Fic: Behind Closed Doors (1/1)
Title: Behind Closed Doors
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Top Gear (UK)
Pairing: James/Richard, with a bit of Jeremy/Richard in the beginning.
Word Count: 5630
Summary: James stumbles into a situation he was really not expecting, and then gets offered something he never thought he’d have. Yeah, that’s not vague at all. LOL
Warnings: informal BDSM themes (mainly D/s and spanking), swearing, American author using British words.
Author’s Rambling: This is my first TG fic, as well as my first fic of any kind since March of ‘09. Hopefully the rust doesn’t show! James’ thoughts are in italics. Set around filming of 7x03, so November of '05.
Main order of business is to express my gratitude. Thanks to:
suggsygirl - for the beta! It was a sincere pleasure working with you on this; I know I’ve said it before, but I would have been completely screwed if you hadn’t offered your help. YOU ARE MY NEW HERO. ♥ ♥ ♥
marginaliana - for the punctuation check and third pair of eyes. You were a big help and reassurance! ♥
The people of discuss_tgs - for their behind-the-scenes info that helped me iron out the logistics; you guys saved me some real embarrassment. LOL
ALL OF YOU - who welcomed me so happily (on both comms lol), this is one of the friendliest fandoms I’ve ever seen.
Eternal thanks as always to my brainspouse, who got me into Top Gear and let me ramble about this fic the whole time it was in the works. Ilu, babe! ♥
Playlist: For a bit of fun, I uploaded the songs I had on repeat while writing & editing this. They’re not related lyric-wise, but they’re excellent mood music for lots of things. Thought some of you might enjoy. :) A couple of them are a bit racy, one has a swear word in the title, for those that might have to worry about those kinds of things.
ZIP file of 5 songs - http://www.sendspace.com/file/poy5op
Jump, Little Children - Darkest Love
Melissa Ferrick - Drive
Tom McRae - Hidden Camera Show
Joey Gray - How Do You F*** A Boy?
Snow Patrol - Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking
----------------------
He’d only been working on the show for a couple of years, but James May was convinced that this had to be one of the most bizarrely cocked up workdays ever in the long history of Top Gear. It was supposed to be a fairly calm shoot at the Dunsfold track, but being them, nothing ever went as it was supposed to. There had been setback after malfunction after delay, everything from the wrong Porsche being sent down to The Stig getting food poisoning. Shouldn’t he be immune to such petty human ailments? Normally the cast and crew were determined to rise above such problems and carry on, but something about the mood today was just off. Hammond was surly, snapping at people in a very uncustomary fashion, while Clarkson was being oddly quiet instead of acting the berk he usually was. They were lucky this wasn’t a studio day. Jeremy was someone you wanted on your side in a crisis, regardless of his antics otherwise, but it wouldn’t make entertaining telly. For that matter, neither would Hammond’s axe-murdering glare of death.
James had been staying out of everyone's way, figuring things would be put right faster if he wasn’t underfoot being a nuisance, which led him to notice an even odder change in his friends’ behaviour. There was something electric going on there, something frazzled and sparking between the other two men. When Hammond unleashed his temper at yet another delay on a hurried young runner, Clarkson had pulled him away and spoken to him in hushed tones, his large hand firmly secured around the smaller man’s bicep. Richard scowled up at him and shook his head, hissing something angrily between his teeth, but Jeremy didn’t let go. He just stared calmly down at Richard while replying, the exchange still too quiet for James to hear. Whatever had been said only caused Richard to clench his jaw defiantly before physically yanking his arm out of Jeremy’s grasp and pushing past him so violently that Jeremy staggered back. Richard stormed to the portakabin and after a moment Jeremy followed.
James looked round, but thankfully nobody else appeared to have noticed the near-altercation that had just happened. He’d never seen Richard so on edge at work; in fact, James was pretty sure that if Clarkson hadn’t been uncharacteristically civil, Hammond might have actually hit him. The last thing their day-from-hell needed was a punch-up between two of the stars of the show, so James set off in pursuit, hoping to keep Jeremy from pushing Richard further. Of course, that’s when Andy stopped him short and James had to smile and nod at whatever had gone wrong this time. It took an agonizing conversation about reshuffling the shooting schedule before James could go after his friends. He just hoped that neither of them had done anything stupid like murder each other or, worse yet, damage his favorite sofa.
Everything seemed in order in the office, but there were muffled noises coming from the makeup room. James inhaled deeply, bracing himself for possibly breaking up a fight, and then opened the door.
He immediately lost all the breath he had at the sight of Richard on his knees, arms clasped behind his back, head buried between Jeremy’s exposed thighs.
For what felt like an eternity all James could do was gape, transfixed by the way Richard eagerly mouthed and sucked at Jeremy’s cock without use of his hands, by Jeremy’s fingers clenched in Richard’s brown hair to keep his neck craned at a certain angle, by the sounds of Richard’s wet lips on skin and his swallowed whimpers as he tried to keep quiet, by the curve Richard’s back made as he was wantonly grinding down onto his own leg, by Jeremy staring at him...
Jeremy was staring at James. No shock, no anger, no fear, no change of expression at all, just a simple stare - like he was waiting.
James felt the air rush back into his lungs again and spluttered nonsense. “I- You- What--”
Startled at the sound of a voice, Richard’s arms swung free of each other as he tried to turn and nearly overbalanced, but Jeremy’s hand tightened in his hair and held. Richard dutifully stayed where he was, arms returned to their place behind his back. He was panting and trembling slightly; a blush was rising up his neck. James had a mad, fleeting desire to see his face properly at that moment.
Jeremy spoke quietly to the man between his legs while never taking his eyes off James. “It’s only James, and he’s going to shut the door now.”
James was completely and utterly lost. “I-- Uh, right,” he stammered as he clumsily moved backwards out of the doorway, unable to look away from them until the door firmly clicked shut. He just stood there for another moment, not aware of the wood inches in front of him, still seeing the two men in the room beyond it, the picture burned into his brain.
When he heard movement resume on the other side of the door, James found he could go from nought to sixty faster than a Bugatti Veyron.
----------------------
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Jeremy said.
He’d cornered James alone after the next bit of awkward filming. Richard’s mood was greatly improved but he wouldn’t look James in the eye. James, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking. Jeremy was... well, Jeremy, and had manoeuvred things so that Hammond was busy filming the last few pickup shots for the day, leaving he and James free for a nice little chat by the fence.
James snorted. “How is it in any way not what I’m thinking?” He forced himself to watch the car speeding around the tarmac.
“Because it’s not.”
James waited. And waited.
Finally he sighed and turned to look at Jeremy, who it seemed had been waiting for eye contact before continuing. “It’s not. It’s not an affair. It’s not some fucking romance, we’re not together.”
“So it’s just some kind of disturbing sex thing, then?” Sarcasm was always the easiest response for James.
Twitch of a smile on Jeremy’s lips. “Not quite. It’s something he needs.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be joking. You were the one... getting... serviced... and you’re going to tell me he bloody needed that?! You’re right, it’s not what I was thinking,” James retorted mockingly, glaring at the other man, but his mind was playing a loop of Richard’s muffled whines, Richard’s rolling hips. There had been need there.
