TG ficbits roundup
Herein, some Top Gear bits I've written lately. First two are from a challenge at topgearslash, third is random porny porn.
A Charming Man.
“Nice costume.” (the silent “you berk” was evident).
“Oh, shut up.” Turning to face James, Jeremy rustled in his inflatable sumo wrestler costume. “I see you've gone as a pilot. Again.”
Grumbling about already owning the outfit and why shouldn't he wear it any chance he got, James changed the subject. “What's taking Hammond so l-oh.”
“Oh,” because the door had opened and Richard was bounding down the front steps.
“Evening, gents.” Silver-topped cane tucked under one arm, Richard doffed his top hat to them. “You're looking...interesting.”
“Richard,” James gulped, “you are wearing spats.”
“Are those gloves leather?” Jeremy wheezed.
“What, is it not...” but as he looked at himself, and at their expressions, realization dawned. “Ah, I see. Have I stumbled upon a kink, here?”
“Possibly.” Emphatic nodding “Very possibly.”
“This party is going to be even worse than I expected.” James shifted uncomfortably into the passenger seat. At the wheel, Richard snickered. “Don't laugh. You've no idea how difficult it is to conceal a semi in jodhpurs.”
“Ha!” Jeremy kicked the back of James' seat, triumphant in his roomy costume.
Again and Again
[Brackets] because I couldn't be arsed to find a proper Ancient Roman name.
1.He is almost run over by a chariot. Throwing himself out of the way, [James] looks up in time to see the driver, a grinning man with hair askew, rocket past. Behind him came an older man in another chariot, catching up. “Hello, [James]!” he shouted in passing; it was all he had time to shout.
[James] frowned, smiled.
2.Jeremy rides in a steam train for the first time and is immensely bored. After all he'd heard about their abilities, this dismal chugging is a disappointment.
He's distracted by the sound of two men arguing moving within earshot. “James,” says one, “it's boring and lumbering and that's that.”
“Must it always be about speed? Think about the import--” The door to Jeremy's compartment slides open, and there stand the two arguers, silenced for now. “Oh,” says the taller, “Apologies.”
“Not at all,” Jeremy beckons. “Please, come in.”
3. The strange, too-familiar feeling Richard got upon meeting Jeremy returns tenfold when he's introduced to James.
He doesn't mention it, though, and nor does anyone else. Their first day of working together isn't perfect-they all bicker, disagree, insult-but it's good.
It always is.
In Full View of the Polar Bears.
“James.”
“Mm?”
“James, you were very nice for giving me all those treats.”
“Y’welcome.”
“…James.”
“What?” James pokes his head out of his sleeping bag cocoon and sees the wonkily amorous look Jeremy is giving him. “Oh no you don’t. I’m not getting out of this sleeping bag for neither love, nor money.” Back into the cocoon.
“…So, I suppose a good, hard fuck is out of the question as well, then?”
Silence.
“’What what in the butt,’ as they might say on the interwebs?”
“Good lord…!” James rolls abruptly in his sleeping bag and hoists a frenzied glare over the edge. “A pox upon whoever showed you that video. Now go to sleep.”
But his resolve is cracking. Jeremy can tell. He suavely scoots forward, a giant rustling inchworm, until he’s mostly off his bedroll and on the frigid tent floor. No matter. He’s wooing to do. He drops his voice to an irresistible pitch.
“James, please. I’ve been stuck in a car with you all day and I know that Ranulph fellow said we’d end up hating each other, but for now it just makes me want…” he trails off to take in a deep, steadying breath that says more than words can. “You know the way you smell? I mean, when you sweat--this doesn’t sound like much of a compliment, but--but it smells different than other people. It just drives me insane, sitting there with the scent of you coming out from under ten layers, mixing with the smell of car interior and petrol, reminding me of every time we’ve ever fucked in cramped backseats or elsewhere, making me want to just park in this godforsaken wasteland and peel you out of all those jackets and warm you up the proper way, fucking you absolutely senseless in full view of the polar bears and Jesus and the Icelandic mechanics, filling you up, fucking you until you‘re shaking and pleading with me and your cock is leaking all over your stomach like it does--”
Occasional, increasing rustling has been emanating from James, but Jeremy only notices it now, as the man gasps “oh god, Jez,” and his face appears once again, looking flushed and tousle-haired. “You utter--utter--” he gasps, trails off, and Jeremy notices the rhythmic movement of his arm, the squirm of hips trapped in polar fleece.
