Implicit II


John's phone call came around five that evening.

"Jeremy Clarkson called."

Never mind that John Simm was in my flat, comfortable enough there to answer my phone. That's another story, and it's not entirely innocent. Clarkson's call, though, I assumed wasn't at all innocent. John's voice, though, wasn't teasing and his next words sent a chill for me.

"Richard Hammond's been injured in an accident. Clarkson said… he wanted you to hear it from one of them. It's all over the news, Phil. It doesn't look good."


The next few weeks I lived in a holding pattern, going from day to day, watching the news whenever I could. I wanted to know from hour to hour how he was doing but I couldn't find out. Jeremy and James had their mobile phones off and even if I could have got through to them, I wasn't sure what I'd say then. I wanted to go to the hospital but I'd never met his wife and I was in serious doubt that he'd have mentioned me. Couldn't exactly introduce myself as the man who'd slept with her husband and his two male lovers.

So I waited. And the morning I watched the news pictures of Richard being airlifted to the BUPA hospital in Bristol I felt like celebrating. I finally called Jeremy, thanked him for his call on that day, and he told me when to visit, what to say to get me in. So I went, late one Wednesday night, and sat next to Richard's bed watching him sleep. I didn't leave a card but I sent one for him to Jeremy and I found out later that Richard had no memory problems, remembered me in every detail, wished I'd woken him and said hi. What I didn't know was how much else had changed, how much had been lost, by James and Jeremy especially. So I didn't visit again, distanced myself from them, lost in work, lost in John until filming finished and I moved back to London.


Who was I to them anyway? They were in love with one another and everything they'd had had been shattered by something that the whole world had shared in. Richard chose when he stepped back into the public eye and then he was everywhere. I'd hesitate in front of newspaper stands, smiling to myself at the ironic photos on the front pages, a smile that would fade when I thought of the other two, the two behind the scenes, confined for a time to the place I'd been for months. On the really good days, John was there to yank me away and distract me from the reports.

Amusingly, it was Valentines Day, February 14th, when I heard from them again. John and I had hit the publicity circuit for the new series and he was staying with me. He'd got back from some day time television chat show before I'd returned from a radio interview and by the time I stepped through my front door, wanting nothing more than a bottle of red wine, a moderately violent movie and a hard shag, there were a dozen red roses for me in water in the sink. John's not the hearts and flowers type - even if he was, it's not where we are - but he never misses a chance for teasing. When he appeared in the kitchen doorway, there was a small white envelope between his index and middle finger.

"They arrived this afternoon."

There was a card in the envelope, an old Bentley on the front of it, and inside was handwritten,

'Thought you might need another lap after the last time. Wednesday at nine? R, J, J'

The next thing I know, John's got his arms around my neck and I've got tears in my eyes. Hadn't realised how upset I'd been until the barriers finally came down. The idea of having Richard in my arms was more compelling than I was willing to admit to myself, never mind John. That night I spent with them was supposed to be no strings, no emotional attachment, and I couldn't help wondering if they'd ever made the same mistake or whether they'd known from the start what they were getting into. I don't know if I'd felt the same way if it hadn't been for the accident. Again, they were probably asking themselves the same questions. Were they the same now? Or had everything changed?

I was going to find out.

"Do you mind?" I asked John over the remnants of a Shiraz, the last spoon of a very alcoholic tiramisu - the end of a wonderful Italian meal that he'd cooked - and the final credits of Tarrentino's road movie / vampire masterpiece, 'From Dusk Till Dawn'.

He laughed, and I'd thought he would but it was good to hear it. "I want all the details."

I'd never told him what had happened that night after I'd filmed Top Gear, but Clarkson's call and my own reaction after Richard's accident had made it obvious that we hadn't just been to the pub. And he knows me very well by now. He and I got together over a curry and a few beers up in Manchester one night while we were filming the first series. One moment we were sitting on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, watching some terrible porn film on Sky, the next we were all over each other; obscene kisses and John climbing into my lap, getting his hands down my jeans and sending my pulse sky high. He's great. We're good friends, great friends, and great shags.

But that night with Richard, James and Jeremy was just… mind blowing. I was honoured to be invited into what was obviously something incredibly powerful, incredibly special. And spending the night wrapped in them, like being somewhere out of time, out of the real world, away from all the stresses and problems of life. Away from everything, surrounded by them.

Not love, not on my part. That's not it - that's for them not for me. For me it's… something precious. Even more so now, however right or wrong that may be. I'll never forget how Richard felt when he plastered himself to me in Jeremy's hallway, or how James tasted when he leaned over Richard's shoulder to kiss me. Even Jeremy himself, resetting the balance when the other two were sated.

I had no idea if they'd taken anyone else into that triangle, I didn't want to know. I just wanted them again, just for one night.

"They're very private." I didn't need to tell John, but I've been trusted with something that was, at least, very fragile. I'm not going to betray them.

He reached between us, linked his fingers through mine. "You see stories of us on the front pages of the tabloids?"

Point taken. John can keep a secret. Better almost than the Top Gear triumvirate; when John and I look at one another on set, we don't send sparks crackling across the space.


