TG Fic: But from This Night Not a Whisper
Title: But from This Night Not a Whisper
Author: giddy_london
Pairing: Richard Hammond/James May
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, infidelity. (Do we need warnings for this? I don’t know.)
Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality, I’m not making money writing these lies, etc.
Summary: They don’t talk about the kissing, about what they do when no one is watching.
A/N: Immeasurable thanks to tigertale7 for always thoughtful beta work and encouragement, and to jacqui_hw for the hand-holding and reassurance as I agonised over every bit of this 1,600 word fic. Title taken from W.H. Auden’s poem “Lullaby,” the full text of which you can find here. Cross-posted to topgearslash, so apologies if you see it twice.
James has rules. He likes rules and procedures and tends to live by them; they make things nice and orderly, and he’s never been able to see the sense in muddling through life. Some rules are simple and ironclad - that tea is imperative to starting his day and that he must have at least two cups (milk, no sugar) before even thinking about answering the phone or email or leaving the house; or that he fills his cars with petrol when the gauges indicate there is slightly more than a quarter of a tank left. Other of James’ rules are more complicated and flexible in certain circumstances - like the one about not getting involved in relationships serious enough to merit extra toothbrushes in the bathroom and unfamiliar clothes in the laundry basket. Obviously this rule can be bent in cases of late and inevitably drunken nights with Jeremy or Richard, or decidedly manly garage-type endeavours with his mate Colin, but by and large, James avoids the kind of intimacy that a toothbrush implies. Some rules are so convoluted that James isn’t even sure he could explain them should anyone think to inquire about them. The touching rule is one of these, and while he doesn’t know exactly why he’d rather not touch or be touched, it isn’t something James thinks can be clarified with the inadequacy of words. He doesn’t think of himself as a rule-breaker, but if he is honest, James can admit that he is violating one of the most important - he is having an affair with a co-worker.
-----
They kiss when they are alone. James cannot remember when the kissing started, but he can recall the feeling of them being inexorably drawn to each other with startling clarity. Each time Richard’s lips touch tentatively at his own, James is reminded of the first time, and he thinks of the way Richard tasted, like cigarettes and fear and something sweet. Now, he tastes of barely restrained desire, of desperation and guilt - tastes that linger on James’ tongue long after Richard has gone home to his wife and children. They don’t talk about the kissing, about what they do when no one is watching.
-----
James notices that when Richard drives, he uses his whole body, and everything from his intense grip on the gear stick to the shifting thigh muscles under his trouser legs to the way his chest strains against the seatbelt as he increases his speed is making James, sitting in the passenger seat of Richard’s Porsche, think of more than kissing. He is embarrassed, and grateful that he can hide the hot flush of his cheeks behind his hair, but he is less confident that he will be able to hide the way that his cock pushes insistently against the inside of the zip of his jeans; that is something that Richard will definitely notice. They are somewhere between Dunsfold and James’ house in Hammersmith after a long day of filming when Richard pulls onto the hard shoulder and silences the engine of the car. He doesn’t say anything for several minutes and James looks resolutely out of the window, his shallow breaths fogging the glass.
“James.” Richard’s voice shakes. “Can we - I want…” He gives up speaking and rests an uncertain hand on James’ denim-covered leg. His wedding ring catches the light of the late autumn sun.
James closes his eyes. “You don’t have to,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. He thinks about his carefully constructed rules and waits for Richard to make a decision.
“I want to.” Richard fumbles with endearing enthusiasm at James’ fly before leaning over and touching the very tip of his tongue to James’ prick, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from somewhere above him.
They have never done this. They have kissed - in the portakabin, behind the hangar at breaks during filming, in various cars - but they have never touched one another like this. Kisses can be stopped, controlled, and after long years, forgotten, but James knows that he will not be able to forget the feel of Richard’s mouth and hands on his cock for the first time.
