One of Two Ways


 This was going to go one of two ways. 

"Mr Hammond, isn't it?  I love your show, Sir," or "Mr Hammond isn't it?  I think you're a complete wanker."

All in all, he thought he'd prefer the second one.  That way he wouldn't need the candyfloss smile.  Wouldn't need to be polite. 

He fingered the switch that opened the window; a flushed face peered inside and grinned at him.

"Mr Hammond, isn't it?"  Richard nodded, inwardly shaking his head at the injustice of it all.  "My wife loves your show."  His heart sank.  "Me?  I hate it, makes my afternoons off a misery.  Do you have your licence on you, Sir?" 

~

He passed Jeremy on the way to the Port-a-Cabin.  His frustration must have shown in his face to prompt the question, "What happened to you?" 

"I got caught speeding on the M4."

"Again?!  How many points is that?" 

"Don't worry.  The first policeman hated me, but his mate was a Top Gear fan, let me off with a warning."

"You have the luck of the devil, which is frankly lucky for someone whose livelihood - at least a part of it - depends on driving cars all over the world." 

He beamed, wishing he could feel the warmth of his own smile, and carried on.

"Richard?" 

Turning back, he expected some wisecrack.  But instead Jeremy asked, "Is James with you?"

"No.  I came from home."  But that meant…?  "He's not with you?" 

"No."

"Oh, great.  So he's probably in Northampton by now."  Rolling his eyes he let out a deep breath.  "I'll call him." 

"Thanks."

~ 

Richard tapped the pen against his forehead, listening to the phone ring out to voicemail for the eighth time.

"Where the fuck are you, James?" 

"Here."

Richard jumped in his seat.  "Jesus...!  Where have you been?" 

"I got nicked for speeding."

He finally felt a real smile scramble on his face.  "You?" 

"Yes, me."  He realised James was actually blushing.  "The Boxster's faster than I'm used to."

"If it's any consolation, I got stopped on the way here too." 

"I bet you got off."

He nodded, grinning.  "With a warning." 

"Bastard."  But there was no venom in it.  More James' smile was strangely affectionate.  "I think they want a sound check."

~ 

It was a truly beautiful day.

He found James lying on his back on the grass outside the hanger, on their usual patch, one arm tucked behind his head, piece of long grass hanging out the side of his mouth. 

It was an oddly appealing sight.

"You belong in the country," Richard told him, deliberately standing so he blocked out the sun. 

James cracked open one lazy eye.  "Get your short arse out of the way."  He patted the ground next to him and Richard settled himself, being uncommonly tactile, lying at right angles to him with his head cushioned on James' left thigh.

He risked a glance across, read the puzzlement on James' face for a moment, then a smile he knew somehow was just for him.  He closed his eyes. 

It could have been minutes, could have been hours, but after some indeterminate length of time he thought he felt fingers in his hair.  Just a casual touch, like a breeze.  He felt the warm flush through him and smiled to himself.  But he didn't move - didn't want to draw attention to it.

Instead he let himself drift, the sun on his skin, James' ever-so-tender caress in his hair.  He didn't want to think beyond now. 

~

"...not surprised.  Maybe a little jealous." 

Richard became aware of the whispered words, half-thought he'd dreamt them until he heard James' similarly whispered answer, "I thought as much.  Thought you'd get here before me."

"I'm not quite as brave as you." 

Jeremy.  Definitely.  Talking about cars presumably, although he wasn't sure where Jeremy's last comment fitted into the conversation.  Still, it was too warm and he was too comfortable to move, James' fingers were still in his hair and as strange as it was, he was loath to break the magic.

"I was just lying here." 

Huh?

"Seriously?" 

"Um hum."

"And the...?" 

The what?

No answer.  What were they talking about? 

Not him?  Surely?

He opened his eyes and arched his neck, rolling his head back on James' leg to see Jeremy sitting cross-legged on the other side, smiling at him in much the same way James had done earlier. 

"Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty."

