Top Gear, James / Jeremy, PG-13
Title: Drawing in Dirt
Pairing: Jeremy Clarkson/James May
Summary: James wonders if it’s possible to draw patterns in the dirt that has accumulated on Jeremy’s face.
Warnings: None
Author: blacktofade
Words: 1,696
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This is based on this picture. This has not been beta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes/offer concrit.
Disclaimer: I am not associated with Top Gear or any of their affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
James wonders if it’s possible to draw patterns in the dirt that has accumulated on Jeremy’s face. It reminds him of the old wooden dresser that sits in the corner of his spare room, catching all the dust that just happens to float past. For some reason, it’s the only thing he leaves be; he lets it stand in its natural glory and he briefly thinks that perhaps Jeremy is doing the same thing and that he should leave him alone. Instead, he stares, a bit too openly, at Jeremy’s face and breathes in the smoky smell emanating from his blue boiler suit. Jeremy smells rather like a chimney, which is not an unusual smell - the amount of cigarettes Jeremy smokes makes him smell the same way normally - it’s just that usually he doesn’t look like he’s been stuck up one also.
Dirt and James don’t usually get along, but for some reason, the dirt on Jeremy has him transfixed. He feels as though he has to rid Jeremy of it because he is the reason Jeremy had drawn the short straw that made him go by train. In the production meeting, they’d all laughed and said that James should go by train because everyone knows James likes things to be spotlessly clean, but then Jeremy had noticed the genuine uncomfortable look on James’ face and had offered himself up as bait. James doesn’t know why Jeremy did it, perhaps he was taking a moment to show his true friendship, but then James remembers that when Top Gear is involved, nothing will stand in the way of a good joke, and James on a long train journey would have been hilarious.
With the filming over for the day, James follows Richard and Jeremy as they walk the short distance to the hotel they’re all staying in for the night; it’s nothing fancy, but it’s nice enough. Eyes seem to follow them as they traipse through the lobby and a young lad eyes them all up in the lift with a look on his face that clearly says that he thinks he knows them from somewhere. Nobody says anything, but there’s an awkward feeling in the small space that makes James sure the kid is on the verge of opening his mouth the whole time, until James, Jeremy, and Richard exit the lift on the fourth floor.
James has been given a room key that has the number 460 on it and he finds that the room is further down the hallway from the other two, who have their rooms right next door to each other. Richard, walking ahead of everyone else, enters his own room before James can even ask if they’re going out to dinner together later. Jeremy, obviously also noting Richard’s hasty exit, snorts as he reaches his own door.
James stops at Jeremy’s side.
“You want to go for a beer downstairs after you’ve showered?” he asks.
Jeremy tilts his head and scrunches his face up in a way that lets James know his answer before he even speaks.
“Not tonight, May, I’m exhausted.”
James nods and tries not to let his eyes linger on Jeremy’s mucky face for too long.
“Night then,” he says as he begins to walk towards his own room. He gets two doors down before Jeremy calls him back.
“We could just grab some beers from the minibar, if you wanted, save us having to go anywhere.”
James almost declines, thinking it’s probably not a good idea for them to be shut inside a small room together, what with Jeremy so dirty and James thinking even dirtier thoughts about how he could clean him, but then Jeremy smiles lopsidedly and James finds himself nodding. Jeremy slots the cardkey into the door and waits for the little green light to appear; James almost believes that it’s giving him the green light, giving him false hope by saying, “everything’s fine; just go for it”. He blinks and watches the light turn back to red as Jeremy opens the door and removes the key; perhaps it’s a bad idea after all, he thinks. His feet ignore his brain and carry him into the room; Jeremy follows silently.
James has a small overnight briefcase with him that he sets by the door; Jeremy slips his own shoulder bag over his head and throws it haphazardly onto the bed. They turn to stare at each other for just a few beats, then Jeremy claps his hands together soundly.
“Right, what do we want to drink?”
James doesn’t move as Jeremy strolls towards the minibar, but for some reason he finds it to be the daftest thing ever. There’s Jeremy, clad in a slightly-too-big boiler suit, covered in soot, and instead of heading straight to the shower like any normal person, Jeremy heads for the alcohol; it’s unconventional; it’s decidedly very Jeremy. He holds back his amusement and allows Jeremy to sift through the fridge without uttering a word.
