Fic: Say When (J/J, NC-17) 2/4
Chapter Two ~ Give me the squeal of tyres.
When James arrives at the office on Wednesday, he's late as usual - not as late as he'd be if they were at Dunsfold but enough to be noticeable. Jeremy's used to this of course and it wouldn't be anywhere near as irritating if he hadn't spent the past thirty-six hours thinking about James and getting far too obsessed with words designed to arouse a woman. He tries to clear his mind and stares at the voice-over script in front of him; Richard is away filming and the peace should be giving Jeremy vital tweaking time. He needs to shave few seconds and reword his final line, so he's reading through it again just as James wanders in smelling of fresh smoke.
“Morning, Jezza.”
“Just about,” Jeremy says, wondering why it feels like an effort to sound normal. He looks up and James is smiling at him, “What?”
“Nothing.”
Jeremy adjusts his reading glasses and buries his head back in the script, the thumping of his heart seems just as ludicrous as the idea that James knows what he's been thinking about. The madness of it all doesn't stop Jeremy's slight paranoia though or the racing in his chest. Determined not to make a fool of himself, he doesn't look up again until he hears James laugh and it's such a sudden sound that he finds himself distracted into normality.
“Hammond's such a cock.” James chuckles and holds up a notepad, “Have you seen this?”
“No, what is it?”
James clears his throat and perches on the edge of a desk, “Your cock is like a sausage, small and red and hot, if I was a gayer, I'd like it quite a lot.” He barks out a laugh then adds quickly, “P.S. Those lines worked a treat, thanks.”
Jeremy chuckles and shakes his head, “You got him laid, you won't hear the end of it now. Mind you, he's quite good isn't he?”
“Hmm, Nobel laureate material.” James says putting the notepad down, “Don't know why he needed my help with that bracelet.”
“No idea, though it's possible his wife hasn't got a little red cock.” Jeremy suggests and risks a smile, when it's returned he feels stupidly happy and waves a mug at James, “Tea? Anyway I don't think anyone can do much better than that when it comes to...”
“What?”
Jeremy fills the kettle and calls back, “You know, those things.” He can't quite believe his luck and makes a mental note to buy Richard a Mars bar for saving him the agony of bringing up Monday night's conversation. Granted, had James been in a different mood or given any sign of knowing that Jeremy had been obsessing about the subject, then he'd be plotting Hammond's death right now; instead he's been gifted the chance to press James further.
“What things?” James calls, breaking into Jeremy's smugness.
“Penises,” he says walking back into the room. “I don't care what you blathered on about the other night, there's no such thing as sexy penis poetry.”
“How would you know?”
“And that stuff you said to Sarah didn't even rhyme.”
“You know,” says James slowly, his back to Jeremy as he tries to locate the biscuit tin, “that I know, you're not that ignorant.”
Jeremy jumps as James turns with a custard cream jammed between his lips; he's been caught staring and he blusters for fear that his arse-gazing has registered. “Your sodding Keats made the effort to find rhymes,” he mutters moving things around his desk pointlessly.
James snorts and shakes his head, busying himself making the drinks that Jeremy will forget to make otherwise. He keeps his head down and his eyes elsewhere as Jeremy follows him around the small kitchen area and then back again, blustering and pushing in his own inelegant and frankly obvious way.
“I can't name a single proper poem about the cock, can you?” Jeremy asks taking a mug from James' hand but not making eye contact, “Not even a nice word for it; it's all about pokey, jabby things and weapons, not sexy business.”
“I thought you liked weapons,” James says and sips his drink, “and anyway who says the only erotic thing you can say to a bloke has to be about his cock?”
Jeremy falters and there's a tense moment of silence before he blusters, “Well - because - well...”
James hides his face behind his mug, it's almost impossible to not laugh and equally hard to not just give in and kiss him. Bend you over the wooden desk and make you mine, make you beg; James shakes the words from his head and focuses on Jeremy's diatribe which is back in flow.
“It's arses and scrotums otherwise, May. You can't - well you just can't,” Jeremy insists and shuffles the script roughly. “No one can make a hairy arse poetic. End of.”
“Good point.” James sighs and rolls his eyes.
“In fact the whole sexy poetry for chaps rubbish is just mad. Mad...bollocks.”
“Agreed.” James nods and when Jeremy turns back to work, he rips Richard's note from the pad and starts writing on the fresh sheet beneath. It takes him the length of his cup of tea but finally he sits back satisfied, tearing the note off just as a head pops round the door and calls him away.
“Warning,” says Jeremy not looking up, “Andrew's not in the greatest of moods.”
“I'll be on my best behaviour then.” James says, dropping the folded note into Jeremy's lap as he passes.
“What's this?”