I knew they were filming on Wednesday at Dunsfold. I drove down there. The producer - Andy - recognised me immediately and I watched some of the filming from the back of the studio, staying out of sight when the audience was mulling around. Andy pointed me in the direction of the green room and I waited in there once Kristin Scott-Thomas had left after her lap.

James was the first through the door once the audience had cleared out, already smiling like a man who'd just had the best fun of his life, it erupted into a laugh and a grin when he saw me, but he didn't approach. He left that to Richard, a couple of steps behind him, who threw himself at me the moment he laid eyes on me. Arms around neck, I put mine around his face and lifted him off the floor. I couldn't remember ever being happier to see anyone. Alive. Real. And I held him until I couldn't lift him for another moment, put him down and still I couldn't let go.

"Back to my place?" I hadn't even realised Jeremy was there until he spoke, and I saw James nod as I looked up. I let go of Richard, and he let go of me.

"Get that a lot?" He nodded sheepishly and suddenly I wanted to ask if I was the only one. "Are you okay?" Then he smiled and reassured me he was absolutely fine. Except for a liking for celery, and people were making way too much of that. I can't blame anyone for making too much of anything. I don't think he quite gets what the rest of the world's been through, but he's been through enough himself, he doesn't have to understand.


This time it was very, very different. A whisky was pressed into my hand as I stepped into Jeremy's hallway and again I thanked him for the phone call.

"I thought you'd probably already heard on the news."

"I hadn't, and even if I had…." His call had given me something I hadn't even thought about at the time; permission. To call him, to get news on Richard's condition first hand. I hadn't used that permission, not in the first couple of weeks while he was still up in Leeds. But while he'd been there I'd had Sky News, and that was something even if it wasn't enough. In Bristol there'd been nothing, and I'd called Jeremy.

For a moment I was lost, standing in Clarkson's hallway. Then Richard was there, James was there, and Jeremy's tongue was down my throat. The last time, he didn't touch me until much later, this time he needed me apparently. I have no idea where that need had come from and he wasn't about to tell me.

A warm hand slid into mine as Jeremy took several steps back, and I looked at Richard's beaming smile. He led me upstairs, as comfortable in that house as I imagined he was in his own. It was good to see that they were still together, after the hell they'd been through. Good to know that behind the cameras and the media glare the three of them were still in love. Good too to get my arms around Richard and my tongue into his mouth. They say sex reaffirms life. By the time I was lying on the bed with him buried inside me, James' hands all over us, touching us, kissing us, I was completely reassured that Richard really was absolutely okay.

Despite getting the first kiss in, like the last time Jeremy stayed apart from us, watching but not touching himself. I caught his gaze a couple of times over Richard's shoulder, and behind the heat and the desire, I could see the haunting memories, could see him watching Richard and convincing himself, over and over, that their lover was still with them. For a fleeting moment I felt like I was somewhere I didn't belong. Then James got his head between us, his teeth fastened over my nipple, and I remembered I'd been invited.

Richard's definitely the passion here. And Jeremy, strangely, is the calm. He's the sensible one in the relationship. James… James is the glue. But he's not sensible glue, like prit-stick, he's mad glue, like the stuff they use in field hospitals to hold soldiers together. Richard's accident shattered him and he's stuck all his pieces back together with resolute determination. With Richard sated, I crawled down James and sucked him, looking up and seeing the two men kissing, lost in each other. I have a great self-image, luckily. I did manage to grab James' attention when he emptied himself down my throat.

James and Richard curled into the same post-coital position as they did last time and it made me smile. Sitting up, I held out my hand and with a smirk, Jeremy took it, coming over to sit on the bed next to me. I didn't hesitate. I kissed him. And when I ended it, he leaned in and whispered two little words into my ear.

Now that had been what I'd had in mind the last time I was here…!


I didn't necessarily mean to stay the night, but we fell asleep and when I woke up it was light. Jeremy made coffee, James and Richard made breakfast. I read Jeremy's morning papers and had a smoke out front. While I was out there, I texted John and he sent a simple, ':-) later', back in reply.

Richard caught me. "Someone at home?"

I told him. They'd trusted me with something that could destroy them. John and I… at best we'd make titillating front-page news in The Sun or The Mirror; no one would really give a rat's ass. He grinned at me.

"Didn't think you were as tight as James said you were."

Filthy bastard. Snagging one arm around his waist I got him up against the wall of the house - gently - and bit his bottom lip just lightly before sliding my tongue over his. He tasted of coffee and strawberry jam.

"Can't leave you alone with him for a second," James' wry comment reached my ears through all the blood in my head rushing south. I wasn't sure which of us he was speaking to; still I kept my arm around Richard for another second or two.

All three of them saw me off this time, James and Richard standing with their arms comfortably around one another's waists like it was the most natural thing in the world. I shook Jeremy's hand and with a grin he told me it was an open invitation. I think he knew as well as I did that however much I thought this would be the end of it, one day soon I'd want them again. They're an addiction and I understand that just as well as they do.


John didn't get every detail, but he got a few choice highlights. He added a few of his own too.