Jeremy just looked levelly back at James. “You saw it. You might not know exactly what it was, but you saw it.” He turned his head slightly towards the car tearing around the corners. “Sometimes, he needs a release. Things get so fucking wound up and mad in his head, and he needs to be controlled, held down. I do that for him if I have to.”
“With your cock?” James raised an eyebrow.
Jeremy choked on a laugh, smiling sincerely for the first time in hours. “Something like that, yeah.”
James just shook his head. He had no idea how to respond to the situation. He didn’t even know what he was thinking, or feeling. He was purposely staying away from what he was feeling.
Not surprisingly, Jeremy kept talking. “It’s not a regular thing, and it’s not always like... that, like today, but some occasions are worse than others. It calms him, being told what to do, being... cared for. I’m not saying it’s fucking normal or anything, I’m just saying this is how he is.”
James thought of the obedient way Richard had stilled at Jeremy’s reassurance, his arms locking behind his back almost of their own volition. The trembling had been panic, yes, but James wondered if it had also been relief at the unspoken instructions.
“You could have been seen. I could have been anyone,” stated James, avoiding that train of thought.
“Thank God you weren’t. Like I said, it’s not usually like that. He was having a really fucking dreadful time of it today.”
On the track, Richard was climbing out of the car with his usual exuberance, joking with the cameraman as they discussed another shot. James and Jeremy watched him in silence.
“I didn’t even know either of you were that way inclined,” James said softly.
Scoffing, Jeremy replied, “I’m not, but there’s exceptions for everyone, mate. You’ve never met a bloke that made you wonder?”
Eyes still on Richard, James allowed himself a wry smile. “You have to rule something out in order to have exceptions.”
“I fucking knew it!” Jeremy laughed hard and nearly bent double before he could catch his breath, letting the laughter fade to a smile. “I think Richard’s the same as you on that. We don’t really talk about specifics, just go by feel mostly.”
James’ mind flashed to the image of Jeremy’s fist in Richard’s wild hair, of Richard’s chin and mouth nudging along Jeremy’s length. He said nothing.
A more serious tone returned to Jeremy’s voice when there was no response. “Are we all right, James? The three of us?”
James stayed quiet and continued to watch the car going for its last lap, imagining Richard in the driver’s seat talking bollocks for the camera.
Jeremy hesitated slightly before speaking again. “He’s scared. That you’re going to hate him, or be disgusted, or quit or something.”
James’ reply was careful when it came. “I’m not quitting, don’t be stupid. I don’t hate him, or you. I’m... confused and gobsmacked, but not disgusted.”
“Turned on?”
James whipped his head round to look at Jeremy. “What?”
There was that I-know-everything-you-idiot look on Jeremy’s face, as per usual. “It was a simple enough question. You haven’t been able to tear your eyes off of him for more than five fucking seconds since, not that I blame you.”
“Excuse me for being a bit shell-shocked at finding one of my best mates sucking off my other best mate!” James exclaimed incredulously.
“I think it’s a bit more than that, May.” Jeremy seemed to weigh something in his mind before asking, “Do you know why he came to me in the first place?”
“Because he knew you were a domineering sadistic fuck?”
Jeremy smirked. “Fair point. Partly, but mostly because he thought you’d throw him out the door if he came to you like he wanted.”
James was back to gaping again.
“Think about it,” Jeremy said cheerfully, already turning to go.
James stood there by the track and watched him leave.
Definitely the most bizarre day ever, then, he thought.
----------------------
After nearly a week of restless nights, James could have punched Jeremy Clarkson right in his very big, very loud mouth. Think about it, he said. What a pillock. James was having trouble thinking of anything other than Richard Hammond on his knees with his mouth open. In fact, if anyone had ever told James May that he would be preoccupied with any scenario involving Clarkson’s genitalia, he would have punched them.
I never used to be this violent, he mused to himself, lying awake in bed. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why this was having such an effect on him.
It’s not as though he’d never noticed that Richard was attractive before. James was a bisexual man with eyes that worked, of course he’d fucking noticed, but admiring a painting in a gallery didn’t mean you felt the need to go on and buy it. The price was far too high for something you’re just going to look at occasionally when you could do that in the gallery. So that’s how James had filed Richard Hammond away in his mind when they met: beautiful to look at, but not for touching. Once that had been settled he’d been free to relax and enjoy the scenery, so to speak. True, he may have periodically taken advantage of their close proximity in places like Oslo and looked longer than was strictly appropriate, but even so, there was no secret pining like some teenage schoolgirl. He ogled, he appreciated (sometimes later, alone in bed, he wanked), and he mocked his best mate mercilessly, as one should.
All it took was one door that should have stayed shut, one calculated comment from Clarkson, and his mind had switched gears from an art connoisseur to an obsessive-compulsive nutter on speed. Idle fantasy had somehow become possible reality, and for someone like James, that just didn’t happen. His brain simply didn’t know how to cope.
Hammond, for his part, had been back to normal the very next day after what James now privately referred to as ‘the incident.’ That night James had found himself wondering if Jeremy and Richard had had a talk about it. Maybe more than a talk. Maybe Richard needed calming - and there went the first nearly-sleepless night.
Between the tiredness and the distraction, James was starting to have trouble working. This had to stop, one way or another, so James tried to organize his thoughts into some semblance of order. There really was a lot going on in his head to sort out, all of seemingly equal importance: Did Jeremy really know what he was talking about at the end of that conversation? Did Richard really fancy James as well? If he did, would it be worth risking their friendship (and possibly his job, but he couldn’t think about that now)? If it was, was he, James, willing to have that kind of a relationship? If he had been delayed a few more minutes, would he have opened that door to see Richard coming-- Damn it, May, at least stay on topic with your wittering, he chastised himself. Lust and fantasies were all well and good, but this was complicated stuff to mull over.
Despite his knee-jerk reaction to Jeremy, the whole kinky dominance thing didn’t actually bother James. He’d been around, experimented as much as the next bloke. It was no secret to anyone that he liked being in control of his surroundings, and it hadn’t been a stretch to extend that to the bedroom from time to time for some extra fun; but if Jeremy could be trusted, this was a bit past ‘fun’. Nothing as extreme as whips and chains, but something not to be taken lightly nonetheless.
The question was, did he have it in him to do that for Richard?
The well-remembered montage played again in his mind. Richard on the floor, desperate for the friction of his own thigh, intent on nothing more than the cock in his mouth, arms gripped behind his back to still temptation, such sounds whining up from his throat.
How could James see that, be nearly-in-a-way offered that need and responsiveness, and not want to just play Richard like an actual Hammond organ?
Right. There was one issue decided.
James moved down the list to Jeremy. As much as the oaf was prone to exaggeration, hyperbole, and downright lies to get a laugh or make a point, James knew that when things were really serious, so was Jeremy, especially where his friends were concerned. Which meant that, however grudgingly, James had to admit to himself that Jeremy had probably been uniquely honest in his explanations. Including the last bit about Richard.
James went over the facts in his mind. Richard (obviously) liked men as well as women. So did James. Richard (evidently) liked James. James liked Richard. Richard had... specific needs on occasion. James could fulfill those needs quite happily. Jeremy clearly seemed willing to allow James to take over doing so.
James was almost disappointed at how easily the bits and pieces were falling into place. He’d probably have to do something about it now.
“Oh, cock,” he muttered.
He did sleep better that night, though.
