Fic: Say When (J/J, NC-17) 1/4
Chapter One ~ Spare me the hearts and flowers.
The jewellers card lies face down on the desk amongst coffee cups and fag packets; Richard taps his pen against it and waits for James to offer up a much needed suggestion. James however, is happy to let him sweat, it's amusing to see Hammond's enthusiasm stalled as he scrambles for words. It's a fortnight before Richard's wedding anniversary - a big one, and he's found a bracelet for his wife that even Jeremy has to admit, is not remotely tacky. It's simple and feminine but practical for a woman who mucks out horses and looks after kids. But beautiful as it is, Richard's left it with the jeweller awaiting inscription because he's still burning from a recent accusation that he's unromantic. To be precise, he'd heard a sighing Mindy proclaim to a friend that their anniversary wouldn't be that special because Richard was as romantic as 'a wet teabag down the back on your jodhpurs'. True to form, he's taken the slight as a challenge and set out to prove her wrong this year. The best present ever has been obtained - something she'd never dream of, but first he plans to give her the bracelet, complete with romantic engraving.
“Come on James, this is your forte mate.”
“It should come from you though, Hammond.”
“It is! I just need a bit of help. I can only think of cheesy lyrics and -” Richard waves his hand dismissively, “tacky stuff, like you get in birthday cards.”
“Roses are red, violets are blue?” Jeremy says and winks at James who adds “I'm a short-arse,” before they both chorus, “And so are you!”
“Ha ha fucking hilarious.” Richard says and takes a swig of his coffee, “You're decrepit enough to be the the new Two Ronnies - only not funny.”
James flicks the Vs at him then feels Jeremy nudge him and looks down, he has his reading glasses out and is putting them on, James scrambles to follow his lead and they sit bespectacled and grinning stupidly in the face of Richard's frustration.
“It's goodnight from me.” Jeremy chuckles.
“And it's goodnight from him.”
“Enough.” Richard says.
They put away their glasses and Jeremy starts to change the subject, relaying with glee the latest news from Lamborghini. Richard huffs and fiddles with his pen, listening despite himself and then finally getting them back to the subject of the bracelet. They tease him again but James relents when Jeremy nips to the loo and with an ease that leaves Richard in reluctant awe he suggests half a dozen different lines that would be perfect. They narrow it down to two and Richard writes both on the back of the jewellers card carefully.
“The first one is Keats and the second is Byron.” James says draining his mug, “I'd go for the Keats, I think.”
“Byron it is then.” Richard nods with a grin. “Can't have you seducing my wife.”
“She's not my type, delightful but no.”
“Still off women then?”
James laughs, flicking his eyes to the office door and back again, “I can't seem to find a really tall one that's bald as well as hairy.”
Richard's still making retching noises when Jeremy comes back in, picking the card up as he sits back down and snorting derisively. There's a bitterness in him that he tries to suppress but it finds its way into his words as he asks James if this 'hearts and flowers shit' is how he got Sarah into bed. He says it initially because he wants James to react and possibly feel a little stung but when he gets a wide smile instead, he finds that he genuinely wants to know the answer.
“You can take the ape out of Doncaster...” James says shaking his head, “Actually, I think it was a bit of Keats that got her to agree to dinner with me.”
“Really?” Richard says disbelieving and Jeremy feels a little smug.
James nods then looks decidedly pleased with himself, “Getting her into bed was a different matter though. That was much more fun, Sarah's - rustic,” he chuckles and stands up, “she likes the filthiest language.”
Jeremy swallows hard and feels himself flame with jealousy, his mouth refusing to form a proper smile even when James winks at him.
“What, so you ditched poetry for dirty talk?” Richard asks enthusiastically.
“Who says they have to be mutually exclusive?”
Richard frowns and sounds hard done to, “Well I've never read any dirty poetry! Except y'know limericks - there was a young lady called Hunt who had an enormous... that sort of thing.”
“Erotica, Hammond.” James sighs, “Is not about childish rude words.”
“Go on then.”
James shakes his head and checks his watch, "I think not, it's pub time.”
This suggestion is met with happy murmurs and they each gather their stuff together, Richard carefully storing the jewellers card in his wallet and Jeremy feeling somewhat brighter at the prospect of a few pints with James. He might even be able to get himself invited over for a takeaway later if he manages to relax and be on his best behaviour. It's as they're heading for the lift that James' mobile rings and ignoring Richard's familiar insistence that he should consider taking the stairs, Jeremy overhears enough to gather that Sim - or James' tool-boy as Jeremy bitterly thinks of him - will be joining them.
