry. But you might forgive me. You might even enjoy being fussed over a little.”
“Mm. Tell me more about how you’d fuss over me.”
“Bring you punch and cookies. Walk around touching the small of your back. Make up some kind of excuse to kiss your hand.” He was drawing on a lot of high school memories, but more the memory of desires than events. He’d frequently been too nervous and embarrassed to lavish his dates with the kind of gestures he would have liked. “When we danced together I would try to leave a respectful distance between us and not crowd you…but it would be difficult.”
Julian wasn’t rubbing his back anymore. Instead he had draped his arms around Rafi’s shoulders, leaning against him with their cheeks brushing. Rafi could feel Julian’s hair, silky against the side of his face. “What if I didn’t want that respectful distance? What if I kept moving closer and closer to you?”
“Then,” Rafi swallowed, “during the last slow song of the night, I might work up the nerve to kiss you.”
Julian’s heartbeat was hammering against his back. His voice was low, breath brushing Rafi’s ear. “And just how would you kiss me, if we were really dating?”
Rafi turned his head and pressed their lips together.
It was only the softest brush of a kiss at first, hampered by the angle and by Rafi’s caution. Julian did not draw back; he didn’t rush to deepen the kiss, but he let it proceed, tilting closer, his mouth soft and responsive. Rafi turned a little in his seat, and pressed a little harder, one hand coming up to rest against Julian’s cheek.
It was obvious that this kiss was not going to be like the others. Julian knew how to kiss for a camera, glossy and perfect and pretty. This, kissing for pleasure, he did not quite know how to do. The shy artlessness of it was beautiful. It matched the Julian he had come to know in coin tricks, in feathered hats and decorative prickles. They kept kissing softly, one of Rafi’s hands trapped against the chair and the other stroking the side of Julian’s face—not enough, not enough, but the very restraint of it was sweet. Rafi had never been a patient man, but now he felt that for this, for Julian, he could be patient forever.
But he didn’t have to be, because in the space of a breath, Julian slid around the chair and into Rafi’s lap.
The table screeched as Julian’s hip shoved it out of the way. The sound covered Rafi’s gasp as he instinctively turned his body to better receive Julian’s, wrapping his arms around him. For a visceral moment he remembered the strip club, and Julian pinning his hands down, telling him not to touch—but Julian wasn’t objecting to being touched this time. In fact he seemed to be arching into it, his own arms around Rafi’s neck, before he bent down and they were kissing again. Deep now, but slow, thoroughness over speed. After a while, Rafi let his mouth wander down Julian’s jawline to his throat.
Julian gasped, the sound shaky, and pulled back just a bit.
“This might be a little intense for the school dance,” he said.
Rafi couldn’t fail to notice, in their current position, that Julian was hard. Smugness warmed his heart, along with delighted awe. He’d done that.
“We can stop,” Rafi said, his voice rough. “If you want.”
“Or?”
Rafi swallowed. “Or, you could…stay. And we could, um—only if you want—”
“I want you to show me,” Julian said, putting a finger on Rafi’s lips. His eyes were closed, his cheeks red in the sunset light. “How it could be. If we were really dating, if we were really in love. Show me.”
That if tore a hole as it landed, but Rafi ignored the twinge. Instead he stood, lifting Julian with little effort and less that he let show, and carried him to the bedroom.
The sunset was reaching its peak of color, filling the room with a glow like firelight but steadier. The blanket on the bed was the same one they had wrapped around themselves on the balcony. If they ruined it tonight, at least it would go out in a blaze of glory.
Julian held on like a constrictor when Rafi tried to drop him on the bed, which resulted in Rafi overbalancing and landing on top of him.
“Like I said, having you fall on me is not the direst of fates,” Julian said, grinning and winding himself all the tighter around him.
“If you let me up,” Rafi said in between kisses to Julian’s mouth and throat, “I can get these inconvenient clothes off you.”
“Can you? I’m not convinced.”
Rafi, released, set about with a will to prove him wrong—only to find that Julian’s ruffled Renaissance shirt was held on with an incomprehensible collection of clasps and laces. “Stand up.”
Julian made an unhappy sound, but got to his feet beside the bed, letting gold light spill over the shirt. It didn’t help. The shirt was impossible.