----------------------
The next day was Wednesday, which meant a proper studio filming day to break up the insanity of running around the country (and occasionally the continent). James managed to get back into the swing of things, no longer stealing glances at Richard when he felt no one was looking. The shoot went relatively smoothly until, of course, the Cool Wall. Armed with his new knowledge, James’ interpretation of Hammond and Clarkson’s bickering was wildly different than it had been in the past. Now he could see the increasing push in Richard’s eyes as he continually argued with all of Jeremy’s opinions about every single one of the cars, the rush of blood to his face when shocked into laughter by Jeremy’s ‘homosexual’ accusation (James’ jaw nearly dropped; getting personal, indeed), the defensive posture Richard adapted in response to try to calm himself down, the triumphant satisfaction under his smirk when he ran and Jeremy literally had to drag the smaller man to the ground. The audience cheered as The Hamster lived up to his nickname and started to eat the photograph of the M6. They weren’t noticing Jeremy restraining his legs from wrapping around Richard’s, his hands from grabbing places that would be disastrously inappropriate.
James had to adjust his stance. The camera would be back on him soon, and while fluffing a line would be met with casual mocking, he didn’t know what would happen if they cut to him and he was nursing a semi. Thankfully he had just enough time to plaster a grin on his face when the director pointed at him to start. “Difference is, I have to work with those two,” he ad-libbed, perhaps a bit too honestly.
The three colleagues finished up their various intros and then came together for the conclusion. When stood next to Richard, James felt the tension coming off of him in waves. The younger man was unusually quiet and blank-faced, especially contrasted with his earlier manic behaviour - though James’ and Jeremy’s jokes still garnered an appreciative chuckle.
Jeremy delivered his final ‘bombshell’ and bid the audience goodnight. James glanced back to Richard and stopped in surprise. Richard was staring at him quite plainly with that blasted eyebrow up, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his face. James raised his eyebrows in return and smiled back instinctively. Richard’s smile widened and with that he just left, paying minimum but gracious attention to the various fans trying to catch his notice on his way out.
The smile faltered on James’ face. Oh. Was that-- He looked round for Jeremy but Clarkson was busy taking the piss out of some audience member and hadn’t noticed a thing. As indecisive as always, James spent a while mingling with the fans, signing a few autographs he had missed during the tea break. Time flew as it had a habit of doing. After finally making his escape from the dwindling audience at the behest of security, he wandered into the portakabin. Neither Richard nor Jeremy were anywhere to be seen. The makeup girl said they’d already been in and gone a while, who knew where to, but their cars were both still outside.
James’ mind was buzzing, void of any intelligible thoughts he could actually grab onto for guidance. He took off his jacket and sat down, wiping away the television makeup until he felt somewhat more like himself. It took longer than he expected.
It occurred to him that he could just leave, drive home like the rest of the crew already had. He didn’t have to do anything about the situation, not right that minute.
Instead, James walked back to the darkened hangar, knowing by now it would be blessedly deserted. He wound his way around the stage and various cars, led by his gut towards the room they used as a mini-sanctuary from the fans. When he was within sight of the closed door, he paused to scan the studio one last time to ensure it was empty.
A sound startled him from his distracted state, a dull smack muted by the walls. James blinked. A few moments passed and he started to wonder, but then he heard it again - and again.
A slow but steady rhythm was being played and James was sure he knew what the instrument of choice was. At that thought, heat shot through his stomach to points further south, and he groaned behind his tightly shut lips.
Then he was standing in front of the door. The sound was clearer when it came, crisper.
James felt his palm tingle sympathetically.
Another smack, that time with a sharp gasp of breath accompanying it, and James realised his hand was opening the door.
Jeremy was sat in an armchair - fully clothed and tucked away this time, James somehow had brainpower to notice thankfully - and Richard... Richard was bent over the older man’s knee, jeans and pants bunched down around his thighs to restrict his movement, his bare arse alternately pushed back into Jeremy’s falling hand and pressed down on the leg beneath his crotch. Unlike before, Richard’s face was turned to the door. James was struck by his eyes, lidded and glazed yet bluntly focused on James himself.
Jeremy regarded James in the doorway and spanked Richard again; Richard’s brown eyes squeezed shut for a second as he hissed appreciatively in response. His hips ground against Jeremy’s thigh and when he opened his eyes again, they were still fixed on James.
“Oh fuck me,” James breathed, feeling his trousers tighten. Richard’s expression did not change.
“James,” Jeremy said patiently.
It was a feat of Herculean strength to make himself look away from Richard - the determined set of his jaw that contrasted with the hunger in his eyes, the rosy curve of his arse as it flexed in response to the smacks, the things I could do to that arse - but James managed to glance up at the other man.
Jeremy smirked, clearly satisfied. “Shut the door,” he said.
James looked down at Richard again, saw hope and fear there in equal parts, and replied, “Right.” He stepped completely inside the room and shut the door behind him before releasing a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.
Immediately there was a similar response from Richard, a deep sigh that turned to a sharp whine when Jeremy gave him another smack. James thought it was one of the most erotic things he’d ever heard.
Jeremy nodded towards the sofa against the wall and James slowly sat down. Richard’s attention was riveted on him, his expression less guarded now and undeniably smouldering. He sighed again when Jeremy’s hand rested gently on his glowing arse.
“Richard. I want you to go to James,” Jeremy calmly stated. The smaller man carefully slid his feet to the floor, but Jeremy pinched him right where it stung and nudged him further downward. “No. Crawl.”
A familiar red blush was creeping up Richard’s neck, but James realised that it wasn’t embarrassment; it was arousal. James shifted in his seat as he watched Richard crawl forward awkwardly on legs still held together by denim, pink arse gingerly held in the air.
When Richard reached James’ feet, he shakily rose to a kneeling position, presenting himself. James’ stare was drawn inexorably to his first proper look at Richard’s erect cock and he stifled a moan at the sight. The younger man flushed further and looked away. Reaching out carefully for Richard’s chin, James made Richard face him again. “You’re gorgeous like this,” he muttered, fingers grazing softly down Richard’s neck.
Richard’s eyes fluttered closed momentarily at James’ touch and he finally spoke. “Ja-- James,” he stuttered out, swallowing before trying again. “Please, I need... I-I need...” His voice broke slightly as the words failed to come.
“Shh... I know,” James reassured him, his fingers running across Richard’s neck and back up to his face, dragging softly over the pink lips. Now that he had licence to touch, he didn’t know where to start. His hand swept through Richard’s unruly hair, making Richard shift slightly and then gasp when he accidentally leaned on his heels.
Ah, right. There was a place to begin after all. “Jeans off, pants, too,” James instructed as he let go and sat back. Without hesitation, Richard stood and unceremoniously shucked off the sagging clothing, toeing away his shoes and socks as well. He lifted a hand to his shirt buttons and looked at James questioningly, but James shook his head once. “No. I want to do that.”
He grabbed Richard at the waist and drew him into his lap. Richard arched against him, tightening his thighs over James’ and letting his arms rest at his sides. They were both breathing shallowly, taking in the new closeness, the feel of their bodies pressed together. Neither of them looked up when they heard Jeremy stand and close the door as he left.
