25

By the time they reached Driftwood, Julien was wiped out. He was surprised Ilya had stopped talking about what was going to happen, but relieved that he had.

"You go and have a nap while I make dinner,"

Ilya said.

"I want to protest about you thinking I need a nap…"

"Except?"

"I'm shattered."

"Then go and lie down, grandpa. It's been a long day."

Julien hugged him, then moved away before he was tempted to do more than hug him for that grandpa comment, and sloped off to the bedroom. Despite his tiredness, he suspected he was too wired to sleep. His mind kept running through what might happen in two days' time. It was as if he were racing through a maze with lots of potential exits, but whichever one he chose, the outcome was never what he wanted.

Had he made a mistake telling Lors he had information about the night Abrek and Sébastien died, when really he knew fuck all? Not a truth, but a possibility, nothing more. There was only a chance that Borsha was responsible and even suggesting that to Lors could result in a bullet in Julien's head from him or his son.

He turned over and pressed his face into the pillow. There was no point rehashing everything. He'd made his decision and now he had to accept the consequences. If the next two days were the last he had with Ilya, he wanted to fill them with something fun. Merde! Do I even know how to have fun?

Julien had enjoyed sailing when he was younger. But the weather was cold and his sailing gear was long gone. Maybe battling the vagaries of the North Sea wasn't something Ilya would enjoy.

He took out his phone and googled. Museums—not really the fun he was looking for. Escape rooms—too close to reality. Clubbing—he wasn't sure he could remember how to dance. Was axe throwing the best he could come up with? He groaned and tossed his phone aside.

When Julien woke, it was almost seven in the evening. He could smell something cooking and pushed to his feet. After he'd had a wash, he headed barefoot into the main room and found Ilya lying on the couch watching the TV, the log burner blazing.

"You're awake!"

Ilya switched off the TV and sat up. "I am such a failure. I tried kissing you and you didn't wake up. Not sure whether it's because I'm not a prince or maybe because I'm the princess. I fluttered my lips over yours and…nothing." He clutched his chest. "The pain. But I did make fire!" He beat his chest.

Julien chuckled.

"Feel better?"

Ilya asked.

Julien pulled him into his arms. "Forgive me for not feeling better until all this is done."

"Everything is going to be fine. Be positive. But if we decide things aren't going the way we want, we'll run. Hopefully we'll be in France by then. We can go where we like."

Oh God. You are not coming with me. "What have you cooked? It smells good."

"A sweet potato and stilton galette will be ready in ten minutes, and I need to heat up a pea and radish thing. Okay? All you need to do is sit at the table."

Julien sat down and Ilya put a glass of white wine in front of him.

"I've been thinking of what we can do until it's time to drive to London,"

Julien said.

Ilya stirred the contents of a saucepan. "I've had some thoughts too."

"Tell me."

"You first."

Merde. "Axe throwing."

"At me?"

"No, not at you!"

Julien laughed. "Not in the first lesson anyway."

Ilya giggled. "What else?"

"Then I got stuck."

When his face fell, Julien wanted to kick himself.

"I got stuck because being with you is all I care about. We could do anything and as long as I was doing it with you, I'd be happy."

That brought back Ilya's smile.

"Free-climbing?"

Ilya suggested.

"Er, not that."

"Bungee jumping, abseiling, parachuting, ziplining?"

"Connard!"

"If you like. What's that?"

Julien laughed. He'd just called Ilya an arsehole.

Ilya came over and sat on his lap. "I know what connard means."

He ground his backside against Julien's cock. "Je peux parler fran?ais."

Julien gaped at him.

"Five years of it at school. So I can get by. Especially with swear words. I'm equally good with Latin, which will be useful if I ever time travel back to when the Romans were around. Quam miser sum. Semper opus est in culina."

"You poor thing. Did your master always make you work in the kitchen?"

"Semper."

One final wriggle that ensured Julien's cock was hard enough to tent his trousers, then Ilya rose from his lap and went over to the hob. "Postea dominus meus me laborare in lecto facit."

"So later your master's going to make you work hard in bed? That's terrible."

"Yes, so we need to be quick before he comes back. Though that never seems to be a problem for either of us."

Ilya grinned. "Maybe we'll get better at not coming so fast. We could practise edging. Have a competition. What do you think?"

How could Ilya change his mood so easily? For the first time in a very long while, Julien felt a future was possible. And he wanted Ilya in it.

"You know what edging is, right?"

Ilya asked.

"Holding off orgasm for as long as possible."

"Correct."

Ilya danced back to the table with the plates and food. He gave Julien the lion's share. He could feel Ilya watching as he took the first mouthful of the galette.

"Okay?"

Ilya whispered.

"Almost as delicious as you."

Ilya sighed and started to eat.

How am I going to leave him behind? But he had to.

Ilya took a drink of his wine. "Once we've eaten, I'm going to use all my charms to persuade you to let me go with you."

"Do you have many of those?"

"Hundreds though I might have to go on Google to look up a few things. Fisting seems tricky. Do we have any rubber gloves my size?"

"If you come anywhere near me with a rubber glove…"

Ilya laughed.