James doesn't answer but keeps walking, hesitating near the door though; Jeremy can feel it as he unfolds the paper and reads.
Dark as I think your cock would taste,
My mouth would be light and I'd swallow my haste.
But could you make me swallow more?
My tongue can be such a wet tricky whore.
Jeremy draws in a sharp breath and the words seem to swim a little. Usually he complains about having to read anything in James' handwriting but every single word is careful and legible and he feels himself burning. He flicks his eyes quickly to the doorway, checking how hard James is having to restrain himself from laughing but James looks back at him calmly. A single nod and Jeremy turns back to the note, flushing harder if possible considering the amount of blood heading south rather than to his face. He clears his throat, certain that James knows the effect he's having, that Jeremy's cock is hardening because of his words.
I'd take my own slow pace to move,
And fill every sense and space with you,
Want to bend for you don't you see?
Need to take you, feel you deep inside of me.
Jeremy reads the words again and licks his lips, uncertain if his voice works any more or if he remembers how it sounds. He hears James shuffle around near the door and knows he's waiting for a response.
“Fucking hell.” Jeremy manages and slowly turns to see James looking smug.
“Penis poetry, Jez,” he says with a wink and the door closes behind him before Jeremy can do more than nod.
The relief of being left alone to recover marginally outweighs the frustration of James not making a more concrete move; Jeremy's grateful for the chance to gather his scrambled thoughts and allow his physical reaction to subside but he's impatient to know what this is. He's not a wishy-washy man and his own generalisations are sweeping and preposterous enough for his true intentions to be clear, he can't quite nail James' though. He's almost certain that they're on the same page and that all of this is leading somewhere but he can't bring himself to tackle things directly. James has been more clear - possibly, but something still niggles in Jeremy's mind that he might have misread things, that he might be being mocked rather than courted. Still, he folds the note away carefully and puts it in his wallet, even if James was just making a point there's no reason for those words to be wasted. Finishing his coffee he pushes the script away, he's feeling excitable and reckless, he'll wing the voice-over. Plus he can't seem to make the words fit together in his head now they've been joined by new ones like wet, tricky and whore.
James tries to concentrate on what Andy is laying out before him, filming schedules and car specs, but he's feeling high and flighty. He'd written those lines to shut Jeremy up, show him what he's capable of but he means every one and is impatient to make his move. He'd half expected Jeremy to turn up after the pub on Monday or to at least call him, using some dubious premise to push things along. Instead there'd been nothing and James has wondered briefly if Jeremy will ever be ready for what he's confident will be great sex. There's much more to it of course, but James knows Jeremy better than most; the sex is the sticking point not the emotions, Jeremy can make his heart vulnerable quite easily but the war with his own physicality is one of attrition.
“We'll do it over the two days,” Andy says and pushes paper across the table.
“Great,” James nods and glances at the itinerary, thinking that a love poem would be easy and Jeremy would accept it but lust is something altogether more challenging.
“They'll give us clearance for a Sunday.”
James nods again, distracted. There'd been a very clear reaction to his words, he'd seen it and felt the change in atmosphere.
Andy clears his throat, “And who knows, if you give a shit by then it might make a great film.”
“Sorry,” James meets his eyes sheepishly. “I am listening it's just - head's a bit full.”
“Well empty it. I want everyone around the table in half an hour and I don't need you off with the fucking fairies.” Andy sighs and pushes his chair back, “It's bad enough with Jeremy acting like he's in reverse.”
James fights the slight thrill that runs through him at the mention of Jeremy and instead catches Wilman's eye, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Andy smiles tiredly, “I'm sorry. It's just urgh, they mess with the budget, they bring the bloody schedule forward and muggins has to make the pieces fit.”
Promising they'll all pull their weight despite Richard's absence, James makes his way outside for a much needed cigarette. He finds Jeremy standing in their usual spot and moves in beside him, lighting up and taking a deep lungful of much needed calm.
“You survived in one piece then?” Jeremy says dropping the butt of his own cigarette to the ground, “I was expecting mincemeat.”
“I think he's saving it up to bollock us all in the meeting.”
“Oh, joy.” Jeremy hesitates and almost pulls out another cigarette until James smiles at him, then he feels himself turn loose and stupid again. “I'll see you in there.”
James nods, eyes narrowed as smoke blows back into his eyes. “Save me one of those blue chairs with the arms,” he calls and they both grin turning away from each other. It's a conspiratorial request, a silly schoolboy thing that reminds them both who they are.
**********
When James walks into the room twenty minutes later there are only a couple of seats left; news of Wilman's mood has spread and nobody wants to chance being late. He glances around then shakes his head, the space next to Jeremy has a handwritten reservation card propped in front of it - Captain Arthritis a.k.a. Slow.
“Charming as ever,” James says sitting down.