Richard-up-close was even more stunning than Richard-on-his-knees and James was surprised by how steady his hands were as they started to undo the buttons of Richard’s shirt. Getting to the bottom few caused his knuckles to graze against the erection that was barely being covered by the fabric. Breath hitching in his throat, Richard was noticeably reigning in the urge to thrust forward, but he kept still for James to finish.
“Good boy,” hummed James, slipping his fingers under the open shirt to run hands over Richard’s chest to his shoulders. The shirt fell back down Richard’s arms, gathering at his wrists. James indulged himself for a moment and just drank in the sight of a naked Richard Hammond sitting in his lap as his palms slowly drifted downwards, learning the curves and planes he’d only been able to imagine before. Go by feel? I can do that. He slid his arms down to reach the bunched fabric of Richard’s shirt, twisting it so it wasn’t just hanging loose behind him, turning it into a tangled cloth connecting his wrists. Then James cupped Richard’s arse with both hands and squeezed.
Richard moaned deliciously and pushed into it, then surged forward again into the growing bulge in James’ trousers. “Yes, please, need--” Richard’s babbling was cut off by the resounding smack of James’ right hand on his already sore skin.
“That? Is that what you need?” James inquired, all warm tones and tenderness. The swing of his left palm was a bright contrast to the softness in his voice.
“Ohfuckyesplease,” begged Richard, already moving in time to the metre James was setting. First one hand, then the other, now and then massaging the reddened flesh - how Richard keened deep in his throat when James’ fingers dug in. Their hips connected each time Richard bore down on the upswings, clenched fists held at his sides by his twisted shirt. He kept trying to push harder but James did not relent in his pacing, he just watched as Richard rode the sensations, soaking in every whimpering cry and stretch of muscle.
Eventually, after James had lost count of the number of strikes and a stray tear had escaped down Richard’s cheek, James moved his left hand up to clasp the back of Richard’s neck as his right hand came to a soothing rest on the hot curve of Richard’s arse. Richard didn’t waver a second in his single-minded rocking.
“Are you close, Richard?” James asked.
“Yes... fuck... almost...” The words were barely audible between Richard’s grunts of exertion as he moved back and forth.
“Look at me.”
Brown eyes locked onto blue. Keeping one hand at Richard’s neck, James wrapped his other hand around Richard’s leaking cock and stroked. Richard absolutely came apart in staggered groans, shudders rolling down his spine as he emptied over James’ fist. He collapsed against James’ chest, panting heavily.
James extricated his hand and set about freeing Richard from his tangled shirt, which he used to wipe off the younger man as best he could before discarding it. Richard mumbled something against James’ neck and James relished in the shiver that ran through him. “What was that?” he asked, running light touches down Richard’s back.
Richard pulled back slightly to repeat himself. “I said, Thank you. For-- I never tho-- Thank you.” His voice was rough.
James stared, unable to come up with a coherent reply, before opting instead to kiss him.
Richard’s responsiveness was overwhelming when he melted into James’ embrace, lips eagerly parting to deepen the kiss. A hand found its way into James’ shaggy hair while the other fumbled with his flies. At the first cool touch of Richard’s fingers freeing his aching cock, James broke the kiss with a ragged breath. “Fucking hell.”
Their foreheads pressed together and Richard murmured against James’ face, “What do you want? Tell me. I want to give it to you.” His hand finished undoing the trappings of James’ trousers and returned to glide up and down his length.
James felt his way down Richard’s back to ever-so-feather-lightly caress the ruddy, abused flesh, fingertips tracing the top of the cleft there. Caught off-guard, Richard squeezed James’ cock involuntarily as a moan shook him.
“What I really want... wouldn’t be prudent right now,” James huffed out when he managed to breathe again.
“Are you sure about that?”
Christ, he’d actually let me fuck him in this state. James allowed his fingers to delve further in, brushing over the tight opening. Richard’s fist squeezed again in response but he just looked at James, waiting. Exhaling evenly, James brought his hands up Richard’s back to rest behind his shoulders. “I’m sure. I don’t have... supplies, anyhow, and I don’t fancy getting up just yet.”
Richard resumed his slow strokes. “What do you want instead, then? I’ll do it. Let me do it.” He was starting to beg again.
James brought their lips together, harder than before, drawing Richard’s tongue into his mouth and sucking on it. Richard willingly bent into the assault, letting James take what he wanted. When he had to breathe, James pulled away. “Your mouth,” he heard himself reply, “I want the mouth I’ve been dreaming of all fucking week.”
He’d barely finished speaking and Richard was already sinking to the floor between James’ legs. The smaller man hooked his fingers in James’ belt-loops and dragged the trousers down a few inches, then his mouth was on him and James’ world was spinning.
Keeping his hands where they were, Richard used his lips and tongue to nuzzle under James’ cock, licking and sucking at his balls for a moment before mouthing a damp trail up the underside to engulf the head.
James couldn’t help himself: he fisted a hand in Richard’s hair, pulling just enough to make Richard hum contentedly around his mouthful. His eyes latched onto James’ as he took him in deep, that sinful tongue swirling and flattening in turns.
“Oh my fucking, yes, just-- like that--” James rasped, his throat suddenly dry. The utter submission Richard was exuding combined with the wet enthusiasm he showed for his task quickly brought James to the brink. He edged forward on the seat to allow himself shallow thrusts. It took all the willpower he had left to keep from just fucking Richard’s mouth.
Taking the movement as a cue, Richard took one hand from James’ waistband and reached down, kneading his balls and pressing at the stretch of skin behind them. The sensation charged through James’ body, making his hips lift as Richard sank down and swallowed around his cock, still never breaking eye contact. James came with a wrenching sigh and an unintentional jerk on Richard’s hair before letting go. Short of breath, he sank back into the sofa.
Richard climbed carefully back up into James’ lap and rested his head on James’ shoulder as James held him loosely.
After a while, Richard cleared his throat as if about to speak, but nothing came out.
Right, then. “Did you really think I would have thrown you out the door?” James asked lightly.
That shocked a chuckle out of Richard. “Yeah, actually, I did. You’re always so controlled. Which I like. A lot. Obviously. I didn’t think you’d even understand, let alone-- But after you walked in... Jeremy told me about your chat after, said I was wrong about you.”
“Ah. I hate it when he’s right.” James lazily massaged Richard’s scalp, feeling guilty for pulling on his hair.
Richard inhaled deeply at that, nudging James’ neck with his nose. “Mmmm, I don’t know. I’m rather enjoying it this time.”
“A rare occasion indeed, then.”
“Is it?” asked Richard, slightly quieter. He straightened up a little so they were face to face. “Is this a rare occasion? A one-off?”
That was the part James had been worried about most. His hand trailed from Richard’s hair to his cheek. Leaning into the touch, Richard looked more vulnerable than James had ever seen him. The flare of possessiveness James felt in response was unexpected, and he dropped his hand to Richard’s thigh. “What do you want it to be? No--” He interrupted himself before Richard could answer and rephrased the question. “What do you need it to be?”
“I need...” Richard hesitated, then seemed to steel himself. “I need it to be a beginning. Jeremy helped because I had nothing else, but I can’t keep doing that, not to him, and not to myself, it’s not right. I think this could be right, though - for me and you.”
“I think so, too,” James replied, relief washing over him. If Richard had said this was going to be an as-needed arrangement like he apparently had had with Jeremy, he didn’t know what he’d have done.
He’d only had a taste, just one hit of Richard’s appetite, but James was already addicted and craving another fix.