There didn't seem to be a suitable reply to that uncommon greeting, so he grinned his most winning but real grin and flopped over on to his front, folding his arms on James' thighs, resting his chin on the back of his hands. 

To his secret pleasure and frank amazement, James' hand moved to rest at the top of his spine, thumb stroking through the hair at the back of his neck.  Still lazy, still casual.  Or was it?

"How are we doing?" 

"Audience isn't due for another two hours.  We should do a bit of rehearsing at some stage."

"Why?"  James asked the question around his piece of grass, eyes still closed against the sunshine.  He looked as if he hadn't moved in however long they'd been lying there. 

"Professionalism?"

Richard felt the rumble of James' laugh roll through him and closed his eyes happily.  He couldn't agree more. 

"I think that's the last thing our audience expect from us."

"You just don't want to move."  Jeremy's voice was quieter, meant only - he realised - for James. 

"Too right.  It's taken me a long time to get this comfortable."

A few odd questions were starting to form in his mind, he could read subtext when he needed to - he just hoped that wasn't wishful thinking - but before any verbal response could take shape, James' hand was patting his back.  "Come on, Hamster, time to do some work." 

Jeremy gave him a hand up, James rising gracefully, and they headed for the hanger, talking between them as if nothing untoward had just happened.

But for the rest of the day Richard could feel the warmth of James' hand on the back of his neck, and nothing could chase the smile from his face. 

~

PARIS 

Richard hoisted himself up onto the tall bar stool opposite James and plucked a crisp from the small bowl in front of him.

"Where's Jeremy?"  He ordered a beer as soon as he caught the barman's eye. 

"Still lording it over his GT out front."

"God.  Did you think the exit ramp of the car park looked a bit tight?" 

"Not particularly." 

Richard shrugged.  He was probably imagining it but his sense of proportions when it came to cars was usually fairly accurate.  He supposed they'd find out in the morning.   

"Have you any idea how ridiculous the Zonda looks from the back?"

Grinning, he wiggled a finger just in front of James' nose.  "Ah, but you are constantly looking at the back of it." 

James rolled his eyes dramatically.  "We'll see about that tomorrow."

"Mine wins!" 

They turned to watch Jeremy bounce into the bar, clapping his hands together triumphantly.  He slapped Richard's back jovially and slid his hand up to his shoulder, leaving his arm draped around the young man's shoulders.

Richard glanced at him, slightly bewildered.  "Yours wins what?" 

"Most Fanciable Car."

James pointed at Richard.  "Last year he won four Most Fanciable Male awards; what does that say about that word?" 

Richard pointedly ignored him.  "According to who?"

"Five lovely French girls who have been outside caressing it lovingly." 

"You know you're getting old when your car gets more loving caresses than you do."

Jeremy also made a point of ignoring James. 

"Did you think the car park was a bit tight?" he asked Richard, leaning between the two men to order a beer when the barman minced over to them again.

"I did, he didn't." 

"Our cars are wider."  Picking up the beer he sank a good third of it in two swallows.  Richard didn't miss his glance at James, or the fact that his arm was still where he'd left it.

"Er, Jeremy...?" 

He was sure he felt the hand squeeze his shoulder, the arm tighten around him as Jeremy put his pint down and turned his head to look directly at him.

Reality blinked out for a split second and in that time Richard was absolutely certain the man was actually going to kiss him.  He could feel the press of the firm body along his side, the huff of breath on his face, his own pre-emptive response to the contact....

His dick throbbed once; an alarm, a warning, the swing of a pendulum and he was back in the bar. 

Sliding off the stool, out from Jeremy's loose embrace, he excused himself and all but ran towards the door with the little picture of the stickman on it. 

("You're being cruel." 

"But it's so much fun.")

~ 

OSLO 

To collapse in the deep, comfy sofa in the lounge bar of their deserted hotel felt like a slice of heaven after the day they'd had. 

Showered and dressed in warm, dry clothing, Richard dropped his head back and closed his eyes.  He felt the cushions dip as James reported,

"Jeremy's already flown home." 

