Reverse


Apparently they were all distracted today. Richard was in that leather jacket / white shirt combination again; the shirt which he always left the top two buttons open on, the jacket that clung to his slim, narrow frame perfectly. It was a sight that always claimed his attention. James' too, by the way the other man's eyes kept running down the length of the short body.

Filming started in an hour. The audience were arriving in a steady stream. Separated from the hoards by some very large security men, Jeremy found Richard out on the grass, with his back to public view, thin curl of smoke rising from his right hand.

"Thought you'd quit," he murmured, closing the distance between them and lighting his own cigarette.

Richard's head turned up to him, small smile playing across the lips, eyes dark in the bright, cold sunlight. The bruising was all but gone, day-to-day hints and shadows covered now by the makeup.

"I have. I just slip once in a while."

"Any particular reason for this slip?"

He looked sheepish, and the concern melted inside Jeremy before he'd even realised it was there. "I felt like one?"

Jeremy chuckled, transferred the cigarette from his right to his left hand and stroked his palm over one leather-covered shoulder, down the flat, sculpted back, coming to rest at the base of Richard's spine, fingers spread.

"How are you doing?"

Richard gazed at him for a time, eyes like glass, before nodding, "I'm okay. I'm good."

"What... have you been doing?" He wanted to make sure it sounded like interested and not prying.

"Filming for 'Brainiac'. Some other bollocks for the BBC. It's getting to the point where I can't tell one show from another. Brainiac's easy - stuff gets blown up and I go home smelling of chemicals and smoke."

Jeremy blew smoke skywards. "What about this one?"

"That's easy too. I have the time of my life then I go home smelling of cigarette smoke and feeling incredibly aroused."

His cock throbbed once in his jeans. "Bastard," he muttered with a smile. Richard beamed. "Not tonight," he could hear the rough edge of his own voice - not just the affects of the nicotine - "let's go back to London with James, open a bottle of whiskey...."

Again Richard stared up at him, the expression in his eyes stroking his ego, stoking the fire already lit in his groin. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Okay."

Jeremy had the almost overwhelming urge to kiss him: just close the gap, bend his neck, part his lips and slide his tongue into that oh-so-tempting, oh-so-talented mouth.

"They want a sound check." James' voice, quiet in his ear, didn't exactly break the spell. He was close behind them, one hand curved around the back of Richard's neck, thumb brushing the short hairs there. The sight alone was enough to make him growl.

"We're coming home with you tonight," Richard told James without turning, leaning back into the touch. Jeremy watched his eyes close.

"Good. I'm developing RSI in my right wrist."

That broke the spell somewhat.

~

There was a tension between them during filming born of the three weeks separation after they'd spent a week together at Jeremy's house, assisting Richard in his recovery.

The director had offered no more by way of criticism than a raised eyebrow or two and a couple of funny looks, but their producer was watching them closely and Jeremy wondered if they weren't in so deep now they couldn't see how it looked from the outside.

But still, the show had to go on...

"...and that's why we think a wheely bin is better value, and cooler, than the new Renault Clio."

The audience dutifully laughed and clapped, backing out of the way as the camera panning round to focus on the stage and on Richard, whose next line was supposed to be in defence of the little French hatchback.

After two seconds of silence Jeremy knew it wasn't coming; Richard could pick up cue lines like a master. He looked over and his pulse started to race at the expression of awful recognition on Richard's face. He saw James reach out to touch his arm, say his name. But before he made contact, their young colleague had taken a running jump off the staging and leapt into the crowd.

There was chaos. The director's shout was swallowed in the surprise of the audience, who'd parted like the Red Sea. Jeremy and James both lent the voices to the calling, but they couldn't do more than stand and stare as Richard threw himself bodily at a larger, taller man who was - by the look of it - fleeing. What their cohort lacked in physical strength, his momentum and determination made up for. The other man lost his balance and footing, toppling forward with Richard on his back.

In the moment they hit the ground, Richard got his knee into the small of the guy's back and had his wrist twisted around on itself, arm yanked up, effectively pinning the struggling man in place.