END
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Top Gear (UK)
Pairing: James/Richard, with a bit of Jeremy/Richard in the beginning.
Word Count: 5630
Summary: James stumbles into a situation he was really not expecting, and then gets offered something he never thought he’d have. Yeah, that’s not vague at all. LOL
Warnings: informal BDSM themes (mainly D/s and spanking), swearing, American author using British words.
Author’s Rambling: This is my first TG fic, as well as my first fic of any kind since March of ‘09. Hopefully the rust doesn’t show! James’ thoughts are in italics. Set around filming of 7x03, so November of '05.
Main order of business is to express my gratitude. Thanks to:
suggsygirl - for the beta! It was a sincere pleasure working with you on this; I know I’ve said it before, but I would have been completely screwed if you hadn’t offered your help. YOU ARE MY NEW HERO. ♥ ♥ ♥
marginaliana - for the punctuation check and third pair of eyes. You were a big help and reassurance! ♥
The people of discuss_tgs - for their behind-the-scenes info that helped me iron out the logistics; you guys saved me some real embarrassment. LOL
ALL OF YOU - who welcomed me so happily (on both comms lol), this is one of the friendliest fandoms I’ve ever seen.
Eternal thanks as always to my brainspouse, who got me into Top Gear and let me ramble about this fic the whole time it was in the works. Ilu, babe! ♥
Playlist: For a bit of fun, I uploaded the songs I had on repeat while writing & editing this. They’re not related lyric-wise, but they’re excellent mood music for lots of things. Thought some of you might enjoy. :) A couple of them are a bit racy, one has a swear word in the title, for those that might have to worry about those kinds of things.
ZIP file of 5 songs - http://www.sendspace.com/file/poy5op
Jump, Little Children - Darkest Love
Melissa Ferrick - Drive
Tom McRae - Hidden Camera Show
Joey Gray - How Do You F*** A Boy?
Snow Patrol - Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking
----------------------
He’d only been working on the show for a couple of years, but James May was convinced that this had to be one of the most bizarrely cocked up workdays ever in the long history of Top Gear. It was supposed to be a fairly calm shoot at the Dunsfold track, but being them, nothing ever went as it was supposed to. There had been setback after malfunction after delay, everything from the wrong Porsche being sent down to The Stig getting food poisoning. Shouldn’t he be immune to such petty human ailments? Normally the cast and crew were determined to rise above such problems and carry on, but something about the mood today was just off. Hammond was surly, snapping at people in a very uncustomary fashion, while Clarkson was being oddly quiet instead of acting the berk he usually was. They were lucky this wasn’t a studio day. Jeremy was someone you wanted on your side in a crisis, regardless of his antics otherwise, but it wouldn’t make entertaining telly. For that matter, neither would Hammond’s axe-murdering glare of death.
James had been staying out of everyone's way, figuring things would be put right faster if he wasn’t underfoot being a nuisance, which led him to notice an even odder change in his friends’ behaviour. There was something electric going on there, something frazzled and sparking between the other two men. When Hammond unleashed his temper at yet another delay on a hurried young runner, Clarkson had pulled him away and spoken to him in hushed tones, his large hand firmly secured around the smaller man’s bicep. Richard scowled up at him and shook his head, hissing something angrily between his teeth, but Jeremy didn’t let go. He just stared calmly down at Richard while replying, the exchange still too quiet for James to hear. Whatever had been said only caused Richard to clench his jaw defiantly before physically yanking his arm out of Jeremy’s grasp and pushing past him so violently that Jeremy staggered back. Richard stormed to the portakabin and after a moment Jeremy followed.
James looked round, but thankfully nobody else appeared to have noticed the near-altercation that had just happened. He’d never seen Richard so on edge at work; in fact, James was pretty sure that if Clarkson hadn’t been uncharacteristically civil, Hammond might have actually hit him. The last thing their day-from-hell needed was a punch-up between two of the stars of the show, so James set off in pursuit, hoping to keep Jeremy from pushing Richard further. Of course, that’s when Andy stopped him short and James had to smile and nod at whatever had gone wrong this time. It took an agonizing conversation about reshuffling the shooting schedule before James could go after his friends. He just hoped that neither of them had done anything stupid like murder each other or, worse yet, damage his favorite sofa.
Everything seemed in order in the office, but there were muffled noises coming from the makeup room. James inhaled deeply, bracing himself for possibly breaking up a fight, and then opened the door.
He immediately lost all the breath he had at the sight of Richard on his knees, arms clasped behind his back, head buried between Jeremy’s exposed thighs.
For what felt like an eternity all James could do was gape, transfixed by the way Richard eagerly mouthed and sucked at Jeremy’s cock without use of his hands, by Jeremy’s fingers clenched in Richard’s brown hair to keep his neck craned at a certain angle, by the sounds of Richard’s wet lips on skin and his swallowed whimpers as he tried to keep quiet, by the curve Richard’s back made as he was wantonly grinding down onto his own leg, by Jeremy staring at him...
Jeremy was staring at James. No shock, no anger, no fear, no change of expression at all, just a simple stare - like he was waiting.
James felt the air rush back into his lungs again and spluttered nonsense. “I- You- What--”
Startled at the sound of a voice, Richard’s arms swung free of each other as he tried to turn and nearly overbalanced, but Jeremy’s hand tightened in his hair and held. Richard dutifully stayed where he was, arms returned to their place behind his back. He was panting and trembling slightly; a blush was rising up his neck. James had a mad, fleeting desire to see his face properly at that moment.
Jeremy spoke quietly to the man between his legs while never taking his eyes off James. “It’s only James, and he’s going to shut the door now.”
James was completely and utterly lost. “I-- Uh, right,” he stammered as he clumsily moved backwards out of the doorway, unable to look away from them until the door firmly clicked shut. He just stood there for another moment, not aware of the wood inches in front of him, still seeing the two men in the room beyond it, the picture burned into his brain.
When he heard movement resume on the other side of the door, James found he could go from nought to sixty faster than a Bugatti Veyron.
----------------------
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Jeremy said.
He’d cornered James alone after the next bit of awkward filming. Richard’s mood was greatly improved but he wouldn’t look James in the eye. James, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking. Jeremy was... well, Jeremy, and had manoeuvred things so that Hammond was busy filming the last few pickup shots for the day, leaving he and James free for a nice little chat by the fence.
James snorted. “How is it in any way not what I’m thinking?” He forced himself to watch the car speeding around the tarmac.
“Because it’s not.”
James waited. And waited.
Finally he sighed and turned to look at Jeremy, who it seemed had been waiting for eye contact before continuing. “It’s not. It’s not an affair. It’s not some fucking romance, we’re not together.”
“So it’s just some kind of disturbing sex thing, then?” Sarcasm was always the easiest response for James.
Twitch of a smile on Jeremy’s lips. “Not quite. It’s something he needs.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be joking. You were the one... getting... serviced... and you’re going to tell me he bloody needed that?! You’re right, it’s not what I was thinking,” James retorted mockingly, glaring at the other man, but his mind was playing a loop of Richard’s muffled whines, Richard’s rolling hips. There had been need there.
Jeremy just looked levelly back at James. “You saw it. You might not know exactly what it was, but you saw it.” He turned his head slightly towards the car tearing around the corners. “Sometimes, he needs a release. Things get so fucking wound up and mad in his head, and he needs to be controlled, held down. I do that for him if I have to.”
