Rally First


"What's this new BMW?"

James sat forward. "It's rubbish."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've driven it."

"When?"

"Thursday."

"Where?"

"A friend of mine's got one."

"How can a friend of your have one? They're not even available."

"They are available, for your information, and he was second on the waiting list. He took delivery of it last week, invited me up to take it for a test drive and I did and it's rubbish."

They might have carried on like that all afternoon, but Richard noisily dropping his clipboard onto the table halted them in mid-bicker.

Not that his reaction wasn't unexpected, under the circumstances; Jeremy and James looked guilty as hell when they turned to look at him.

"What is wrong with this schedule?" Despite the question being obviously rhetorical, Jeremy still opened his mouth to reply. "Don't ask me what I'm talking about."

"Sorry."

The apology was apparently accepted. Richard sat forward, hands flat on the table, looking from one man to the other. "So far you're drowned me, electrocuted me, frozen me... drugged me and got me incredibly drunk, all in the name of entertainment! Castle Coombe was an accident. Accidents happen. I'm fine."

Jeremy found himself staring at Richard's hands, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to reach out and feel the warmth of them under his own. It had been too long. Way too long. Six weeks. It had been okay when he hadn't known what it was like to have that energy and passion in his arms. Now, it was torture. He mentally shook himself, tore his eyes upwards.

"Give me the rally drive." There was something in his voice that was more demanding than if he'd shouted the words.

"No." James' instant and immediate reaction surprised even Jeremy.

"Why not?"

James was staring at his own hands, couldn't look directly at Richard's furious expression. "It's a dangerous course."

"Oh, please! 'Motorsport is dangerous'," he quoted the warnings they were all too familiar with. "But it's no more dangerous than getting on the M4 to Dunsfold Park every Wednesday morning!"

"Your leg...."

"My leg's fine. I'm. Fine." Jeremy finally met the bushbaby eyes now pleading silently with him and instantly caved. Richard's uncanny ability to get his own way without a fight made more sense now. "Give me the fucking rally drive," Richard asked softly. And Jeremy nodded. "Thank you."

James' head snapped up. "No!"

"What happened as Castle Coombe was an accident," Jeremy parroted Richard's words, "and it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been."

"Exactly! So instead he gets to crash a rally car into a forest?"

"Hey! Who hit who?!"

"You keep telling me it wasn't my fault!"

"It wasn't mine, either!"

Jeremy raised a placating hand, silencing them. "James, you're going to race a concept car on Swiss mountain roads, I'm taking part in the madcap Porsche racing… what we do is inherently dangerous." Something touched the palm of his upturned hand and he looked up to catch Richard stroking the knuckle of his index finger across it. "Besides, if we don't keep him satisfied, someone else will."

James' lips finally turned into a smile. "Can't risk that."

Richard himself broke the heavy silence. "Where's the rally course?"

"South Wales."

His private smile was for both men. "Sounds like an overnight stay to me. Why don't you come with me?"

James and Jeremy looked at each other as if some car company had just offered them an Aston each in return for a favourable review. This was worse than bribery. If they did, it would be the first time they'd gone somewhere with the intention to sleep together. The times before had been stolen opportunities, the three of them taking advantage of being abroad, being on their own with no closer company than a crew who usually preferred the entertainment offered by whatever city or town they happened to be staying in.

This would be different. This would be deliberate.

"How would we explain that to the producer?" James' voice was devoid of sarcasm, full of something akin to hope.

Richard spread his arms. "Obvious. Tell the truth. Concern for your fellow presenter, his first real challenge since the accident. She'll love that."

~

They stood under a tree, sheltering from the spitting rain. They were cold and wet. All they'd done for the last three hours was stand there or walk about a bit through the trees, staying away from the course just in case the madman in the Toyota came sliding around the corner.

They'd should have been the two most miserable men in Wales right about then.

But James and Jeremy were happy; alternatively chatting away quietly between themselves and standing side by side in a companionable silence, shoulders maybe an inch closer together than they perhaps should have been.