It was a couple of long seconds before Richard rediscovered the ability to speak.  "Maybe he thought we'd given up." 

"He should know better."

"Maybe we should have given up." 

There were some wonderful smells coming from the restaurant kitchens.  He couldn't remember what he'd ordered, but he was certain that any hot food would taste good.  They hadn't eaten since breakfast and he'd thrown that up in the Skagerrak strait.

Thankfully his stomach had settled since they'd been on dry land and despite getting soaking wet and bone-cold, despite their hour's aimless walking around whatever godforsaken place they'd ended up in and the row they'd had at the cash point, now they were in Oslo if felt as if sooner rather than later they'd be able to look back on it all and laugh. 

They'd have to, because that was exactly what Jeremy was going to do the moment he saw them.

They were supposed to have flown home too.  But tired and hungry, they'd opted to stay overnight and take the early morning flight back to Heathrow.  The support units had gone, assured by the two men that they were perfectly capable of looking after themselves for twelve hours. 

The small hotel was luxurious and it seemed as if they were the only guests.  They were out of season, the owner had explained in his best attempt at the English language; which was a thousand times better than their best attempt at Norwegian.

"Bought you a beer," James' disembodied voice told Richard as he drifted in the enveloping heat of the log fire. 

"Thank you."  Quiet and genuinely heartfelt. 

He felt a touch at the side of his head, a gentle stroking of his hair just above his ear, and heard a murmured,  

"Anytime."

Slowly he turned his head into the caress, locking his eyes with James, who simply held them for a second, smiled, and broke both physical and ocular contact to reach for his beer. 


They had a wonderful meal with a couple more beers, and went up to bed early, both of them wiped out. 

James' room was the first on the right along the corridor, Richard's the third.  As James unlocked his bedroom door, Richard asked him,

"James... what's going on?"  He knew how to use his voice, how to use tone to say things his words didn't clarify.  He could see James knew what he was referring to.  "I mean, if this is some sort of mammoth joke...." 

James' hand once again strayed to the side of his head, brushing back the short hair.  "It's isn't.  I promise." 

"Then what is it?"  He swallowed, unable to put the recent touches - the physical gestures that might have just been friendly if they hadn't had so much heat in them - into words.  "What is this?" 

James didn't answer immediately and Richard tried not to squirm under the surprisingly intensity of the tender regard.  "We're very fond of you, Richard.  I think... we're both trying to find where you draw the line."

"Oh."  He glanced at the floor then back up.  "So... what if... neither of you have found it yet?" 

"Then we need to try harder."

James' hand moved to cradle his head, gently tipping it back as he leaned across the gap between them.  Richard's eyes remained wide while James kissed him, once; a simple, lingering touch of his lips to his own. 

He barely had a chance to relax, to start to respond, before the mouth and the hand were both gone.

"Goodnight, Richard." 

~

ISLE OF MAN 

The last of cameras was packed up and carried out to the van, and they heard the front door being closed and locked before Jeremy came back into the dining room.

"Lobster?"  James waved the fake crustacean at Richard who giggled gently.  He was drunk.  They'd already made it through the first bottle of red wine and the second was on its way out. 

He picked up the plastic Sprat from his own plate and stuck it face first in the lemon.  "Whose idea was the candle lit dinner?"

"Jeremy's.  He said you'd look gorgeous bathed in candle light.  And he was right." 

Richard's initial, innate reaction was to look away, to be embarrassed.  But he couldn't help the slow half-smile creeping across his face and he glanced up from under his eyelashes to catch James' soft-focus smile.

"Stop it." 

"Why?  It's true.  It makes your skin look almost translucent and your eyes shine like glass."

"Presumably the same glass they make beer bottles from." 

"Take a compliment once in a while."

"That's not a compliment, James, it's a come-on." 

"Is it completely inappropriate?"

Richard could feel the sudden heat spark in his groin and spread through his body.  "Yes."  He'd thought about this, lying awake at night asking himself what he would do when the recon finished and the more direct attack began.  "But it isn't completely unwelcome." 