Coming level with the fight, Jeremy barely got his breath back before gasping, "Richard, what the hell...?!" just before the guy found some leverage and push up, throwing Richard off him, turning and rolling his hand into a fist.

Jeremy's arm around his throat froze him in place, and only he heard the harsh words spoken directly into his ear - "Touch him and I'll break your arm."

Richard was sitting on his arse on the ground, breathing hard, obviously in pain thanks to his still healing injuries but with a look of bitter triumph on his face. As James crouched at his side, he managed to finally say, "That's the guy who attacked me."

Jeremy seriously considered breaking the man's arm anyway.

~

The first time was brutal and fast, the second lazy and slow.

Jeremy couldn't keep his hands off Richard - smooth, pale, creamy skin gently twisting against his touch as strong thighs gripped his hips and he battered Richard's prostate with the blunt head of his cock.

The tight grip of his lover's body was more than enough, but the sight of Richard's lips stretched around James' cock as it slid in and out of his mouth was so incredibly erotic, and when he dragged his eyes from that view he had James' taut arse to stare at instead.

One of Richard's hands was curled in a death grip around Jeremy's forearm, the other was clawed into James' thigh. His eyes were almost closed, lost in the sensations, in the duel penetration.

Completing the circle, James' hand was wrapped around his silky steel erection, the purple head being alternatively swallowed and spat out by James' tight fingers.

It was all too much, even if he closed his eyes he could still hear the wet sounds of sucking, their growls and moans, the heat of the pliant body all around him. And besides, he wanted to watch, wanted to commit every unbelievable moment to memory, add it to the private collection in his head.

"Oh, god…."

He watched James go still, every muscle pulled taut, and knew he was coming, letting loose in Richard's mouth, and Richard was still sucking, swallowing every drop, licking him clean. When he pulled back and licked his lips, Jeremy's own climax overtook him. Richard was seconds behind, coating James' hand as it rung him out.


"I came first," James sing-songed. Jeremy watched Richard stroke his hand through the thick, greying hair and was surprised by the pang of jealousy. There was usually no jealousy between them, but for some reason tonight he couldn't get close enough to Richard, couldn't touch him or be touched by him enough.

James had noticed it, asked him if he was okay, and in response Richard had spooned back against him, almost burrowing into him, head tucked under Jeremy's chin, toes straightened, stroking over Jeremy's foot. One of his hands was wrapped around Jeremy's arm where it was curled over him, the other was stroking James' hair, James' face, his chest.

They shared a kiss, tongues duelling a lazy battle, while Jeremy lifted and ducked his head to nibble on Richard's shoulder, brush his cheek and chin against his ruffled hair, so wonderfully plush when it wasn't held in check by goo.

"It's kind of the opposite of a race," Richard murmured, sucking gently on James' tongue. "Which means that I won."

Jeremy chuckled softly. "You're a sore loser, Rich, admit it."

"Only because of the size of you."

"If his ego gets any bigger we won't all get in the bed."

Jeremy considered thwacking James, but it would have involved wrapping a part of himself from Richard and that wasn't about to happen. He didn't want to ever let him go, not again, but he had no idea where this desperate need had come from.


James was asleep first too, lying on his side, head turned up, snoring softly, huffing breaths skimming Richard's hair.

Richard turned in Jeremy's arms, lying on his back, looking up with eyes large in the dim light.

"What is it?"

For a minute he didn't know what to say, didn't know how to put into words what he was feeling. Shaking his head, he improvised, "I love you."

Richard swallowed, whispering, "I love you too. What's really up?"

He could taste the worlds, the plea that would bring everything crashing down because it was an impossible request, something Richard would never do, something he would never do. But just for then, with Richard looking up at him with so much in those expressive eyes, so open, he tasted them and let himself imagine what that path would be like.

Then he shook his head. "Nothing. It's all right."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

There was hesitation, but Richard nodded and rolled over, back against Jeremy's chest, falling asleep to the rise and fall.