“Bloody brilliant,” he grumbles under his breath and shoves Hammond into the lift doors before they've opened more than six inches.
“Oi! They're not together any more,” Richard says, his intuition making Jeremy gape. “Unlike these fucking doors.”
“....Shut up!”
Richard sighs, "Apology accepted."
**********
The bar they tend to frequent following Mondays in the office, is reasonably quiet and James heads straight in. He's had enough of Richard's piss-taking and Jeremy's sudden sulkiness on the way, what he needs now is a cold pint and the sanctuary of Sim. He leaves the other two debating whether or not it's warm enough to sit outside and smoke, knowing Jeremy will relent and they'll follow him inside. Sim waves him over to the bar where a pint is already waiting and James grins; he hears Richard catch up but misses the look on Jeremy's face, the way it falls even further than usual as James ruffles Sim's hair.
“I didn't know what you two'd fancy,” Sim says with a smile, “so I thought I'd wait. I'll get a round in now though.”
Richard grins, “Cheers mate, just a Coke. I'm driving later.”
Jeremy pretends not to hear, his eyes have been flicking compulsively between James and Sim and then the floor. He feels the same horrible jealousy that plagues him whenever he's confronted with someone closer to James than he is, especially the clever ones, the capable ones that he knows James admires. That he knows James has shagged.
“Jeremy?” Sim asks bending closer and it can't be the first time because the others are rolling their eyes. Jeremy coughs and moves away, muttering “Toilet.”
“He really needs a pint.” Richard nods.
Settled at a corner table in the back, they complain as usual about schedules, traffic, the weather and Richard's need to get home. They all understand his desire to get back to his family but pub time always brings a lament from him about lost freedom and the desire to drink himself sick. In turn they paint him a picture of jolly debauchery and crazy carousing that will commence the moment he heads for the motorway. It's as familiar and expected as quips about James' pedantry and Jeremy's uselessness - it's also as false. Richard's way of saying that he wishes their personal lives were as resolved as his and a small attempt to find the positive; their way of letting him know that it's OK to have someone to go home to and to be openly part of something loving. Sim wanders away while they're discussing the upcoming Italy shoot and once silence falls between them Jeremy reveals what has been thrumming in the forefront of his mind all along.
“So, what dirty line got Sarah into bed then?”
Richard pauses, unlit cigarette in hand and decides he'll wait before heading outside. “Yeah, go on; let's hear it.”
“I don't have anything trite and tacky like a line,” James snorts and drains his glass. “It depends on the person.”
“What, so you've memorised whole books of dirty poems?” Richard asks like an impressed schoolboy.
“No! You don't need books, bloody hell, man. The history of courtship is founded on man's imagination and his ability to-."
Jeremy stops listening, spotting a fellow journo at the bar he raises his hand in greeting and considers leaving Richard to suffer the lecture. His mind draws a conclusion without him though and he leans forward, suddenly needing to ask, “You mean - you make this shit up yourself?”
James stares at him as if he's asked the most obvious question in the world, “Yes of course, it's personal, intimate. You oaf.”
“Blimey.” Richard says and they all look at their glasses for a moment, questions and thoughts forming.
The atmosphere feels a little less comfortable than before as if they're all waiting for something to break the bubble of this conversation, move things on or resolve it. His eyes moving to the bar again, Jeremy thinks it might even be a good time for Sim to come back and join them but then he kicks himself for such a treacherous thought. Sim will push everything Top Gear off of the table, change the dynamic and steal James' attention. He needs to move things on himself, he's the one who pushed the topic in the first place; shutting down his thoughts, he switches to Clarkson mode.
“Oh Christ,” he sniggers convincingly, “can you imagine it Hammond?”
Richard grins in relief, “Um hello! You've got great hair and a very nice pair.”
They laugh and Jeremy says delightedly, “My gentleman's sausage is very big, I'd like to put it in the Stig.”
“Oi!” James warns half-heartedly and shakes his head as they push each other further.
“I want to bum you in my Fiat -” Jeremy intones seriously. “But please don't leave stains on the se-at.”
Richard explodes with laughter then looks sheepish, “No, he really wouldn't like that.”
“Terrible, terrible.” Jeremy says shaking his head.
“Twats.” James sighs then smiles and wanders over to play darts. He likes a good game and the look on Jeremy's face as he moves in close to Sim promises that this will be a great one - the darts should be fun too.
It's twenty minutes later when James comes back to the table, passing Hammond on route to the bar. He slumps heavily into the chair opposite Jeremy and waits, unsure which button he'll choose to press - Sim or Sarah; it takes Jeremy seconds to decide.
“Do you honestly think you can porny poem someone into bed?”
