One Candlelit Evening, Part I


With the cameras and sound crew gone, the plastic fish with them, Jeremy packed Richard and James off into the lounge while he set the table proper (leaving the candles in place) and set about cooking something real.

After a couple of minutes in the kitchen he fetched out two glasses of red wine and handed them to the men sitting on the sofa of his holiday retreat. Then he vanished once again.

They sipped the Merlot in silence for a couple of minutes, neither apparently feeling the need to fill the silence, and finally Richard rose and went to the window where the still floodlit driveway was the podium for the three cars they'd been road testing.

He glanced up when James came to stand just behind his shoulder and turning back to the cars, said, "I love that Porsche, I'm going to have one."

"You've got one."

"No, a new one."

He could imagine the expression on James' face. "That's a lot of supermarket openings."

Richard hesitated, but he guessed as the deal was signed it couldn't do any harm. "They're giving me my own show."

"Who are?"

"ITV. Six weeks at the start of next year - five till six every weekday."

James' chuckle wasn't precisely the reaction he'd been expecting - although it would be Jeremy who fell about laughing.

"Live, daytime television. Congratulations."

The sarcasm was predictable, but the warmth underlining it, the hint of genuine pleasure in James' tone, that wasn't. Richard turned his head, sipping the red wine, unable to hide his smile.

"Why aren't you laughing your arse off?"

"I'll leave that to Jeremy. So, what world-troubling subjects will you be covering? The difficulty in finding a good NHS dentist?" A grin crept across James' face. "The problems that lie in wait for the unsuspecting web page owner?"

Eyes widening, Richard lowered his glass.

"Which types of cardboard taste the best?"

He struck, strong fingers lunging into James' ribs, tickling just where he knew to because of an incident a long time and a lot of good Scotch Malt ago.

James shrieked like a girl, stepping back, trying to get away because defence while trying not to spill red wine on Jeremy's beige carpet was utterly impossible.

"Stop it!"

Richard grinned, his own glass going down to the windowsill so he could employ both hands. James twisted and doubled over, trying in vain to make the spot Richard was going for inaccessible. The backs of his knees hit the arm of the over-stuffed leather chair and he almost lost his balance.

Would have done if Richard's arm hadn't slipped around his waist, balancing him, stopping him from falling and miraculously keeping the Merlot in the glass.

He was gasping when he raised his head; cheeks flushed, eyes watering from his helpless laughter. He put his glass down next to Richard's where it would be safe, his own hands going of their own accord to Richard's sides in retaliation.

But something stopped time just at the moment his fingers were set to seek revenge. Richard held his position, one hand curved around James' ribcage, the other at the small of his back, mouth half-smiling. A moment ticked past. James took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. And Richard asked, "What?"

The answer was one he'd been waiting to hear almost since the night of the Scotch Malt.

"I was just considering kissing you."

"What's stopping you?"

"You won't punch me?"

Richard slowly shook his head, smile fading, lips parting.

James used the already perfect positioning of his hands to draw Richard across the foot of carpet remaining between them before claiming his mouth in a kiss much more demanding than Richard had imagined it would be.

That initial, awkward clash of teeth was soon forgotten as their differences in height and the angle of their heads was worked out.

The first he knew of Jeremy's presence was the clattering of metal against the carpet gripper in the doorway and a series of muttering apologies littered with profanities.

He'd gone by the time the two men had broken apart. James rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh and Richard mumbled, "Oh, for fuck's sake...."

"Want me to...?"

"No, I'll go." He hesitated for a second, making sure James knew he was coming right back before following the audible trail of swearing along the corridor and through into the bright yellow kitchen.

Jeremy was standing in front of the over wiping a metal spatula - presumably what had hit the floor - on a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. He looked across at Richard, eyes wide.

"I'm sorry. I didn't...."

Stepping over the threshold, Richard approached him with confidence and reached up to stroke one hand down his bicep.

"Jez...."

At first, Jeremy could barely look at him. Then when he did he looked lost, stranded somewhere he'd never been before.

"Don't let me down now," Richard murmured softly. It was all he needed to say.

At the first touch of their lips the spatula dropped to the Lino flooring and Jeremy's arms scooped him up, lifting him bodily onto the work surface while his tongue reached deep into Richard's mouth.

Richard's skull cracked loudly against the wooden door of a cupboard behind him before Jeremy's hand came up in silent apology to cradle the back of his head, other arm hugging him, leaning into the brutal, heated kiss.

One hand on Jeremy's shoulder, the other clawed in the greying curls of hair, Richard gave as good as he got until the desperation eased off and he could catch his breath.

"Why?" Jeremy muttered, still not looking him in the eyes, "Why now?"

"James started it."

"You have to be sure." There was something akin to pain in his voice and for the first time Richard realised how much this must mean to him, how much hurt he was opening himself up to.

But the only answer he could think of was the one he'd always had in the back of his mind. "God, Jez, how long has this been festering?"

"I prefer the word, 'smouldering'." Both men looked across to see James standing in the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against the wooden frame, arms and ankles crossed, a wicked smile on his face the likes of which Richard had never seen there.

"You would."

Pushing away from the doorframe, unfolding his arms, James approached them and slid one arm around Richard's shoulders, one hand down to cup the distinct bulge at his crotch.

Unable to keep the groan from his throat, Richard pressed into the warm hand, eyes closing for a moment. When he opened them again, James looked completely different to him. No longer his safe friend suddenly he was the epitome of eroticism and sexy as hell.

"Do we get starters?" he asked once he was confident his voice wouldn't embarrass him, one hand still on Jeremy's shoulder, the other reaching for James'.

A slow, quite evil smile crossed James' face. "No. You're desert."

Aroused, hungry for more than food, Richard grumbled loudly, but he saw the idea pass over Jeremy's features and gave voice and words to his frustration.

It only set their minds solidly.

Jeremy stepped back, let his hands drop, and realising he didn't stand a chance, Richard slid off the work surface, swiping the open, half-empty bottle of red wine as he did.

"James, take him away or we'll be eating charcoal."

James looked him up and down - predatory, so unlike the man Richard had thought he'd known and understood it sent a shiver straight down his spine into his dick.

"What do you want me to do with him?"

Jeremy answered jokingly, "If you need me to tell you that, this could be over before it begins."