James clutches the leather seat with his left hand while his right finds its way into Richard’s hair, pulling at the dishevelled spikes as he tries to stop himself thrusting into the wet heat of Richard’s mouth. James is moaning and biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself saying something he will regret, but as soon as Richard gazes up at him with wide brown eyes, he is coming, unable to think or look away. He strokes Richard’s cheek with his thumb, once, twice, as his other fingers knead the back of his neck, and his lips form Richard’s name in the humid air.
-----
Jeremy knows. James doesn’t know how he knows, just that he does; certainly he hasn’t told Jeremy, and Richard denies telling him when James asks. The two of them stand by the side of the track sharing a fag and watching the Stig put the latest offering from Audi through its paces. They smoke in silence and drink their tea and huddle into the safety of their jackets, barriers against the cold and the things they cannot say.
Later, James is unlocking the Panda and getting ready to drive back to London when he hears Jeremy shout his name across the car park. He stills, waiting for Jeremy to catch him up. He clutches his keys in his hand, cold metal biting into his palm.
“May,” Jeremy says, striding toward him.
James shakes his head. “Please, Jeremy. I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” he asks.
James does not know how to tell Jeremy that he didn’t mean for any of it to happen, so he just shakes his head again and gets in the car. As he drives home, he wonders whether Mindy knows too.
-----
They are in a hotel in Italy with walls so thin that they can hear Jeremy and Andy making last-minute script adjustments and growing progressively drunker in the next room, but the noise does not deter them. Richard takes condoms and lubricant from his suitcase and sets them next to the telephone on the bedside table and looks to James, nervous. James thinks about asking Richard if he’s ever done this before, but finds that he does not want to know the answer. It is better if they don’t talk about it and acknowledge what they have obviously planned to do.
James peels back the layers of Richard’s clothes with faltering hands, kneeling before him in reverence as delicate buttons come open and expose parts of him that James has seen a thousand times, but never with the intention of memorisation. Richard’s eyes are dark and unfathomable as he watches James. He does not speak, just leans back on the unfamiliar bed as James’ hands flutter like small, restless birds over the expanse of bare skin laid out before him. James looks at Richard and traces every curve of bone and muscle, feeling his defenses and shyness crumble as he breaks his self-imposed rule and learns to touch. He kisses the insides of Richard’s knees, provoking a laugh as his hair tickles Richard’s thighs and cock.
“Come on, Captain Slow,” Richard says, challenging.
“No.” James stands and begins to undress.
“What do you mean, no?” he asks, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
“I’m taking my time,” James tells him without a trace of embarrassment. He leaves his clothes in an untidy pile on the floor, repressing the urge to fold them neatly. “I want to look at you and touch you. Are you in a hurry, Hammond? Have you somewhere better to be?” James moves closer, leaning down to touch his lips to Richard’s.
“No,” Richard breathes.
“Then turn over,” says James, an undercurrent of darkness to his voice.
Richard licks his lips before stretching out across the unmade bed.
James just stands for a moment, taking in the sight of Richard spread out for him. His hands long to wander, to map the planes and angles of the body in front of him, but something stops him, urges him to commit this moment to memory. When he is satisfied that the image of Richard, tense and waiting for him, is burned bright and white-hot into his mind, James eases onto the bed and straddles him. His hands begin to move of their own accord - stroking and massaging, wringing pleasure, sobbing breaths, and muffled words from the shaking man beneath him.
Richard’s self-control shatters and he begs James to fuck him. “Please,” he gasps into the starched white pillowslip. “Please, James.”
James soothes Richard with a kiss to the back of the neck, revelling in the slick salt flavour of his skin. He grits his teeth as he slides his cock into Richard, knowing he must not rush, yet still wanting to thrust into the tight heat until Richard comes undone. James fucks him slowly, enjoying every moan and whimper, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Richard’s shoulders and biting his pale collarbone as he comes, feeling as if he is about to fly apart.
Richard is still writhing under him, rubbing against the sheets, desperate to come, and James pulls away from him, out of him, turning him over onto his back and taking Richard’s cock down his throat. Richard’s hips stutter up from the mattress and James holds them down with strong hands, which Richard covers with his own, squeezing James’ fingers as he comes with a cry that silences the voices next door.
That night as Richard sleeps tucked up against him, James knows that this can’t last forever.
