After Dinner


Just a whisper, not to wake their sleeping companion, Jeremy murmured, "You've no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

Pushing himself up onto one elbow on the bed, James wondered if the smile on his face looked as sappy as it felt.

He watched Jeremy, one arm curled under his head, the other draped posessively around Richard who lay on his side between them, breathing steadily, snoring softly. Sated. Knackered. They'd done that - he and Jeremy - they'd finally managed to focus all that boundless energy on something without four tyres and an engine. They'd made him moan and yell and even scream at one particularly memorable point.

James felt ridiculously proud as Jeremy lowered his face into Richard's sweat-damp hair, closed his eyes, breathed him in. He wasn't sure there was a more beautiful or strangely erotic sight to be seen. Sappy. Definitely.

"How long?"

"Since I first laid eyes on him."

How many years ago was that?

The majority of James' mind was still frozen in time, around two or three hours back, still sitting at the candlelit table, staring open-mouthed at Jeremy, still marvelling at the man's audacity as he took advantage of Richard's nearness and kissed him. Actually kissed him. Not a trick of the candlelight, not an illusion of James' warped imagination.

Years. Was the same true for Richard?

"What about you?"

"What?" He blinked, saw the thin smile on Jeremy's face. "Erm...." What about him? It wasn't that this had never crossed his mind. He'd teased Richard on occasions, tested the water and come up against a great big red 'No Swimming' sign. But tonight Jeremy had waded in with his size 12s.

He'd watched them, uncertain if they even knew what they were doing, seeing the inevitable barriers between them melt away in the warm glow of candlelight and alcohol. Nudges escalating into small touches, the innate chemistry notching the tension up, until after the nth glass of wine and the second glass of port, Jeremy - arms crossed on the smooth table - had leaned over, tucked his head down, and touched his lips to Richard's.

The thud of James' heart, the throbbing of his dick, had been the only proof he'd had that time was still passing. He hadn't quite believed what he was seeing. He wasn't sure what he'd expected Richard to do, but to punch Jeremy's lights out was quite high up on his guess list. To tilt his head, open his mouth, melt under Jeremy who turned the kiss from purfunctory contact into proprietary posession, hadn't even featured on it.

That possession was still there now; Jeremy's embrace - however loose - was screaming it.

"You beat me to it." His ironic smile reflected Jeremy's sated, contented expression - as if someone had finally given him everything he'd ever wished for. "I didn't think he liked me."

He'd said that to Richard earlier on. As the two of them had rounded the table heading for the door, the stairs, Jeremy's bedroom, Richard had beckoned to him, expression all expectation and blurred arousal.

"I thought you didn't like me."

Richard had laughed - that wonderful, infectious giggle - and replied, "Don't be draft."

"Don't be daft," Jeremy echoed, voice still a whisper.

James reached out, hesitating, still uncertain about his welcome here. Participant or spectator? Jeremy caught his hand, threaded their fingers, squeezed once before letting go.

"You and him...?"

"Ah. Now that's a complicated one." James saw him find Richard's hand, limp in sleep and tightened his arm over him. "Don't know if I really understand it myself. Just something about being the man who has everything. Family, friends, fame and fortune. And then along comes someone who sets sparks off inside you, someone you have such great chemistry with if they were the opposite sex it would be making the front page of Nuts. You both pretend it isn't happening, isn't there, isn't real. For years. And it's okay because it isn't happening and it isn't real. But it's there, all the time. You can't stay away from it, keep coming back to it until one night there's wine and candles and you're so far from home, from real life, you decide to steal something you shouldn't have."

Amazed, James stared into the eyes that held his, challenging and daring.

This really was impossible. This couldn't happen. At least not out there in the real world. Tonight was a dream, a thought, a song; real life excluded from the oval of candlelight by the darkness beyond it.

Tomorrow when the sun rose on the beautiful scene that surrounded them, the warm, almost magical feeling of this - something like Christmas - would probably linger, would stave off the cold as they stood at the windows sipping coffee and sat around the same table they had tonight eating a hearty breakfast.

But later, when they climbed into the taxi that would take them to the airport, when the german technician arrived to take the winning vehicle back home at a more sedate pace than Jeremy had driven it here at, then this could never have happened.

He could imagine the headlines. They probably weren't important enough to make the Guardian or the Independent, but possibly they would make front page of the Daily Mail, and the Sun and the Mirror would have a field day. The headline would be something utterly unimaginative, like

BBC Presenters In Three-Way Homo-Romp

probably with some crude, obvious jokes about dip sticks and exhaust pipes thrown in for good measure.

James thought he should at least feel some slight shame over what they'd done, some embarrassment in being a part of an act the tabloids would flock with glee to plaster all over their million-copies-a-day-sold excuses for newspapers.

He didn't.

This hadn't so much been festering beneath the surface as simmering gently just above it, waiting for opportunity, waiting for Richard and Jeremy's need to outweigh their judgement and tip and balance between fantasy and reality, dragging James with it.

So much of what they did already crossed the line anyway. The cars they drove, the people they met, these insane races across Europe in various forms of transport - he and Richard the foils for Jeremy's lunatic, petrol-fuelled ideas.

Could he really fool himself into thinking that tonight was just an extension of that?

He rolled onto his back and dropped his head to the pillow, gazing at the grey dark of the ceiling before glancing back. Jeremy was still watching him steadily, maybe waiting for a reaction, maybe not.

"And what now?" James asked. "Now that you've stolen this thing you can't have?"

The smile faded. "In the morning, I have to give it back."

~

Morning came.

That his two companions had managed to get out of bed, that Jeremy at least had showered and dressed in the room - possibly with Richard keeping him company - without waking him, didn't surprise James in the least.

He found them in the otherwise deserted dining room, standing at the window overlooking the sleepy town. They were standing close, Richard nursing a mug of coffee in one hand, Jeremy behind him, one hand on the wall, the other... James was almost beside them before he could see Jeremy's free hand linked with Richard's in a loose embrace.

They weren't speaking, and as soon as James moved to stand beside them they let go.

Anything they might have found to say to each other was lost as the two young waitresses from the previous night brought their continental breakfasts to the table. No candles now, no wine to ease the considerable tension. Just the chilly light from the tall windows and the steaming heat of the never-ending supply of rich, dark coffee.

James finally cornered Richard alone outside as Jeremy paid the bill before the taxi took them to the airport. The German technician had already left with the triumphant car Jeremy had driven here. He didn't have long before real life broken through the faux barriers their imaginations had built up around them. Maybe time for one question. And it sounded rubbish even to his own ears.

"Are we okay?"

Richard looked up at him and there was something more natural, less forced than usual about his easy grin; there was real happiness behind it. He nodded. "We're good," he told James. "Better than good." And for a mad moment James thought Richard was going to rise on tip-toe to kiss him.

But he didn't. Instead he turned, and the illusional walls between them and the rest of the world started to crumble soundlessly as he called across to Jeremy to ask if everything was settled.

"They wanted to charge us extra for parking the car in the underground garage," he told them, approaching as he carefully read the receipt in his hands.

"Cheek of it!" Richard lowered his voice. "In fact, they should have knocked some money off seeing as we only used one room."

Jeremy grinned at him. "Not that we'd want to explain that to the producer."

"Er, no. What time's the flight?"

"Eleven. We need to get going."

The walls collapsed.