“I knew you'd like it.” Jeremy beams, “and it was the only old-man chair left.”
They mutter to each other and James is about to comment on the need for orthopaedic furniture when Andy walks into the room and everything gets busy with papers being passed around and pens being swiped. James gets a biro but puts it back down in disgust and pulls a pencil from his back pocket, he doesn't get a copy of the stapled sheets that Jeremy is flicking through so leans across to share. Andy starts talking and Jeremy chips in, between them they set the pace and the proposals for the next series are run through. James concentrates as much as he can but he's leant in very close to Jeremy and can't help noticing the slight flush building on his neck or the way he keeps shuffling in his chair. It makes James tense in the best way and when Jeremy starts writing brief notes on the schedule he can't resist the chance to play; he wants to use the words that fill his head when he thinks of Jeremy seriously but now's not the time. Instead he feels a wicked twist of mischief and starts thinking of rhymes.
Leaning in he turns the paper towards him and writes along the bottom of the page, I'd wear you out. Jeremy pulls it back and reads, flicking his eyes sideways quickly. James notes the way he swallows and tries to write more but Jeremy turns the sheet over and on Andy's request makes a note of the when the camera car is needed. When he finishes James adds beneath, I'd break you in, I'd make you beg -. Jeremy flips the page forcefully but James scrawls for blatant sins, before the sheets are pulled back and Richard's initials are added to items down the page.
“James?” One of the girls calls to him from across the table, “Do you need these?” She holds up a copy of the schedule and Andy waves at him to take it.
“Saves you writing on Jeremy's.”
The papers slide across but Jeremy halts them with a heavy palm, “It's OK, he'll only lose them anyway if he has his own copy.”
“Just like all the plane tickets then.” Andy chuckles and someone else mentions passports. A gentle laugh goes around the room but James doesn't mind being the focus of it, it lifts the atmosphere and Wilman is genuinely smiling. Anyway, he couldn't care less about anything other than Jeremy wanting him to continue.
“Yeah, all right. Sod off, you lot.” he nods and Andy starts listing potential guests.
Jeremy taps his pen against the page then James watches him flick back and read the pencil notes, he feels Jeremy's thigh push purposely against him and swallows a grin. Adrenaline deafening him to the conversation in the room he accepts the schedule back and writes along the edge, You'll come so hard, You'll call my name. Jeremy reads it and takes a deep breath, pretends to tick something and then turns the page. James waits, wanting him to ask for more, to push the paper over. Instead Andy skips an unresolved shoot issue and the page turns again, leaving only one left. Jeremy circles a date and prints 'ITALY' beneath it and only then does he move his arm and allow James access to the page. I'll breathe yours back , James writes quickly and feeling Jeremy's leg jar against him, adds -We want the same.
He doesn't get to say any more because Jeremy sweeps the paper away and Andy brings things to a close. James waits, lets the room empty a little and then leans back in; this time he puts a hand on Jeremy's knee and pushes himself to stand. It's a gesture that could look innocent enough but he doesn't pull his hand away as he bends to whisper, “Don't lose that will you?”
“The only thing I'm losing is my mind.” Jeremy says and James laughs gently.
“Do you fancy a drink tonight?”
Jeremy hesitates, the answer is very much yes, but it's impractical; as usual nothing is simple. “I'd love one but I'm supposed to be going up to Windermere first thing, so -.”
“Maybe when you get back then.” James says. He wants to offer an alternative, maybe suggest an early dinner so that Jeremy can still get a reasonable night's rest but that wouldn't be enough. A few hours of Jeremy's company, up close but with constraints would be more frustrating than leaving the game where it stands.
“Definitely.” Jeremy nods and brings his legs together, catching James' hand as it slides off and squeezing it briefly. “This weekend would be - good.”
“It'll be better than good.” James says in a low voice and heads for the door.
Jeremy calls his name and James turns in the open doorway to see him grabbing the spare schedule and sliding it into his large planner. The marked schedule is folded in half and then Jeremy points it at him. “I want more details of these proposals of yours,” he says carefully, then puts the pages into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“I can um...” James pauses and nods as Andy wanders back into the room, “I'll get those to you.”
“Thanks.”
Jeremy beams at Andy once James has gone and prepares for the bad news, the budget hassles that weren't mentioned in the meeting and any of the other shit that they try to keep between themselves. He feels like he can take any of it right now, anything short of hearing that the BBC has dropped them, is completely doable. He wants James and he's pretty sure that he's ready for whatever James has in mind. The impatient child in him wants it all immediately of course and resents life for getting in the way but the mountains that were between him and his desires this morning have shrunk down to a large lake and a six hundred mile round trip. He can be patient this time, after all he has personalised reading material to keep him very well entertained.
**********
Chapter Three ~ Immerse me until I believe.