“I don't think, I know.”
“And Sarah liked it? She didn't think you were a mental or...”
“I looked into her eyes,” James looks into Jeremy's just as intensely, “and I told her what I wanted and how she made me feel.”
“And her knickers fell off?”
James tuts and rolls his eyes, "Jezza."
"I mean..." Jeremy hesitates and feels the heady mix of impatience and jealousy rise up. "Did she fall for it or not?"
James looks at him for a moment and doesn't reply, then leans in close across the table, “My hands tremble and curve into humble bowls,” James says in a low voice, “formed now by my need for you; they are moulds for your breasts - your beauty, cool and yearning for warm flesh. Thumbs burning to brush over your nipple peaks, set trails for the fire in me, finding my way into you so tenderly, soothing the way with my tongue.”
“James...?”
“My tongue that longingly wraps around your name, the way it should your soft flesh, dancing in your mouth as it will against your clit, thrumming and drumming my need; tapping there a rhythm that says I want you, I want you to come for me, move so freely against my demanding touch, be tasted and teased tonight.”
Jeremy swallows and tries unsuccessfully to stop staring into wickedly glinting blue eyes; James stands, leans over him as he moves away and whispers in Jeremy's ear, “Do you know the best thing about it?”
Jeremy shakes his head, mouth still slightly open in shock.
“It works bloody brilliantly on blokes too.”
Richard puts the drinks down on the table heavily and Jeremy looks up, realising he hasn't been the only audience for James' performance..
“I think I'd fuck him after that!” Hammond says and opens a bag of crisps. “Want one?” he asks and Jeremy nods repeatedly, then realises Richard means salt and vinegar not sex and shakes his head at the proffered bag. “Wonder if he'll write that down for me too.”
“You can't put that on a bracelet!”
Richard grins, “No, but I can try it out on Mind. Stick my poets head on; tits, bowls, tongue stuff. Might get very lucky tonight.”
“Rubbish.” Jeremy grunts and pushes back his chair, “I need a fag.”
When he returns, Richard is standing by the table with his mobile to one ear and a finger in the other. Jeremy sits down and nods as Hammond heads outside, it's much easier to explain that he's been held up at the office without the sounds of a pub in the background. Their three drinks sit on the table and Jeremy looks around to find James, spotting him in a small group of people at the bar and letting himself stare. Finding my way into you, he remembers and swallows, James looks happy and loose today in a new black t-shirt and half-dead jeans, his hand rests on Sim's shoulder as they joke around and Jeremy blinks his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath and tries not to look again but he can't help it, recognising the ease with which they lean into each other and the gut-tightening way that Sim runs his palm the length of James' back to get his attention. Soothing the way with my tongue. It's a wretched visual torture and when James sits back down a few minutes later, Jeremy has to swallow so many insults and demands.
“Where's Rich?”
“Phone.” Jeremy mutters then takes a large swig of beer and tries to sound calm, “So if it works on men, what did you say to speccy?”
James raises his eyebrows.
“Simian or whatever you call him.”
“Sim.” James says carefully trying not to bite, “His name is Simeon, but you know that.”
“That's what I said- Simian.” Jeremy grins tightly.
James sips his beer and sighs, “Don't think I can't hear what you're saying and if you insist of being like that then I'll be forced to admit that there's definitely something animalistic about him at times, when we're in bed and -
Jeremy clears his throat and James stops, “I was just wondering if it really does work on chaps because I don't believe it and it sounds like more of your bloody madness like toy houses and silly putty gardens.”
“They all worked.” James says smugly and knows he's won the point.
They both look at their drinks, their hands - each others too and then at the door to see if Richard is returning. Finally James hides a smile as Jeremy can't help himself, “Well what magic words got the ape-man into your bed then?”
“Why,” James says slowly and taps a spare beermat on Jeremy's knuckles, “do you want a crack at him?”
“Don't be ridiculous!”
James shrugs, “I can't tell you anyway, it's personal.”
“You told me what you said to Sarah.” Jeremy grunts and pulls his hand back, watching James flip the beermat between his fingers with a dexterity that he'd deny possessing.
“We aren't together any more.” James says and meets his eye, “I had hoped you'd remember.”
Jeremy shivers, he wants to blame the change from winter to spring or the thinness of his old shirt but it's most definitely something in James' gaze. What had he said - I want you, I want you to come for me? He takes a deep breath and tries not to see the way James' eyes seem to beg something more than an answer; he never knows what that is so he presses on,“I thought you and spec-him weren't either?
“No,” James nods and looks slowly over to the bar, “but we still - shag.” Something in Jeremy plummets and James flips the beermat at him, sounding falsely bright, “No point getting all backed up waiting for Mr Right to come along."