“James,” Jeremy sighs deliriously, already scrambling both hands down his body in hopes of getting into his complicated snow pants, wherein he’s near aching already. “Touching yourself already, good, good boy, oh.”
“What do you expect me to do after hearing all--all that--nnhh…” that sound, internal and deep and soft and so James it makes Jeremy gasp in turn. “Tell me more,” James purrs. “Stuck in that bloody car all day, what’d we do?”
Jeremy’s finally managed to get his flies open and is stroking himself as best he can in the space he has, the struggle somehow only making it better. He’s already getting slick with sweat and precome. “I’d have you straddle me in that front seat and slick us both up with the lube I brought because I’m an idiot who thought he’d have the time and energy to fuck on a polar expedition. You’d sink down onto me and torture me in that Captain Slow way you do, drawing it out so long and sweet--unh--until I’m begging you…oh, shit, oh…to let me come.”
James is past coherency, now; he’s in that headspace that happens when it’s been a few days since he’s last come and his mind has fallen upon the perfect fantasy, except this time the perfect fantasy is Jeremy’s voice spilling gravelly and low into his mind. “Yeah,” he pants senselessly, “yeah,” beginning to feel the orgasm rolling up from the pit of his belly.
“And you,” Jeremy gasps, because he’s still talking, and will probably never stop, “you still come first because--you just can’t stand it, you love having me in you, fucking love being fucked, and you just--can’t hold on anymore--come, James, right now.”
James isn’t expecting himself to cry out like he does; all he can do is try to muffle it somewhere in the mass of cloth around him, and he just ends up shouting into his sleeping bag, shuddering, coming all over his hand. Jeremy quickly follows. Barely aware enough, James watches him flush and grunt and almost hide inside his sleeping bag as his head ducks.
“Ooooh,” Jeremy moans in the aftershocks. “Thanks for that.”
James snorts weakly at the romaticism of it all, already thinking about how he’s going to be stuck to the inside of his sleeping bag when he wakes up. Then, divine providence; a packet of wetnaps hits him in the head, along with the proclamation, “Clean y’self up, May.”
Perfunctory wipe, fingers already clumsy and full of sleep, and James allows himself to drift, ignoring the cold, the wind, the bears, the ice, mindful only of the laxness spreading through his limbs.
***
Working on something bigger and even more ridiculous, aagh. Also, a fanvid, my first ever. Never mind the zillion papers and projects I'm supposed to be working on right now. derr
A Charming Man.
“Nice costume.” (the silent “you berk” was evident).
“Oh, shut up.” Turning to face James, Jeremy rustled in his inflatable sumo wrestler costume. “I see you've gone as a pilot. Again.”
Grumbling about already owning the outfit and why shouldn't he wear it any chance he got, James changed the subject. “What's taking Hammond so l-oh.”
“Oh,” because the door had opened and Richard was bounding down the front steps.
“Evening, gents.” Silver-topped cane tucked under one arm, Richard doffed his top hat to them. “You're looking...interesting.”
“Richard,” James gulped, “you are wearing spats.”
“Are those gloves leather?” Jeremy wheezed.
“What, is it not...” but as he looked at himself, and at their expressions, realization dawned. “Ah, I see. Have I stumbled upon a kink, here?”
“Possibly.” Emphatic nodding “Very possibly.”
“This party is going to be even worse than I expected.” James shifted uncomfortably into the passenger seat. At the wheel, Richard snickered. “Don't laugh. You've no idea how difficult it is to conceal a semi in jodhpurs.”
“Ha!” Jeremy kicked the back of James' seat, triumphant in his roomy costume.
Again and Again
[Brackets] because I couldn't be arsed to find a proper Ancient Roman name.
1.He is almost run over by a chariot. Throwing himself out of the way, [James] looks up in time to see the driver, a grinning man with hair askew, rocket past. Behind him came an older man in another chariot, catching up. “Hello, [James]!” he shouted in passing; it was all he had time to shout.
[James] frowned, smiled.
2.Jeremy rides in a steam train for the first time and is immensely bored. After all he'd heard about their abilities, this dismal chugging is a disappointment.
He's distracted by the sound of two men arguing moving within earshot. “James,” says one, “it's boring and lumbering and that's that.”
“Must it always be about speed? Think about the import--” The door to Jeremy's compartment slides open, and there stand the two arguers, silenced for now. “Oh,” says the taller, “Apologies.”
“Not at all,” Jeremy beckons. “Please, come in.”
3. The strange, too-familiar feeling Richard got upon meeting Jeremy returns tenfold when he's introduced to James.
He doesn't mention it, though, and nor does anyone else. Their first day of working together isn't perfect-they all bicker, disagree, insult-but it's good.