“What do you want: beer or liquor?”
James pretends to think.
“Beer.”
“Good choice,” Jeremy says as he takes out two bottles, opens them both, and then hands one to James.
James takes the beer but can’t help himself as his free hand shoots out and closes around Jeremy’s wrist. Jeremy begins to protest by drawing his arm back, but then he seems to realise that James’ motives are innocent enough and stops; as if he trusts James’ judgement, which is dangerous because James isn’t even sure if he trusts it himself.
Without really thinking, James moves the sweating bottle of beer and swipes it over the back of Jeremy’s hand, smearing the dirt that’s there. James notices that Jeremy seems to be holding his breath, waiting for something else to happen, and the anticipation makes him swallow and ask himself what he thinks he’s doing. As though shocked, James drops Jeremy’s hand and hums in consideration to try to cover the fact that he’s just made things completely awkward for them both.
“You done?” Jeremy asks, though his sarcasm isn’t as biting as it could have been; James knows he’s holding back.
He looks up at Jeremy’s face and knows as soon as he does it that it’s a bad idea because now he’s wondering what it would be like to watch the dust on Jeremy’s face wash away, bit by bit.
“It looks like you’ve dyed your hair,” he states, then stupidly reaches up to touch the hair at Jeremy’s forehead. It’s stupid because he’s old enough to know that it’s always the small things - the offhand remarks, the casual touches - that are the worst; he knows that papercuts and small splinters hurt more, but even that knowledge doesn’t stop him.
“I take that as a ‘no’ then,” Jeremy jokes, but doesn’t pull back, doesn’t say anything else, as James’ fingertips slide through the very tips of his hair. James tugs slightly, and then pulls his hand away, palm open, to show the black dirt clinging to his fingers. Jeremy snorts then ruffles his hair with his own hand. He pulls his hand back, but finds that dirt doesn’t show up on already-dirty hands.
James moves his attention to Jeremy’s hands, noting the way that the dirt sits in the creases and folds of Jeremy’s skin. In the rivets where Jeremy’s knuckles are, the soot appears more black than grey. He then understands that it’s the same for the laughter lines on the edges of Jeremy’s eyes. He takes a step forward, stepping fully into Jeremy’s personal space. Jeremy tenses and seems to freeze in place as James takes his time examining Jeremy’s face, running a finger through the dust every now and then, in the way he had longed to do in the first place.
For the record, it is possible for James to draw patterns.
James’ eyes flicker down until they fall on Jeremy’s lips. Even they have fallen prey to filth, as there’s dirt resting in the tiny lines there, barely visible, except that James is close enough that he can see everything. He can see the exact moment when Jeremy parts his lips, which leads to him being able to see the tips of Jeremy’s cigarette-yellowed teeth. It’s like the darkness of Jeremy’s mouth hypnotises him, because James finds himself leaning in, centimetres away from disappearing into the black hole that is Jeremy Clarkson. He imagines that all the light around him is drawn in first, but that might be because he shuts his eyes.
It makes it much easier for when he close the gap, though it seems like the most natural thing to do.
The first thing to register in James’ mind isn’t that Jeremy’s lips are supple under his own, it’s that they taste like everything he loves. They taste of the outdoors, of trains, of cigarette smoke, of air rushing past at high speeds; they taste of Jeremy.
Before Jeremy can respond, James pulls away, opens his eyes, and steps back. He notices that Jeremy’s lips are no longer black and figures that his own must be instead. With shaky movements, he raises his beer bottle to his lips and without a second thought, he washes away all the different tastes with the cool, refreshing alcohol. Hurriedly, Jeremy does the same, looking guilty for licking his lips before he does so.
James avoids Jeremy’s gaze and keeps taking swigs of his beer, until Jeremy clears his throat; James looks up.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Jeremy states, though James can’t tell if it’s an invitation or not.
James realises that it is, when Jeremy leaves the door slightly open. James waits until the sound of running water fills the air, then he makes up his mind. Instead of walking through the open door, James puts his half-finished beer on the top of the telly, grabs his overnight bag, and leaves Jeremy’s room without even a whisper of a goodbye.
He hopes that Jeremy will forget he was even there, in the way that Jeremy’s skin will forget that the dirt was ever there, after it’s all run down the drain of the shower.