A couple of feet from where they were currently standing, the Toyota Rally car side-slide into view around the tight right-hander, tyres kicking up dirt as they somehow found grip in the wet mud and the car roared passed them, windscreen wipers flying back and forth, the driver wrestling against the tracks already laid down, fighting to force the car to go where he wanted it to.

At the end of the straight in front of them, another tight right-hand corner turned onto a steep downwards slope. The car took the corner, back wheels clawing into the dirt, losing it for a moment, sending the Toyota into a nosedive the driver quickly adjusted for and a second later vanished it from view.

James and Jeremy doubled over with laughter. "What a dog's dinner!"

"Probably can't see where he's going over the steering wheel and the bonnet."

The usual banter, the usual jokes. Like nothing had changed over the last couple of months. Still, there was an intimacy to it all, a feeling that wasn't there before. Jeremy knew enough to be wary of it, to make sure no one else saw it. But that hadn't stopped him or James coming out here just to be with Richard today. And tonight.

Richard; who - on his first circuit out - had yelped with joy as he'd driven passed them.

His sheer happiness at being out here was contagious. The film crew, despite being as wet and cold as the two of them, all appeared to be enjoying themselves. The co-driver, an experienced Rally driver, seemed to be having as much fun as Richard himself.

This was a good day.

One of the production team offered them mugs of coffee which they accepted thankfully, wrapping gloved hands around the hot ceramic.

"It's raining harder, isn't it?"

Jeremy nodded. "It's about to pour down."

"We're going to get soaking wet."

"We always get soaking wet, have you noticed?"

"The Isle of Man was nice."

"It was, last August, but as we're going back next month and I think we might be in for more rain."

James sipped gingerly at the hot coffee. "We'll be all wet and he'll be all warm and dry."

Jeremy blew across the steaming surface of his drink. "There's a thought," he murmured absently, his mind already supplying ways and means of exchanging rainwater.

"You're not allowed to grab him the moment he gets out of the car."

"That would look a little odd, I'll admit." He thought about it while he watched the rain fall harder, heard it in the leaves high above them. "What about later?"

"Later's good. Later works for me."

The skies opened.

"This is insane," James pointed out as his coffee was quickly watered down. "He's in the car. We should at least be in the trailer."

"There's rain running down my back."

"Exactly."

Jeremy drank his now cooler drink. "Why are we still standing here?"

James sighed, lifted his own mug to his lips and replied, "Love."

"Oh, God." Jeremy's words were soft murmurs.

"Deny it."

"I can't."

James' clothes were plastered to him when he finally suggested, "We can still love him from the trailer."


The aroma of hot coffee - no matter how bad the coffee actually was - drew them inside from a hundred yards. The trailer was empty when they stepped inside; whoever had made the coffee was still out delivering it to the various members of the crew.

Everyone here just to film Richard having the time of his life out on the Rally course. Jeremy wondered how long it would be before rain stopped his play. He wondered too if James was feeling the same anxiety he was, if another reason they'd been standing out there all this time was that they were unconsciously listening out for the sound of a car colliding heavily with a tree truck.

Jeremy refilled their mugs and they dropped onto the seating under the window.

"You told him about what I said to you," James started after a couple of minutes watching the rain beating against the glass.

"Sorry."

The easy apology probably surprised him but he shrugged it off. "He came to see me, told me you'd had him over for dinner. So to speak." Jeremy almost spat out his coffee, face breaking into a wide grin. James couldn't help but mirror his expression. "Sorry."

"He came over…."

"He told me."

"He wanted…."

"He told me that too."

"What did you say to him?"

"I told him we couldn't give him up."

They were the only words spoken between them until the crew started to run into view carrying various boxes of camera and sound equipment.

Both of them expected Richard and his co-driver to be close behind, but even when the first of the small convoy actually left the site, they still weren't back.