It always is.
In Full View of the Polar Bears.
“James.”
“Mm?”
“James, you were very nice for giving me all those treats.”
“Y’welcome.”
“…James.”
“What?” James pokes his head out of his sleeping bag cocoon and sees the wonkily amorous look Jeremy is giving him. “Oh no you don’t. I’m not getting out of this sleeping bag for neither love, nor money.” Back into the cocoon.
“…So, I suppose a good, hard fuck is out of the question as well, then?”
Silence.
“’What what in the butt,’ as they might say on the interwebs?”
“Good lord…!” James rolls abruptly in his sleeping bag and hoists a frenzied glare over the edge. “A pox upon whoever showed you that video. Now go to sleep.”
But his resolve is cracking. Jeremy can tell. He suavely scoots forward, a giant rustling inchworm, until he’s mostly off his bedroll and on the frigid tent floor. No matter. He’s wooing to do. He drops his voice to an irresistible pitch.
“James, please. I’ve been stuck in a car with you all day and I know that Ranulph fellow said we’d end up hating each other, but for now it just makes me want…” he trails off to take in a deep, steadying breath that says more than words can. “You know the way you smell? I mean, when you sweat--this doesn’t sound like much of a compliment, but--but it smells different than other people. It just drives me insane, sitting there with the scent of you coming out from under ten layers, mixing with the smell of car interior and petrol, reminding me of every time we’ve ever fucked in cramped backseats or elsewhere, making me want to just park in this godforsaken wasteland and peel you out of all those jackets and warm you up the proper way, fucking you absolutely senseless in full view of the polar bears and Jesus and the Icelandic mechanics, filling you up, fucking you until you‘re shaking and pleading with me and your cock is leaking all over your stomach like it does--”
Occasional, increasing rustling has been emanating from James, but Jeremy only notices it now, as the man gasps “oh god, Jez,” and his face appears once again, looking flushed and tousle-haired. “You utter--utter--” he gasps, trails off, and Jeremy notices the rhythmic movement of his arm, the squirm of hips trapped in polar fleece.
“James,” Jeremy sighs deliriously, already scrambling both hands down his body in hopes of getting into his complicated snow pants, wherein he’s near aching already. “Touching yourself already, good, good boy, oh.”
“What do you expect me to do after hearing all--all that--nnhh…” that sound, internal and deep and soft and so James it makes Jeremy gasp in turn. “Tell me more,” James purrs. “Stuck in that bloody car all day, what’d we do?”
Jeremy’s finally managed to get his flies open and is stroking himself as best he can in the space he has, the struggle somehow only making it better. He’s already getting slick with sweat and precome. “I’d have you straddle me in that front seat and slick us both up with the lube I brought because I’m an idiot who thought he’d have the time and energy to fuck on a polar expedition. You’d sink down onto me and torture me in that Captain Slow way you do, drawing it out so long and sweet--unh--until I’m begging you…oh, shit, oh…to let me come.”
James is past coherency, now; he’s in that headspace that happens when it’s been a few days since he’s last come and his mind has fallen upon the perfect fantasy, except this time the perfect fantasy is Jeremy’s voice spilling gravelly and low into his mind. “Yeah,” he pants senselessly, “yeah,” beginning to feel the orgasm rolling up from the pit of his belly.
“And you,” Jeremy gasps, because he’s still talking, and will probably never stop, “you still come first because--you just can’t stand it, you love having me in you, fucking love being fucked, and you just--can’t hold on anymore--come, James, right now.”
James isn’t expecting himself to cry out like he does; all he can do is try to muffle it somewhere in the mass of cloth around him, and he just ends up shouting into his sleeping bag, shuddering, coming all over his hand. Jeremy quickly follows. Barely aware enough, James watches him flush and grunt and almost hide inside his sleeping bag as his head ducks.
“Ooooh,” Jeremy moans in the aftershocks. “Thanks for that.”
James snorts weakly at the romaticism of it all, already thinking about how he’s going to be stuck to the inside of his sleeping bag when he wakes up. Then, divine providence; a packet of wetnaps hits him in the head, along with the proclamation, “Clean y’self up, May.”
Perfunctory wipe, fingers already clumsy and full of sleep, and James allows himself to drift, ignoring the cold, the wind, the bears, the ice, mindful only of the laxness spreading through his limbs.
***
Working on something bigger and even more ridiculous, aagh. Also, a fanvid, my first ever. Never mind the zillion papers and projects I'm supposed to be working on right now. derr