He was so focused on James - on the smile that had started to mean something very special to him - that he barely noticed Jeremy standing in the doorway watching them.

"The lounge is more comfortable."  Spoken in a low, quiet voice. 

Richard wasn't sure he should move from the relative safe cover of the table.  The atmosphere was heavy with promise and he knew given the chance he wasn't going to do the right thing; wasn't going to stop it from happening.  He wanted what was on offer with every fibre in his body.  Another thrill, another experience.  There was very little in this life he was able to turn down.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," James told him sofly. 

"But what if it does?"

He watched James falter, and oddly it was the only encouragement he needed.  They hadn't completely thought this through then, hadn't planned his seduction down to the slightest detail.  He hated the idea of being a foregone conclusion. 

Rising, he walked around the table and waited for James to lead the way, following Jeremy into the next room.

No candles in here.  But a corner lamp on a dimmer switch gave similar results. 

Richard dropped into middle of the three-seater sofa next to Jeremy and a moment later hands on his shoulders directed him around and back until he was cushioned against Jeremy's chest and stomach, head against the crook of his shoulder.  Richard's instinct was to pull away, to make this difficult for them at least, but the wine slowed him down and by then James was sitting in the other corner, Richard's feet lifted to his thighs, thumbs pressing into the tired soles.

Any independent, sensible thought was wiped from his mind.  He hadn't had a foot massage in a very long time and it became rapidly obvious that James was a guru in that particular sensual art. 

Slowly, Richard turned his head, putting his mouth inches from Jeremy's.

"Be sure," he was instructed gruffly.  "You haven't run from James but in Paris…." 

Richard effectively silenced him, boldly stroking the palm of his hand over the hard bulge in the older man's jeans, craning his neck, lips parted.  And Jeremy closed the final gap, kissing Richard's bottom lip before opening his mouth and sliding his tongue over the welcoming threshold.

It seemed to last for a minute and for forever.  Through the haze of arousal in his brain, Richard felt the magic fingers leaving his feet and working up his leg, following the seam of his jeans either side of his right knee, along his thigh. 

He wantonly parted his legs and heard the low vibration of James' chuckle.

"Slut," he murmured softly, warm amusement in his tone, and Richard abandoned Jeremy's mouth for a second just as James' hot fingers touched the rough denim stretched over his own rock-hard erection. 

He couldn't help but let the string of bright profanities escape him.  No one had touched him quite so sexually in some time, and no touch had ever been quite so forbidden before - quite so… naughty.

It felt incredible.   

He arched his back, pressing up into it, and James responded by cupping his whole hand around Richard's clothed genitals, squeezing gently, wringing a long, low moan from his throat.

He heard someone mutter, "Oh god…" thought it might have been him until he realised it had been Jeremy, watching James slowly and deliberately unzip Richard's fly. 

Richard stared, rapt, as his dick was freed from the cloth constraints to stand up and beg for what, a second later, it received; James' mouth sliding wet and hot over it, taking the head of it to the back of his throat.

He groaned, screwing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again, wide and amazed. 

One hand clawed into Jeremy's leg while the other flexed over James' head - fingers combing into the flow of hair around his face.  Richard stroked it back with a trembling hand, wanting to watch now, watching to see the hollowing of James' cheeks around him and match it to the incredible sensations rolling like waves through his body.

"James." 

The name escaped him of its own accord, fulfilling some need for a reality check.  He could feel the orgasm rising from his balls, spreading like a slow fire along his spine, out along his limbs.  Light the touch paper and stand well back.

The explosion rocked him, turning his world a bright white, James' mouth making his whole body shudder with pleasure even when he was sure he had nothing more to give. 

Ridiculous to think he'd passed out.  But when he opened his eyes, James was sitting back in the opposite corner of the sofa, gently massaging his tingling feet, and Jeremy hadn't moved, was still his cushion, cuddling him around the waist.

James smiled at him - dark eyes dancing with mischief - and deliberately licked his lips, murmuring, "You taste as good as you look."