Jeremy collared the director who looked cold, wet and hassled, but was able to tell him that Richard was still out on the course. There was a muttered, "Madman," at the end of the short and sweet explanation which made him smile. Then the director wandered off and Jeremy went to knock on the window of the trailer - waking James from whatever stupor he'd fallen into.

He opened the door. "Have you got a race suit here?"

"In the other trailer, if they haven't left."

"No. Get changed."

Suited up, James and Jeremy went back down to the course start. They were just in time. Richard and his co-driver were just pulling up.

Richard's face was a picture of absolute happiness. His grin when he saw them could have lit Wales. "Coming for a drive?"

They approached the car, Jeremy having a word with the co-driver who seemed more than happy to leave the expensive car in Richard's apparently more than capable hands. So James took his place and Jeremy had to step back to avoid the dirt the car kicked up as Richard almost literally took off again.

~

Jeremy had arranged the hotel. The crew had returned to London, assuming the three presenters had all gone home too.

It was a discreet, relatively private place. A manor house. Five star, quiet luxury; king size beds, Jacuzzi bathtubs, twenty-four hour room service.

They checked in, still talking about their respective laps of the rally course where they'd spent the day until they were using the headlights, and agreed that top of the list of requirements was a shower followed by beer.

Jeremy was first into the bar. The driving had blown out some of the tension he and James had been unwittingly building during their wet wait in the wings and the first beer went down all too easily while he waited for his companions.

James was next down - looking surprisingly dashing in a dark green shirt over black jeans. He took the seat opposite Jeremy at the table in the corner of the quiet bar, drank half of his beer and sat back. "Sorry about earlier - all the heavy stuff."

"It was bound to get heavy sooner or later."

He watched James' head turn, attention caught by something. "Not tonight. Tonight I want to eat him alive."

Following his gaze, Jeremy groaned softly. "How are we ever supposed to behave?"

"Is that silk?"

"Why does he always look so damn good in white?"

Apparently blissfully unaware of the effect he was having, Richard put two fresh beers onto the table and dropped into the third chair with his own.

"Thanks for today," he told them both, locking eyes with James before Jeremy.

"Hey, it was fun. It's good to enjoy it once in a while without having to talk to a camera."

General agreement launched them into a discussion on the highs and lows of being a television presenter. An hour later they were talking cars, which they liked and which they'd loathed. An hour after that they'd moved on to the more personal subject of which cars they'd previously owned and what they'd gotten up to in them. It was an old conversation but a favourite one.

They moved into the restaurant just after ten, by which time they were the only ones in there. It was comfortable, the intimacy growing with each course. Little signs as they sat at the small round table, leaning into one another, little physical touches; shoulders nudging, fingers touching.

Like that first night.

Between the starter and the main course, James piped up, "Am I the only one who doesn't think the Isle of Man in the rainy season sounds like a great idea?"

Richard playfully smacked his arm. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Why did the memo say, 'bring a fishing rod'?"

Jeremy laughed. "The fishing's good over there."

Looking from one to the other, James' assessing gaze settled on Richard. "Don't tell me you're a fisherman too?"

His turn to laugh. "God, no. It's just one of Jeremy's ideas to make the two of us look like complete idiots on camera."

James sat back. "Won't work. I'm quite a good fisherman actually."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?"

The arrival of their food effectively ended the conversation for a short while and by the time Richard had finished his steak Jeremy was considering him for desert.

"Chocolate soufflé," was Richard's decision after a minute with the selections. "What about you two?"

"You," James told him softly. "We want you."

His hesitation was obvious, but he recovered well. "I'm not on the menu."

"Would it make a difference if I told you James said he wanted to eat you alive tonight?"

Richard stared at Jeremy for a second, and nodded slowly. "Yes." He glanced at James. "Really?" The quietly, uncertainly spoken word brought a flush to Jeremy's face. He was impressed at James' calm nod.

And at Richard's nonchalant shrug as he pushed his chair back from the table. "You know, I can have chocolate anytime."