“How attached are you to this thing?” Rafi asked through a mouthful of Julian’s shoulder, the shirt forced aside enough to expose new skin.
Julian looked him in the eye. “I can replace it.”
Rafi ripped the shirt off and tossed the pieces to the floor. Julian made a breathless noise, disbelieving laughter and arousal.
Boots and breeches followed, and then Rafi’s clothes, and finally they were both wearing nothing but the sunset. And a pair of bracelets.
Julian was still standing by the bed. He was trembling, Rafi realized when he put his arms around him, a subtle vibration under the skin. Rafi remembered what Bo had said—”You’d be crying before he ever got your clothes off.”
“Are you all right?” he murmured, nuzzling Julian’s cheek.
“Stunned,” Julian said archly. “I admit, I thought the pictures were Photoshopped.” His hand ghosted lightly over Rafi’s cock. Rafi’s laugh came out a little strangled.
“Well, don’t worry, it won’t bite. It likes you.”
Julian made a thoughtful hmm and gave it a light tug, pulling Rafi forward a step. They were touching now all the way down their fronts, Julian’s hardness flush against his own. Rafi ran his hands along Julian’s ribs and back, savoring the warmth of his skin, mouthing soft kisses down his temple and jaw. Julian wound his arms around Rafi’s shoulders, and pulled him down onto the bed.
Julian had told Bo he was a virgin. That tracked in some ways, Rafi thought as they continued kissing and touching, and in some ways—didn’t, but he couldn’t articulate why. He wasn’t shy, touching Rafi without hesitation, but he seemed so surprised every time Rafi found a spot that Julian seemed to like (on the side of his throat, one nipple, the inside of his thigh) and lavished attention there. It was like Julian knew full well how to please a lover in bed, he just didn’t know how to be pleased in return.
If he has been with anyone before, then they certainly weren’t any good.
Finally Rafi dared brush a finger against the place he most wanted access to. Julian flinched, his entrance drawing up even tighter—then made a visible attempt to relax, nodding at Rafi’s questioning look.
“Are you sure?” Rafi said. “I don’t want anything you don’t want.”
“If you do anything I don’t want,” Julian said, in that arctic diamond voice, his face sweaty and kiss-flushed, “rest assured I will let you know. Please proceed.”
Proceed. Rafi might actually be in love with this
high-handed prick.
The nightstand yielded a bottle of lubricant, but nothing else. With an exasperated sound, Rafi got up and began searching the room.
Julian propped himself up on his arms, frowning fiercely. “This is you proceeding?”
“Mother Moonwise said to use protection!”
“Is her opinion your biggest concern right now?” Julian got up, caught Rafi as he walked by, and kissed him soundly. “I don’t care about that. I trust you.”
“Do you trust Carlos? ‘Cause I’m an idiot and haven’t been tested since breaking up with Bo.”
“…Where else can we look?”
They did finally find a box of condoms in the bathroom, and raced each other back to the bed, Julian tackling him down in a tangle of limbs and kisses.
Julian Gault was in his bed, kissing and touching him, wanting him—not as a publicity stunt, not to improve his reputation, but wanting him. And Rafi wanted him too, so badly, and had from the first, even before he actually liked Julian. He was glad it hadn’t happened then, in some explosion of hate-sparks. This, here, now, was so much better than that.
He moved a slicked-up finger to start opening Julian up. This time, Julian not only flinched, but grabbed Rafi’s wrist in reflexive panic.
“Julian,” Rafi said softly. “It’s all right. We can stop completely, or we can do this another way. However you want it.”
“You would roll over for me?” Julian said, in frank disbelief, almost mocking. His chest was rising and falling, rapid and harsh.
“Of course I would.” It wasn’t his first preference, generally. But for Julian, he realized, he wouldn’t hesitate. “Do you want me to?”
Julian blinked, swallowed, took this in. “No,” he said at last. “No, I want it—this way. I want it to be you. I know I’m being…difficult. Irrational. You have no reason to hurt me. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Friends?” It would have been easy to find the word disappointing, but Rafi was honored Julian would say even that much aloud. “Yes, we are. Furthermore, Julian,” he rearranged himself over Julian’s body, wrapped one of Julian’s hands around the bracelet on his wrist, “you saved my life, remember? I owe you my life. I’m all yours.”
Star Bright Page 20