Author: giddy_london
Pairing: Richard Hammond/James May
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, infidelity. (Do we need warnings for this? I don’t know.)
Disclaimer: Not at all true in reality, I’m not making money writing these lies, etc.
Summary: They don’t talk about the kissing, about what they do when no one is watching.
A/N: Immeasurable thanks to tigertale7 for always thoughtful beta work and encouragement, and to jacqui_hw for the hand-holding and reassurance as I agonised over every bit of this 1,600 word fic. Title taken from W.H. Auden’s poem “Lullaby,” the full text of which you can find here. Cross-posted to topgearslash, so apologies if you see it twice.
James has rules. He likes rules and procedures and tends to live by them; they make things nice and orderly, and he’s never been able to see the sense in muddling through life. Some rules are simple and ironclad - that tea is imperative to starting his day and that he must have at least two cups (milk, no sugar) before even thinking about answering the phone or email or leaving the house; or that he fills his cars with petrol when the gauges indicate there is slightly more than a quarter of a tank left. Other of James’ rules are more complicated and flexible in certain circumstances - like the one about not getting involved in relationships serious enough to merit extra toothbrushes in the bathroom and unfamiliar clothes in the laundry basket. Obviously this rule can be bent in cases of late and inevitably drunken nights with Jeremy or Richard, or decidedly manly garage-type endeavours with his mate Colin, but by and large, James avoids the kind of intimacy that a toothbrush implies. Some rules are so convoluted that James isn’t even sure he could explain them should anyone think to inquire about them. The touching rule is one of these, and while he doesn’t know exactly why he’d rather not touch or be touched, it isn’t something James thinks can be clarified with the inadequacy of words. He doesn’t think of himself as a rule-breaker, but if he is honest, James can admit that he is violating one of the most important - he is having an affair with a co-worker.
-----
They kiss when they are alone. James cannot remember when the kissing started, but he can recall the feeling of them being inexorably drawn to each other with startling clarity. Each time Richard’s lips touch tentatively at his own, James is reminded of the first time, and he thinks of the way Richard tasted, like cigarettes and fear and something sweet. Now, he tastes of barely restrained desire, of desperation and guilt - tastes that linger on James’ tongue long after Richard has gone home to his wife and children. They don’t talk about the kissing, about what they do when no one is watching.
-----
James notices that when Richard drives, he uses his whole body, and everything from his intense grip on the gear stick to the shifting thigh muscles under his trouser legs to the way his chest strains against the seatbelt as he increases his speed is making James, sitting in the passenger seat of Richard’s Porsche, think of more than kissing. He is embarrassed, and grateful that he can hide the hot flush of his cheeks behind his hair, but he is less confident that he will be able to hide the way that his cock pushes insistently against the inside of the zip of his jeans; that is something that Richard will definitely notice. They are somewhere between Dunsfold and James’ house in Hammersmith after a long day of filming when Richard pulls onto the hard shoulder and silences the engine of the car. He doesn’t say anything for several minutes and James looks resolutely out of the window, his shallow breaths fogging the glass.
“James.” Richard’s voice shakes. “Can we - I want…” He gives up speaking and rests an uncertain hand on James’ denim-covered leg. His wedding ring catches the light of the late autumn sun.
James closes his eyes. “You don’t have to,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. He thinks about his carefully constructed rules and waits for Richard to make a decision.
“I want to.” Richard fumbles with endearing enthusiasm at James’ fly before leaning over and touching the very tip of his tongue to James’ prick, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from somewhere above him.
They have never done this. They have kissed - in the portakabin, behind the hangar at breaks during filming, in various cars - but they have never touched one another like this. Kisses can be stopped, controlled, and after long years, forgotten, but James knows that he will not be able to forget the feel of Richard’s mouth and hands on his cock for the first time.
James clutches the leather seat with his left hand while his right finds its way into Richard’s hair, pulling at the dishevelled spikes as he tries to stop himself thrusting into the wet heat of Richard’s mouth. James is moaning and biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself saying something he will regret, but as soon as Richard gazes up at him with wide brown eyes, he is coming, unable to think or look away. He strokes Richard’s cheek with his thumb, once, twice, as his other fingers knead the back of his neck, and his lips form Richard’s name in the humid air.