Pairing: Jeremy Clarkson/James May
Summary: James wonders if it’s possible to draw patterns in the dirt that has accumulated on Jeremy’s face.
Warnings: None
Author: blacktofade
Words: 1,696
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This is based on this picture. This has not been beta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes/offer concrit.
Disclaimer: I am not associated with Top Gear or any of their affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
James wonders if it’s possible to draw patterns in the dirt that has accumulated on Jeremy’s face. It reminds him of the old wooden dresser that sits in the corner of his spare room, catching all the dust that just happens to float past. For some reason, it’s the only thing he leaves be; he lets it stand in its natural glory and he briefly thinks that perhaps Jeremy is doing the same thing and that he should leave him alone. Instead, he stares, a bit too openly, at Jeremy’s face and breathes in the smoky smell emanating from his blue boiler suit. Jeremy smells rather like a chimney, which is not an unusual smell - the amount of cigarettes Jeremy smokes makes him smell the same way normally - it’s just that usually he doesn’t look like he’s been stuck up one also.
Dirt and James don’t usually get along, but for some reason, the dirt on Jeremy has him transfixed. He feels as though he has to rid Jeremy of it because he is the reason Jeremy had drawn the short straw that made him go by train. In the production meeting, they’d all laughed and said that James should go by train because everyone knows James likes things to be spotlessly clean, but then Jeremy had noticed the genuine uncomfortable look on James’ face and had offered himself up as bait. James doesn’t know why Jeremy did it, perhaps he was taking a moment to show his true friendship, but then James remembers that when Top Gear is involved, nothing will stand in the way of a good joke, and James on a long train journey would have been hilarious.
With the filming over for the day, James follows Richard and Jeremy as they walk the short distance to the hotel they’re all staying in for the night; it’s nothing fancy, but it’s nice enough. Eyes seem to follow them as they traipse through the lobby and a young lad eyes them all up in the lift with a look on his face that clearly says that he thinks he knows them from somewhere. Nobody says anything, but there’s an awkward feeling in the small space that makes James sure the kid is on the verge of opening his mouth the whole time, until James, Jeremy, and Richard exit the lift on the fourth floor.
James has been given a room key that has the number 460 on it and he finds that the room is further down the hallway from the other two, who have their rooms right next door to each other. Richard, walking ahead of everyone else, enters his own room before James can even ask if they’re going out to dinner together later. Jeremy, obviously also noting Richard’s hasty exit, snorts as he reaches his own door.
James stops at Jeremy’s side.
“You want to go for a beer downstairs after you’ve showered?” he asks.
Jeremy tilts his head and scrunches his face up in a way that lets James know his answer before he even speaks.
“Not tonight, May, I’m exhausted.”
James nods and tries not to let his eyes linger on Jeremy’s mucky face for too long.
“Night then,” he says as he begins to walk towards his own room. He gets two doors down before Jeremy calls him back.
“We could just grab some beers from the minibar, if you wanted, save us having to go anywhere.”
James almost declines, thinking it’s probably not a good idea for them to be shut inside a small room together, what with Jeremy so dirty and James thinking even dirtier thoughts about how he could clean him, but then Jeremy smiles lopsidedly and James finds himself nodding. Jeremy slots the cardkey into the door and waits for the little green light to appear; James almost believes that it’s giving him the green light, giving him false hope by saying, “everything’s fine; just go for it”. He blinks and watches the light turn back to red as Jeremy opens the door and removes the key; perhaps it’s a bad idea after all, he thinks. His feet ignore his brain and carry him into the room; Jeremy follows silently.
James has a small overnight briefcase with him that he sets by the door; Jeremy slips his own shoulder bag over his head and throws it haphazardly onto the bed. They turn to stare at each other for just a few beats, then Jeremy claps his hands together soundly.
“Right, what do we want to drink?”
James doesn’t move as Jeremy strolls towards the minibar, but for some reason he finds it to be the daftest thing ever. There’s Jeremy, clad in a slightly-too-big boiler suit, covered in soot, and instead of heading straight to the shower like any normal person, Jeremy heads for the alcohol; it’s unconventional; it’s decidedly very Jeremy. He holds back his amusement and allows Jeremy to sift through the fridge without uttering a word.
