Malcolm, of course, never drank, but he didn’t mind when Julius had the odd glass of wine on these nights. He made his customary obscene gibe, never twice the same joke, always a bit of clever wordplay embedded within that made Julius smile. Which was likely his goal, at least so far as Julius could determine. Sometimes it was hard to believe, that Malcolm would be courting him in his own inimitable way, but it seemed to be true. There he was, pacing before the fireplace in Julius’s study, all tension and sharp gestures, present-- present for the night, even-- Julius’s partner. Well, perhaps that was overstating things.
And that pacing was going to drive Julius mad. It had been a long week, and Malcolm had had very little sleep throughout it, and he was in motion now from mere inertia. His nerve and outrage were long since exhausted. Julius could read that in his face clearly.
Julius sat down on one end of the sofa and set his glass aside. “Come here,” he said, and beckoned. Malcolm narrowed his eyes but let himself be pulled down next to Julius easily enough. The secret of Malcolm was that once he surrendered, he surrendered utterly. It had taken quite a lot of work for Julius to get to this point with him, but now they had arrived at it together: Malcolm would do what Julius requested of him. Fortunately Julius had only the mildest of requests to make: loosen his tie, take off his shoes, pull his feet up onto the sofa, put his head onto Julius’s lap.
“What kind of gay shite is this?” Malcolm said.
“The kind that lets me massage your temples,” Julius said. He was gratified to see Malcolm’s eyes flutter shut at his touch. A long breath let out, and Malcolm’s jaw relaxed.
“Fuck, that’s nice.”
Malcolm reached up of his own accord and undid the top button of his shirt.
“I had some more, er, gay shite in mind for later,” Julius said.
“A hot bath and then bed.”
Malcolm almost smiled, then.