-----
Jeremy knows. James doesn’t know how he knows, just that he does; certainly he hasn’t told Jeremy, and Richard denies telling him when James asks. The two of them stand by the side of the track sharing a fag and watching the Stig put the latest offering from Audi through its paces. They smoke in silence and drink their tea and huddle into the safety of their jackets, barriers against the cold and the things they cannot say.
Later, James is unlocking the Panda and getting ready to drive back to London when he hears Jeremy shout his name across the car park. He stills, waiting for Jeremy to catch him up. He clutches his keys in his hand, cold metal biting into his palm.
“May,” Jeremy says, striding toward him.
James shakes his head. “Please, Jeremy. I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” he asks.
James does not know how to tell Jeremy that he didn’t mean for any of it to happen, so he just shakes his head again and gets in the car. As he drives home, he wonders whether Mindy knows too.
-----
They are in a hotel in Italy with walls so thin that they can hear Jeremy and Andy making last-minute script adjustments and growing progressively drunker in the next room, but the noise does not deter them. Richard takes condoms and lubricant from his suitcase and sets them next to the telephone on the bedside table and looks to James, nervous. James thinks about asking Richard if he’s ever done this before, but finds that he does not want to know the answer. It is better if they don’t talk about it and acknowledge what they have obviously planned to do.
James peels back the layers of Richard’s clothes with faltering hands, kneeling before him in reverence as delicate buttons come open and expose parts of him that James has seen a thousand times, but never with the intention of memorisation. Richard’s eyes are dark and unfathomable as he watches James. He does not speak, just leans back on the unfamiliar bed as James’ hands flutter like small, restless birds over the expanse of bare skin laid out before him. James looks at Richard and traces every curve of bone and muscle, feeling his defenses and shyness crumble as he breaks his self-imposed rule and learns to touch. He kisses the insides of Richard’s knees, provoking a laugh as his hair tickles Richard’s thighs and cock.
“Come on, Captain Slow,” Richard says, challenging.
“No.” James stands and begins to undress.
“What do you mean, no?” he asks, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
“I’m taking my time,” James tells him without a trace of embarrassment. He leaves his clothes in an untidy pile on the floor, repressing the urge to fold them neatly. “I want to look at you and touch you. Are you in a hurry, Hammond? Have you somewhere better to be?” James moves closer, leaning down to touch his lips to Richard’s.
“No,” Richard breathes.
“Then turn over,” says James, an undercurrent of darkness to his voice.
Richard licks his lips before stretching out across the unmade bed.
James just stands for a moment, taking in the sight of Richard spread out for him. His hands long to wander, to map the planes and angles of the body in front of him, but something stops him, urges him to commit this moment to memory. When he is satisfied that the image of Richard, tense and waiting for him, is burned bright and white-hot into his mind, James eases onto the bed and straddles him. His hands begin to move of their own accord - stroking and massaging, wringing pleasure, sobbing breaths, and muffled words from the shaking man beneath him.
Richard’s self-control shatters and he begs James to fuck him. “Please,” he gasps into the starched white pillowslip. “Please, James.”
James soothes Richard with a kiss to the back of the neck, revelling in the slick salt flavour of his skin. He grits his teeth as he slides his cock into Richard, knowing he must not rush, yet still wanting to thrust into the tight heat until Richard comes undone. James fucks him slowly, enjoying every moan and whimper, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Richard’s shoulders and biting his pale collarbone as he comes, feeling as if he is about to fly apart.
Richard is still writhing under him, rubbing against the sheets, desperate to come, and James pulls away from him, out of him, turning him over onto his back and taking Richard’s cock down his throat. Richard’s hips stutter up from the mattress and James holds them down with strong hands, which Richard covers with his own, squeezing James’ fingers as he comes with a cry that silences the voices next door.
That night as Richard sleeps tucked up against him, James knows that this can’t last forever.