“What do you want: beer or liquor?”
James pretends to think.
“Beer.”
“Good choice,” Jeremy says as he takes out two bottles, opens them both, and then hands one to James.
James takes the beer but can’t help himself as his free hand shoots out and closes around Jeremy’s wrist. Jeremy begins to protest by drawing his arm back, but then he seems to realise that James’ motives are innocent enough and stops; as if he trusts James’ judgement, which is dangerous because James isn’t even sure if he trusts it himself.
Without really thinking, James moves the sweating bottle of beer and swipes it over the back of Jeremy’s hand, smearing the dirt that’s there. James notices that Jeremy seems to be holding his breath, waiting for something else to happen, and the anticipation makes him swallow and ask himself what he thinks he’s doing. As though shocked, James drops Jeremy’s hand and hums in consideration to try to cover the fact that he’s just made things completely awkward for them both.
“You done?” Jeremy asks, though his sarcasm isn’t as biting as it could have been; James knows he’s holding back.
He looks up at Jeremy’s face and knows as soon as he does it that it’s a bad idea because now he’s wondering what it would be like to watch the dust on Jeremy’s face wash away, bit by bit.
“It looks like you’ve dyed your hair,” he states, then stupidly reaches up to touch the hair at Jeremy’s forehead. It’s stupid because he’s old enough to know that it’s always the small things - the offhand remarks, the casual touches - that are the worst; he knows that papercuts and small splinters hurt more, but even that knowledge doesn’t stop him.
“I take that as a ‘no’ then,” Jeremy jokes, but doesn’t pull back, doesn’t say anything else, as James’ fingertips slide through the very tips of his hair. James tugs slightly, and then pulls his hand away, palm open, to show the black dirt clinging to his fingers. Jeremy snorts then ruffles his hair with his own hand. He pulls his hand back, but finds that dirt doesn’t show up on already-dirty hands.
James moves his attention to Jeremy’s hands, noting the way that the dirt sits in the creases and folds of Jeremy’s skin. In the rivets where Jeremy’s knuckles are, the soot appears more black than grey. He then understands that it’s the same for the laughter lines on the edges of Jeremy’s eyes. He takes a step forward, stepping fully into Jeremy’s personal space. Jeremy tenses and seems to freeze in place as James takes his time examining Jeremy’s face, running a finger through the dust every now and then, in the way he had longed to do in the first place.
For the record, it is possible for James to draw patterns.
James’ eyes flicker down until they fall on Jeremy’s lips. Even they have fallen prey to filth, as there’s dirt resting in the tiny lines there, barely visible, except that James is close enough that he can see everything. He can see the exact moment when Jeremy parts his lips, which leads to him being able to see the tips of Jeremy’s cigarette-yellowed teeth. It’s like the darkness of Jeremy’s mouth hypnotises him, because James finds himself leaning in, centimetres away from disappearing into the black hole that is Jeremy Clarkson. He imagines that all the light around him is drawn in first, but that might be because he shuts his eyes.
It makes it much easier for when he close the gap, though it seems like the most natural thing to do.
The first thing to register in James’ mind isn’t that Jeremy’s lips are supple under his own, it’s that they taste like everything he loves. They taste of the outdoors, of trains, of cigarette smoke, of air rushing past at high speeds; they taste of Jeremy.
Before Jeremy can respond, James pulls away, opens his eyes, and steps back. He notices that Jeremy’s lips are no longer black and figures that his own must be instead. With shaky movements, he raises his beer bottle to his lips and without a second thought, he washes away all the different tastes with the cool, refreshing alcohol. Hurriedly, Jeremy does the same, looking guilty for licking his lips before he does so.
James avoids Jeremy’s gaze and keeps taking swigs of his beer, until Jeremy clears his throat; James looks up.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Jeremy states, though James can’t tell if it’s an invitation or not.
James realises that it is, when Jeremy leaves the door slightly open. James waits until the sound of running water fills the air, then he makes up his mind. Instead of walking through the open door, James puts his half-finished beer on the top of the telly, grabs his overnight bag, and leaves Jeremy’s room without even a whisper of a goodbye.
He hopes that Jeremy will forget he was even there, in the way that Jeremy’s skin will forget that the dirt was ever there, after it’s all run down the drain of the shower.