“With your cock?” James raised an eyebrow.
Jeremy choked on a laugh, smiling sincerely for the first time in hours. “Something like that, yeah.”
James just shook his head. He had no idea how to respond to the situation. He didn’t even know what he was thinking, or feeling. He was purposely staying away from what he was feeling.
Not surprisingly, Jeremy kept talking. “It’s not a regular thing, and it’s not always like... that, like today, but some occasions are worse than others. It calms him, being told what to do, being... cared for. I’m not saying it’s fucking normal or anything, I’m just saying this is how he is.”
James thought of the obedient way Richard had stilled at Jeremy’s reassurance, his arms locking behind his back almost of their own volition. The trembling had been panic, yes, but James wondered if it had also been relief at the unspoken instructions.
“You could have been seen. I could have been anyone,” stated James, avoiding that train of thought.
“Thank God you weren’t. Like I said, it’s not usually like that. He was having a really fucking dreadful time of it today.”
On the track, Richard was climbing out of the car with his usual exuberance, joking with the cameraman as they discussed another shot. James and Jeremy watched him in silence.
“I didn’t even know either of you were that way inclined,” James said softly.
Scoffing, Jeremy replied, “I’m not, but there’s exceptions for everyone, mate. You’ve never met a bloke that made you wonder?”
Eyes still on Richard, James allowed himself a wry smile. “You have to rule something out in order to have exceptions.”
“I fucking knew it!” Jeremy laughed hard and nearly bent double before he could catch his breath, letting the laughter fade to a smile. “I think Richard’s the same as you on that. We don’t really talk about specifics, just go by feel mostly.”
James’ mind flashed to the image of Jeremy’s fist in Richard’s wild hair, of Richard’s chin and mouth nudging along Jeremy’s length. He said nothing.
A more serious tone returned to Jeremy’s voice when there was no response. “Are we all right, James? The three of us?”
James stayed quiet and continued to watch the car going for its last lap, imagining Richard in the driver’s seat talking bollocks for the camera.
Jeremy hesitated slightly before speaking again. “He’s scared. That you’re going to hate him, or be disgusted, or quit or something.”
James’ reply was careful when it came. “I’m not quitting, don’t be stupid. I don’t hate him, or you. I’m... confused and gobsmacked, but not disgusted.”
“Turned on?”
James whipped his head round to look at Jeremy. “What?”
There was that I-know-everything-you-idiot look on Jeremy’s face, as per usual. “It was a simple enough question. You haven’t been able to tear your eyes off of him for more than five fucking seconds since, not that I blame you.”
“Excuse me for being a bit shell-shocked at finding one of my best mates sucking off my other best mate!” James exclaimed incredulously.
“I think it’s a bit more than that, May.” Jeremy seemed to weigh something in his mind before asking, “Do you know why he came to me in the first place?”
“Because he knew you were a domineering sadistic fuck?”
Jeremy smirked. “Fair point. Partly, but mostly because he thought you’d throw him out the door if he came to you like he wanted.”
James was back to gaping again.
“Think about it,” Jeremy said cheerfully, already turning to go.
James stood there by the track and watched him leave.
Definitely the most bizarre day ever, then, he thought.
----------------------
After nearly a week of restless nights, James could have punched Jeremy Clarkson right in his very big, very loud mouth. Think about it, he said. What a pillock. James was having trouble thinking of anything other than Richard Hammond on his knees with his mouth open. In fact, if anyone had ever told James May that he would be preoccupied with any scenario involving Clarkson’s genitalia, he would have punched them.
I never used to be this violent, he mused to himself, lying awake in bed. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why this was having such an effect on him.
It’s not as though he’d never noticed that Richard was attractive before. James was a bisexual man with eyes that worked, of course he’d fucking noticed, but admiring a painting in a gallery didn’t mean you felt the need to go on and buy it. The price was far too high for something you’re just going to look at occasionally when you could do that in the gallery. So that’s how James had filed Richard Hammond away in his mind when they met: beautiful to look at, but not for touching. Once that had been settled he’d been free to relax and enjoy the scenery, so to speak. True, he may have periodically taken advantage of their close proximity in places like Oslo and looked longer than was strictly appropriate, but even so, there was no secret pining like some teenage schoolgirl. He ogled, he appreciated (sometimes later, alone in bed, he wanked), and he mocked his best mate mercilessly, as one should.
All it took was one door that should have stayed shut, one calculated comment from Clarkson, and his mind had switched gears from an art connoisseur to an obsessive-compulsive nutter on speed. Idle fantasy had somehow become possible reality, and for someone like James, that just didn’t happen. His brain simply didn’t know how to cope.
Hammond, for his part, had been back to normal the very next day after what James now privately referred to as ‘the incident.’ That night James had found himself wondering if Jeremy and Richard had had a talk about it. Maybe more than a talk. Maybe Richard needed calming - and there went the first nearly-sleepless night.
Between the tiredness and the distraction, James was starting to have trouble working. This had to stop, one way or another, so James tried to organize his thoughts into some semblance of order. There really was a lot going on in his head to sort out, all of seemingly equal importance: Did Jeremy really know what he was talking about at the end of that conversation? Did Richard really fancy James as well? If he did, would it be worth risking their friendship (and possibly his job, but he couldn’t think about that now)? If it was, was he, James, willing to have that kind of a relationship? If he had been delayed a few more minutes, would he have opened that door to see Richard coming-- Damn it, May, at least stay on topic with your wittering, he chastised himself. Lust and fantasies were all well and good, but this was complicated stuff to mull over.
Despite his knee-jerk reaction to Jeremy, the whole kinky dominance thing didn’t actually bother James. He’d been around, experimented as much as the next bloke. It was no secret to anyone that he liked being in control of his surroundings, and it hadn’t been a stretch to extend that to the bedroom from time to time for some extra fun; but if Jeremy could be trusted, this was a bit past ‘fun’. Nothing as extreme as whips and chains, but something not to be taken lightly nonetheless.
The question was, did he have it in him to do that for Richard?
The well-remembered montage played again in his mind. Richard on the floor, desperate for the friction of his own thigh, intent on nothing more than the cock in his mouth, arms gripped behind his back to still temptation, such sounds whining up from his throat.
How could James see that, be nearly-in-a-way offered that need and responsiveness, and not want to just play Richard like an actual Hammond organ?
Right. There was one issue decided.
James moved down the list to Jeremy. As much as the oaf was prone to exaggeration, hyperbole, and downright lies to get a laugh or make a point, James knew that when things were really serious, so was Jeremy, especially where his friends were concerned. Which meant that, however grudgingly, James had to admit to himself that Jeremy had probably been uniquely honest in his explanations. Including the last bit about Richard.
James went over the facts in his mind. Richard (obviously) liked men as well as women. So did James. Richard (evidently) liked James. James liked Richard. Richard had... specific needs on occasion. James could fulfill those needs quite happily. Jeremy clearly seemed willing to allow James to take over doing so.
James was almost disappointed at how easily the bits and pieces were falling into place. He’d probably have to do something about it now.
“Oh, cock,” he muttered.
He did sleep better that night, though.