Julien was dimly aware of clearing his plate. This…relationship with Ilya might be the only thing in his life that was right. Having sex with him had never been curiosity. More like fully opening a door that had always stood ajar in the back of his mind. It had been so long since he'd had a friend. He hadn't realised how much he'd needed one. They knew each other's pasts, the sad mess of Julien's and the tragic one of Ilya's. There were no secrets between them.

"I made dessert too."

He tuned back into what Ilya was saying.

"Sit on the couch and I'll bring it over."

Julien did as he was told. He watched as Ilya cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, then took something out of the freezer. He returned to straddle Julien's lap and scooped a spoonful of something that looked like ice cream out of a bowl.

"Not quite set, but it'll still taste nice."

Ilya held the spoon to Julien's mouth.

As the sweet, slightly alcoholic mix hit his taste buds, he gave a long moan.

Ilya's eyes widened. "That good? Not as good as sex, surely. But you moaned louder! Nooooo, don't tell me this is better."

"Hmm."

"Don't you dare hmm at me."

Julien held back his laugh. "Let's see. Put the bowl down and take off your clothes."

Ilya stripped and never stopped staring at him. "Now you."

"Lie down."

Ilya lay on his side in front of the fire and watched as Julien removed his trousers, boxers and shirt. He picked up the bowl of alcoholic ice-cream and knelt at Ilya's side.

"What are you going to do?"

Ilya's eyes were wide and so was the smile on his face.

"Something I've never done before, never wanted to do before."

"Be greedy and not share?"

Julien put a large spoonful of the dessert in Ilya's mouth, then set the bowl down. He leaned over, nudging Ilya onto his back before dragging the cleanly licked spoon down his body. "Your skin is so smooth. Do you even need to shave?"

"First Tuesday in the month. Without fail. Whether I need to or not."

They were so close that Julien could feel Ilya's words hitting his lips like little ghost kisses. He put another spoonful of the dessert into Ilya's mouth, then brushed his lips over Ilya's. The kiss was warm and cold at the same time, then only warm as the mixture melted. Julien plastered himself against him as he deepened the kiss, the tension inside him unravelling as Ilya pushed his fingers into Julien's hair and held him down.

They only broke so Ilya could beg for more dessert, opening his mouth like a little bird. Julien fed them both until it had all gone.

"That was so good."

Julien gave a prolonged sigh. "Don't suppose there's any more?"

Ilya's pupils were huge. "Aren't my kisses sweet enough?"

"I actually meant to lick that from all over your body, but kissing you always makes me forget everything, bratkin."

Ilya reached up and pulled him down, wrapping his legs around his hips and somehow managing to buck up into him despite Julien's weight. Ilya kissed him wildly, clutching at him as if they were going to get dragged apart at any moment, then slowing to kisses that were so sweet and thoughtful and achingly soft, they made Julien's chest hurt. Was this one of their last times together?

"You're beautiful."

Julien landed whisper soft kisses down Ilya's neck, along his collarbone, down onto his chest, listening to the way Ilya's breathing faltered, knowing his own was doing the same.

Despite part of him feeling desperate to come, he didn't want to hurry. He wanted to explore every part of Ilya's body, worship it, kiss and caress and love it. This was more than sex and something he'd not felt before. He was bubbling over with emotion.

Then suddenly, positions were reversed and Ilya was on top, straddling Julien's thighs, rocking forward to press their cocks together.

"Tu aimes me donner des baisers, eh?"

Ilya asked.

"You know I like kissing you."

"Combien?"

"A lot,"

Julien continued in English, trying not to smile at Ilya's weird accent. "More than I've ever liked kissing anyone before."

"Regarde-moi dans les yeux."

As if he could look anywhere other than into Ilya's eyes.

"Tu as une très grosse bite. Comme un éléphant, je pense."

Julien laughed. "As long as an elephant's?"

"Wrong word? Membre, sexe, verge, braquemart, pine?"

Julien laughed harder. "Did you learn every word for cock at school?"

"It made French more interesting. Popol, quéquette, queue, robinet, saucisse?"

"Shut up. You're butchering the language."

Though he didn't really want him to shut up.

Ilya licked Julien's cheek. "J'aime ton trique."

"You love my boner? The word is feminine not masculine. Ta trique."

"What?"

Ilya gaped at him.

"The other meaning of trique is cudgel."

"Ah, a woman recognising a short thick stick that's used as a weapon."

"It's the ‘que' that makes it feminine."

"I like my explanation better."

Ilya had his hands around them both, rubbing his thumb over their cockheads and the simmering heat in Julien's stomach turned to a boiling maelstrom.

"Je vais lecher ton foutre,"

Ilya whispered. "Definitely masculine, right?"

"Right."

Why did Ilya telling him he was going to lick his come sound so much more seductive in French?

Ilya leaned back, his eyes closed, breathing ragged while his hands moved faster. Precome was letting his fingers slide and Julien watched, mesmerised at the look on his face, the way his expression changed as he moved towards release, how he bit his lip, the way his eyelids fluttered. I want to come at the same time.

He almost did. Ilya came messily all over his fingers with a gasp and a blissful expression on his face. Julien's eyes closed and he followed, exaggerating his moan until Ilya whacked him on the chest.