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They hadn't meant to do it. It had all got incredibly out of hand, and actually it was entirely Julian's fault.
Julian had wanted to have a sniff of the vanilla extract. Julian had wanted to taste it.
"It's 35 percent, Captain. Basically vodka."
And the Captain hadn't argued because what was the harm? Watching him try would be something to do.
Julian had been making some progress in unscrewing the lid, when one slightly frustrated push knocked the whole spice rack off the wall. It had crashed, lids flying everywhere, onto the counter. Which had been set up with all of the ingredients for Mike's birthday cake.
The flour had tipped, knocking the eggs and spilling over the side of the counter. The eggs, which had begun to roll, were an unstoppable force against Julian's ghostly powers. They had broken amongst the swirling clouds of spiced flour settling on the floor.
Of course that had been when Alison walked in.
"It wasn't me," said Julian quickly.
Alison stared at the mess, mouth agape.
"This all just happened by itself, did it?"
"Well, you could say," said Julian, stretching the words out and gesturing pointedly with his fists. "You could say that it did, in fact, happen, but you have to take into account–"
"There's flour on the ceiling!"
They both looked up.
"So there is," said the Captain.
"It looks a bit like a Cambodian Clambake," said Julian, as if they were watching the clouds and not looking at the consequences of a culinary explosion.
"God! It's like looking after toddlers!"
Alison had flour on her nose. The Captain, helpfully, pointed it out. Julian, unhelpfully, sniggered.
"It's not funny," said Alison.
"No," said Julian, schooling his features. "Of course not."
Although there definitely was a funny side to it.
"Well, we're very sorry Alison," said Julian, beginning to edge slowly towards the door, "but we actually have to go now. We have to – ermmm… We have… aah–"
"–Ahh-Animals Club," interjected the Captain, nodding. "Yes. I can hear Pat calling." With that he spun on his heel and began to march out.
"Come back here while I'm talking to you!"
Julian, excuses now giving way to helpless laughter, grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged him out of the room, pulling him along until they were careening through the corridors, Alison's anger chasing them up the stairs.
"In here," whispered the Captain, diving through the portrait of George Button, who Mike had 'temporarily' propped up against a cupboard door that had been stuck shut since the early 1960s, dragging Julian in after him.
"Shhh," he said, pressing a hand firmly over Julian's mouth to muffle his snickers, as he tried to regulate his own quick pants.
He stopped breathing entirely as Alison stormed past, muttering something about a change of clothes and a broken broom and children.
The Captain was consciously keeping their limbs within the safe confines of the cupboard; his arm was wrapped around Julian's waist, pinning his wrists and keeping him still, and they were pressed tightly together. If Alison saw even one toe phased through the wall, they would be in for the dressing down of a deathtime.
Julian's eyes were shining with mischief behind the Captain's palm, his quiet puffs tickling his fingers where they landed.
He drew his hand back from Julian's face as the footsteps receded.
"That was close," murmured Julian.
"I almost thought she had us there," said the Captain.
"Did you see her face when–" Julian broke off into infectious laughter, and the Captain couldn't help but grin back.
A door slammed in the corridor, and the Captain jumped and twirled round, waving his swagger stick, and tripped straight over his own feet. Only Julian's quick reflexes, catching him by the arm and pulling him back in, stopped him from falling straight into Alison's line of sight. Which obviously set Julian off into more helpless, smothered giggles, followed by one very loud snort.
Julian clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. They both froze, listening intently for Alison.
From the bedroom came the unmistakable noise of the wardrobe door falling off again, followed by a muffled "for fuck's sake."
Julian relaxed, and the Captain wheezed, holding his moustache and entirely failing to hide his mirth.
The bedroom door opened, and Julian shushed him, his eyes crinkling, a finger on his lips.
They held their breaths as Alison stomped past, the stairs squeaking as she made her way back down, probably leaving floury footprints as she went. He bit his lip to stop a laugh escaping.
Julian was staring at him, the hint of a grin still pulling at his mouth, the finger still hovering over his parted lips.
He became suddenly, incredibly aware of Julian's warm chest, flush against his own.
"The coast is clear," murmured the Captain over the pounding of their heartbeats. "We can leave."
Their limbs were still tangled together; a hard thigh pressed between his legs.
"Yeah," breathed Julian, the word ruffling the Captain's hair and sending a shiver down his spine. "We could."
The Captain swallowed, the sound unbearably loud in the whisper quiet.
Neither of them made a move to leave.
Julian licked his lips, and the Captain's breath hitched, catching in his throat. His heart stuttered in his chest and a thousand butterflies staged a coup in his stomach.
"Or…" Julian ducked his head to whisper directly into the Captain's ear. "We could stay here."
The words caressed his skin.
He twitched involuntarily in his trousers, and Julian pushed his thigh closer still. The whole hot length of Julian's body crowded around him.