----------------------
The next day was Wednesday, which meant a proper studio filming day to break up the insanity of running around the country (and occasionally the continent). James managed to get back into the swing of things, no longer stealing glances at Richard when he felt no one was looking. The shoot went relatively smoothly until, of course, the Cool Wall. Armed with his new knowledge, James’ interpretation of Hammond and Clarkson’s bickering was wildly different than it had been in the past. Now he could see the increasing push in Richard’s eyes as he continually argued with all of Jeremy’s opinions about every single one of the cars, the rush of blood to his face when shocked into laughter by Jeremy’s ‘homosexual’ accusation (James’ jaw nearly dropped; getting personal, indeed), the defensive posture Richard adapted in response to try to calm himself down, the triumphant satisfaction under his smirk when he ran and Jeremy literally had to drag the smaller man to the ground. The audience cheered as The Hamster lived up to his nickname and started to eat the photograph of the M6. They weren’t noticing Jeremy restraining his legs from wrapping around Richard’s, his hands from grabbing places that would be disastrously inappropriate.
James had to adjust his stance. The camera would be back on him soon, and while fluffing a line would be met with casual mocking, he didn’t know what would happen if they cut to him and he was nursing a semi. Thankfully he had just enough time to plaster a grin on his face when the director pointed at him to start. “Difference is, I have to work with those two,” he ad-libbed, perhaps a bit too honestly.
The three colleagues finished up their various intros and then came together for the conclusion. When stood next to Richard, James felt the tension coming off of him in waves. The younger man was unusually quiet and blank-faced, especially contrasted with his earlier manic behaviour - though James’ and Jeremy’s jokes still garnered an appreciative chuckle.
Jeremy delivered his final ‘bombshell’ and bid the audience goodnight. James glanced back to Richard and stopped in surprise. Richard was staring at him quite plainly with that blasted eyebrow up, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his face. James raised his eyebrows in return and smiled back instinctively. Richard’s smile widened and with that he just left, paying minimum but gracious attention to the various fans trying to catch his notice on his way out.
The smile faltered on James’ face. Oh. Was that-- He looked round for Jeremy but Clarkson was busy taking the piss out of some audience member and hadn’t noticed a thing. As indecisive as always, James spent a while mingling with the fans, signing a few autographs he had missed during the tea break. Time flew as it had a habit of doing. After finally making his escape from the dwindling audience at the behest of security, he wandered into the portakabin. Neither Richard nor Jeremy were anywhere to be seen. The makeup girl said they’d already been in and gone a while, who knew where to, but their cars were both still outside.
James’ mind was buzzing, void of any intelligible thoughts he could actually grab onto for guidance. He took off his jacket and sat down, wiping away the television makeup until he felt somewhat more like himself. It took longer than he expected.
It occurred to him that he could just leave, drive home like the rest of the crew already had. He didn’t have to do anything about the situation, not right that minute.
Instead, James walked back to the darkened hangar, knowing by now it would be blessedly deserted. He wound his way around the stage and various cars, led by his gut towards the room they used as a mini-sanctuary from the fans. When he was within sight of the closed door, he paused to scan the studio one last time to ensure it was empty.
A sound startled him from his distracted state, a dull smack muted by the walls. James blinked. A few moments passed and he started to wonder, but then he heard it again - and again.
A slow but steady rhythm was being played and James was sure he knew what the instrument of choice was. At that thought, heat shot through his stomach to points further south, and he groaned behind his tightly shut lips.
Then he was standing in front of the door. The sound was clearer when it came, crisper.
James felt his palm tingle sympathetically.
Another smack, that time with a sharp gasp of breath accompanying it, and James realised his hand was opening the door.
Jeremy was sat in an armchair - fully clothed and tucked away this time, James somehow had brainpower to notice thankfully - and Richard... Richard was bent over the older man’s knee, jeans and pants bunched down around his thighs to restrict his movement, his bare arse alternately pushed back into Jeremy’s falling hand and pressed down on the leg beneath his crotch. Unlike before, Richard’s face was turned to the door. James was struck by his eyes, lidded and glazed yet bluntly focused on James himself.
Jeremy regarded James in the doorway and spanked Richard again; Richard’s brown eyes squeezed shut for a second as he hissed appreciatively in response. His hips ground against Jeremy’s thigh and when he opened his eyes again, they were still fixed on James.
“Oh fuck me,” James breathed, feeling his trousers tighten. Richard’s expression did not change.
“James,” Jeremy said patiently.
It was a feat of Herculean strength to make himself look away from Richard - the determined set of his jaw that contrasted with the hunger in his eyes, the rosy curve of his arse as it flexed in response to the smacks, the things I could do to that arse - but James managed to glance up at the other man.
Jeremy smirked, clearly satisfied. “Shut the door,” he said.
James looked down at Richard again, saw hope and fear there in equal parts, and replied, “Right.” He stepped completely inside the room and shut the door behind him before releasing a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.
Immediately there was a similar response from Richard, a deep sigh that turned to a sharp whine when Jeremy gave him another smack. James thought it was one of the most erotic things he’d ever heard.
Jeremy nodded towards the sofa against the wall and James slowly sat down. Richard’s attention was riveted on him, his expression less guarded now and undeniably smouldering. He sighed again when Jeremy’s hand rested gently on his glowing arse.
“Richard. I want you to go to James,” Jeremy calmly stated. The smaller man carefully slid his feet to the floor, but Jeremy pinched him right where it stung and nudged him further downward. “No. Crawl.”
A familiar red blush was creeping up Richard’s neck, but James realised that it wasn’t embarrassment; it was arousal. James shifted in his seat as he watched Richard crawl forward awkwardly on legs still held together by denim, pink arse gingerly held in the air.
When Richard reached James’ feet, he shakily rose to a kneeling position, presenting himself. James’ stare was drawn inexorably to his first proper look at Richard’s erect cock and he stifled a moan at the sight. The younger man flushed further and looked away. Reaching out carefully for Richard’s chin, James made Richard face him again. “You’re gorgeous like this,” he muttered, fingers grazing softly down Richard’s neck.
Richard’s eyes fluttered closed momentarily at James’ touch and he finally spoke. “Ja-- James,” he stuttered out, swallowing before trying again. “Please, I need... I-I need...” His voice broke slightly as the words failed to come.
“Shh... I know,” James reassured him, his fingers running across Richard’s neck and back up to his face, dragging softly over the pink lips. Now that he had licence to touch, he didn’t know where to start. His hand swept through Richard’s unruly hair, making Richard shift slightly and then gasp when he accidentally leaned on his heels.
Ah, right. There was a place to begin after all. “Jeans off, pants, too,” James instructed as he let go and sat back. Without hesitation, Richard stood and unceremoniously shucked off the sagging clothing, toeing away his shoes and socks as well. He lifted a hand to his shirt buttons and looked at James questioningly, but James shook his head once. “No. I want to do that.”
He grabbed Richard at the waist and drew him into his lap. Richard arched against him, tightening his thighs over James’ and letting his arms rest at his sides. They were both breathing shallowly, taking in the new closeness, the feel of their bodies pressed together. Neither of them looked up when they heard Jeremy stand and close the door as he left.
Richard-up-close was even more stunning than Richard-on-his-knees and James was surprised by how steady his hands were as they started to undo the buttons of Richard’s shirt. Getting to the bottom few caused his knuckles to graze against the erection that was barely being covered by the fabric. Breath hitching in his throat, Richard was noticeably reigning in the urge to thrust forward, but he kept still for James to finish.