Jeremy wants desperately to thump him but his mouth takes over, “Mister?” James nods with a hum and he finds himself snapping, “Well how will you know if you're so wrapped up in Mr Brilliant-At-Everything!”
“Because I've already found him,” James says slowly. “Now I'm just waiting.”
“For what, Christmas?”
“Him to be ready, for a signal that I can...” James smiles slowly and cocks his head to one side.
Jeremy feels reckless, “And then what?
“Then I'll pounce!” James says suddenly making him jump. He waits until they make eye contact again and says in a low whisper, “And then I'll roger him senseless, Jez.”
Jeremy can feel the tension between them at its maximum, he could say something now and maybe have more than a dinner invitation - be tasted and teased tonight... He could gather his courage and ask if it's him, if he's Mr Right because he wants to be and if so he wants everything that's coming to him, now. Instead he tries to steady himself, ignore the heat on his face and the hammering in his chest, the exhilarating thrill making him jumpy and restless. He steadies his voice and asks, “What erm - what sort of signal does he have to give?”
“Fuck, are we talking about trains again?” Richard interrupts, dropping back into his seat. “Signals and flags and-”
“No!” Jeremy snaps then feels himself deflate, a quick look at James catches the intensity leaving his face. “We're talking about May's Mr Right,” he huffs tiredly, “that's all.”
Richard sniggers and nods towards Sim, “I thought you were getting your oats from Mr Right-Now.”
“He is. But only until Mr Right makes a move.”
Swallowing a large gulp of beer, James shakes his head, “God, no. I don't want him to try anything, that'll never happen.”
“Really?” Richard asks, “Sane bloke then eh?” He grins at the two fingers James offers him and ignores the sharp kick to his ankle from Jeremy, though he's sure that it isn't an accident. “So what are you waiting for - some sign that he's interested?”
“No, he's interested,” James smiles and meets Jeremy's gaze, “I'm waiting 'til I know he's ready.”
“For what?”
James turns to Richard, moving his leg as he does so, leaning a solid knee heavily against Jeremy's thigh. “You know when we've been away for a few weeks - a month or so and you get home and sleep off the jetlag while Mindy drops the kids at your mum's?”
Richard grins, “Oh yeah.”
“And then she walks in the door and she's all yours?”
“Time to wake up the chickens and frighten the horses.” Richard chuckles, rubbing his hands together.
“Well imagine you've been away for a lot longer,” James says slowly and taps his knee against Jeremy gently, “years. She'd need to be ready for that wouldn't she?”
Richard's laugh turns filthier and he agrees, lets his mouth and mind wander on the subject while James watches Jeremy. He takes in the slight jerkiness of his movements, the flush of his skin and the underlying tension that he recognises as aggression; Jeremy's waiting for Richard to leave and for James to act but these things should never be rushed. James has been waiting years, has turned longing into an exquisite pleasure so a little longer just adds to the thrill. Letting Richard come to a natural stop, he drains his glass and stands up; Jeremy jumps slightly beside him and looking down James almost changes his mind. Instead he files the look in those grey eyes for later use and makes his excuses, claiming tiredness and saying he'll see them both in a couple of days.
“But-.” Jeremy begins.
“Wednesday.” James nods with a smile.
“Need those lines off you later, so I can try them on Mind!” Richard calls after him.
Jeremy watches the pub door swing shut and rubs his fists against his knees, he feels frustrated and robbed. Maybe this is where he's supposed to give his signal, chase after James and say he's ready - but he's not entirely sure that he is. There's want and need, he definitely has those but he's not certain at all that he's prepared for what James wants from him. Maybe if he had some dirty poem as a guide it might help but James has never offered him anything like that. He looks back at his drink and decides to wait; waiting sounds much better than chickening out, he'll subtly raise the subject again on Wednesday and see what happens. Feeling better about his ineptitude, Jeremy drains his pint and gets one more in before Richard has to leave; after that it's home to the flat and a scotch or three.
He's a couple of hours into thinking about James' words to Sarah and the possible demands that have been whispered darkly, persuasively into Sim's ear, when he finally admits that his inaction was a mistake. Jeremy doesn't come to this conclusion easily despite the state of arousal that the memory of James saying 'I want you to come for me...' leaves him in; rather he fights it until it overwhelms him. It's hard, he accepts, to pretend that you have no regrets when you've just worked yourself to a frenzied orgasm over those words; when you lie sated but alone, wiping your climax into the sheets. Wednesday seems a long way away too.
**********
Chapter Two ~ Give me the squeal of tyres.