He stiffened and cleared his throat, suddenly incapable of creating any sort of coherent sentence. He didn't know what to do with his hands. They were hanging down by his sides but–
Julian nibbled lightly at his earlobe, and a squeak escaped from his traitorous mouth.
Julian pulled back, catching his eyes, and brought his hands up to the Captain's Sam Browne, hovering just above the buckle.
"Can I?" he asked.
The Captain, hesitantly, nodded.
The spell broke, and they were tearing at each other's clothes – a frenetic fight to unbuckle belts and untie ties.
Then came the battle of the braces and buttons, which resulted in a few casualties pinging through the wall and a quickly dismissed thought about disrespect towards the uniform.
Finally, they were as undressed as they could manage, given the circumstances.
Their clothes were still on, but not one item was worn to regulation; their shirts were hanging open, their ties were looped loosely around their necks, and the Captain's trousers and briefs were unbuttoned and pushed part-way down his thighs.
Julian had hair around his nipples. He had hair across his chest. He had a little trail of hair leading down from his belly button to a thicker thatch, and Good Lord, he was standing to attention. Which shouldn't have been a surprise, given his own state.
He ran his hands across Julian's chest, exploring. Hairs tangled gently around his fingertips as he traced spirals around his nipples until they hardened. His palms ghosted down Julian's sides to the small of his back, and Julian shivered deliciously.
Julian grabbed him by the waist and pulled their bodies together, blocking his view but creating the most wonderful warm friction.
He closed his eyes and buried his face in Julian's neck, inhaling deeply and grounding himself for a moment.
"Everything ok?" asked Julian.
He nodded, mute, into Julian's neck, and then, as if to prove how ok everything was, he slid his hands downwards to grip Julian's behind.
Julian mirrored his movements, grinding gently against him and sending a deep ache straight through his body.
One of Julian's hands left his backside and made its way between them, fumbling its way around him, encircling him, and he was struck with the intense desire to see everything. He pulled his face out of its hiding place, not quite brave enough to break the contact between his forehead and Julian's shoulder, but enough to give himself an excellent view of his cock appearing and disappearing from Julian's fist like an obscene magic trick – getting slicker and slicker the longer he watched.
Julian must have been watching too. "Gorgeous, isn't it?" he said. And then, "Fuck, I want to taste you."
His stomach swooped.
And then Julian was on his knees, his hot mouth replacing his fist, and the Captain's grip on Julian's shoulders was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.
His thighs shook from the effort of suppressing the wild, animalistic urges of his hips, but he couldn't stop a tiny, broken gasp every time Julian moved.
Julian, who was on his knees for him. Julian, who had the Captain in his mouth. Julian, who was touching himself.
He barely had the presence of mind to tug at Julian's hair, before his head dropped back and his hips bucked, every part of him tense as his stifled panting became ragged, shuddering exhalations.
Julian's rhythm barely faltered, even as the Captain's mind turned into wet scrambled eggs.
His jelly legs trembled in the aftermath of another soft stroke.
He hauled Julian up and curled a hand through his hair in a messy kiss. He was draped over Julian's front like an apron, a salty tang on his lips and Julian insistently pressing into his belly.
He pulled away so that they were forehead to forehead, both breathing hard, and brushed a sweaty lock of hair out of his eye.
Julian's hand had moved down onto himself, which, now that he was in reach, was unacceptable.
He tentatively replaced Julian's hand with his own, fascinated by the differences between their bodies, by the way Julian let out a groan at his touch, but the angle was awkward and he didn't know how slow or how fast or how tight, and he was desperate for clear orders.
"I don't know–" he managed to say, frustrated. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what you like. I don't know how to make you feel good.
Julian placed his hand around the Captain's, guiding him in a slow, steady rhythm, but his wrist was still uncomfortably crooked.
"Hang on, I've got a better idea," said Julian, pulling away to turn around and shuffle back into the Captain's arms. "Just pretend you're having a wank."
Although he couldn't see what he was doing, everything became much easier. Muscle memory kicked in, and the way Julian was pressed to his chest made his reactions obvious. His head had tilted back to rest on the Captain's shoulder, and his low breathy moans were loud in his ear.
Little pinches to his hard nipples made him twitch; a hand ghosting down his sides caused a shiver; a twist around the tip of his cock and a thumb spreading the slick made him buck and writhe; but it was the gentle squeeze of his balls combined with the teeth on his earlobe that had him come entirely undone.
"Wasn't sure you had it in you," said Julian, once he'd got his breathing under control.
And didn't that supply all sorts of sordid images in the Captain's mind.
He swallowed. "Maybe next time," he said.
Julian laughed, clearly delighted. "I've created a monster."
He grinned into the crook of Julian's neck, still giddy with it all, and squeezed him into his chest, happy to relish in a new experience before their clothes righted themselves and everything went back to the way it always was.