“Good boy,” hummed James, slipping his fingers under the open shirt to run hands over Richard’s chest to his shoulders. The shirt fell back down Richard’s arms, gathering at his wrists. James indulged himself for a moment and just drank in the sight of a naked Richard Hammond sitting in his lap as his palms slowly drifted downwards, learning the curves and planes he’d only been able to imagine before. Go by feel? I can do that. He slid his arms down to reach the bunched fabric of Richard’s shirt, twisting it so it wasn’t just hanging loose behind him, turning it into a tangled cloth connecting his wrists. Then James cupped Richard’s arse with both hands and squeezed.
Richard moaned deliciously and pushed into it, then surged forward again into the growing bulge in James’ trousers. “Yes, please, need--” Richard’s babbling was cut off by the resounding smack of James’ right hand on his already sore skin.
“That? Is that what you need?” James inquired, all warm tones and tenderness. The swing of his left palm was a bright contrast to the softness in his voice.
“Ohfuckyesplease,” begged Richard, already moving in time to the metre James was setting. First one hand, then the other, now and then massaging the reddened flesh - how Richard keened deep in his throat when James’ fingers dug in. Their hips connected each time Richard bore down on the upswings, clenched fists held at his sides by his twisted shirt. He kept trying to push harder but James did not relent in his pacing, he just watched as Richard rode the sensations, soaking in every whimpering cry and stretch of muscle.
Eventually, after James had lost count of the number of strikes and a stray tear had escaped down Richard’s cheek, James moved his left hand up to clasp the back of Richard’s neck as his right hand came to a soothing rest on the hot curve of Richard’s arse. Richard didn’t waver a second in his single-minded rocking.
“Are you close, Richard?” James asked.
“Yes... fuck... almost...” The words were barely audible between Richard’s grunts of exertion as he moved back and forth.
“Look at me.”
Brown eyes locked onto blue. Keeping one hand at Richard’s neck, James wrapped his other hand around Richard’s leaking cock and stroked. Richard absolutely came apart in staggered groans, shudders rolling down his spine as he emptied over James’ fist. He collapsed against James’ chest, panting heavily.
James extricated his hand and set about freeing Richard from his tangled shirt, which he used to wipe off the younger man as best he could before discarding it. Richard mumbled something against James’ neck and James relished in the shiver that ran through him. “What was that?” he asked, running light touches down Richard’s back.
Richard pulled back slightly to repeat himself. “I said, Thank you. For-- I never tho-- Thank you.” His voice was rough.
James stared, unable to come up with a coherent reply, before opting instead to kiss him.
Richard’s responsiveness was overwhelming when he melted into James’ embrace, lips eagerly parting to deepen the kiss. A hand found its way into James’ shaggy hair while the other fumbled with his flies. At the first cool touch of Richard’s fingers freeing his aching cock, James broke the kiss with a ragged breath. “Fucking hell.”
Their foreheads pressed together and Richard murmured against James’ face, “What do you want? Tell me. I want to give it to you.” His hand finished undoing the trappings of James’ trousers and returned to glide up and down his length.
James felt his way down Richard’s back to ever-so-feather-lightly caress the ruddy, abused flesh, fingertips tracing the top of the cleft there. Caught off-guard, Richard squeezed James’ cock involuntarily as a moan shook him.
“What I really want... wouldn’t be prudent right now,” James huffed out when he managed to breathe again.
“Are you sure about that?”
Christ, he’d actually let me fuck him in this state. James allowed his fingers to delve further in, brushing over the tight opening. Richard’s fist squeezed again in response but he just looked at James, waiting. Exhaling evenly, James brought his hands up Richard’s back to rest behind his shoulders. “I’m sure. I don’t have... supplies, anyhow, and I don’t fancy getting up just yet.”
Richard resumed his slow strokes. “What do you want instead, then? I’ll do it. Let me do it.” He was starting to beg again.
James brought their lips together, harder than before, drawing Richard’s tongue into his mouth and sucking on it. Richard willingly bent into the assault, letting James take what he wanted. When he had to breathe, James pulled away. “Your mouth,” he heard himself reply, “I want the mouth I’ve been dreaming of all fucking week.”
He’d barely finished speaking and Richard was already sinking to the floor between James’ legs. The smaller man hooked his fingers in James’ belt-loops and dragged the trousers down a few inches, then his mouth was on him and James’ world was spinning.
Keeping his hands where they were, Richard used his lips and tongue to nuzzle under James’ cock, licking and sucking at his balls for a moment before mouthing a damp trail up the underside to engulf the head.
James couldn’t help himself: he fisted a hand in Richard’s hair, pulling just enough to make Richard hum contentedly around his mouthful. His eyes latched onto James’ as he took him in deep, that sinful tongue swirling and flattening in turns.
“Oh my fucking, yes, just-- like that--” James rasped, his throat suddenly dry. The utter submission Richard was exuding combined with the wet enthusiasm he showed for his task quickly brought James to the brink. He edged forward on the seat to allow himself shallow thrusts. It took all the willpower he had left to keep from just fucking Richard’s mouth.
Taking the movement as a cue, Richard took one hand from James’ waistband and reached down, kneading his balls and pressing at the stretch of skin behind them. The sensation charged through James’ body, making his hips lift as Richard sank down and swallowed around his cock, still never breaking eye contact. James came with a wrenching sigh and an unintentional jerk on Richard’s hair before letting go. Short of breath, he sank back into the sofa.
Richard climbed carefully back up into James’ lap and rested his head on James’ shoulder as James held him loosely.
After a while, Richard cleared his throat as if about to speak, but nothing came out.
Right, then. “Did you really think I would have thrown you out the door?” James asked lightly.
That shocked a chuckle out of Richard. “Yeah, actually, I did. You’re always so controlled. Which I like. A lot. Obviously. I didn’t think you’d even understand, let alone-- But after you walked in... Jeremy told me about your chat after, said I was wrong about you.”
“Ah. I hate it when he’s right.” James lazily massaged Richard’s scalp, feeling guilty for pulling on his hair.
Richard inhaled deeply at that, nudging James’ neck with his nose. “Mmmm, I don’t know. I’m rather enjoying it this time.”
“A rare occasion indeed, then.”
“Is it?” asked Richard, slightly quieter. He straightened up a little so they were face to face. “Is this a rare occasion? A one-off?”
That was the part James had been worried about most. His hand trailed from Richard’s hair to his cheek. Leaning into the touch, Richard looked more vulnerable than James had ever seen him. The flare of possessiveness James felt in response was unexpected, and he dropped his hand to Richard’s thigh. “What do you want it to be? No--” He interrupted himself before Richard could answer and rephrased the question. “What do you need it to be?”
“I need...” Richard hesitated, then seemed to steel himself. “I need it to be a beginning. Jeremy helped because I had nothing else, but I can’t keep doing that, not to him, and not to myself, it’s not right. I think this could be right, though - for me and you.”
“I think so, too,” James replied, relief washing over him. If Richard had said this was going to be an as-needed arrangement like he apparently had had with Jeremy, he didn’t know what he’d have done.
He’d only had a taste, just one hit of Richard’s appetite, but James was already addicted and craving another fix.
END