Top Gear, James / Jeremy, PG
Title: Moments
Pairing: James May / Jeremy Clarkson
Prompt: James/Jeremy, and some sort of tenderness between them..
Warnings: None
Author: blacktofade
Rating: PG
A/N: This was written for swing_set. This has not been beta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes/offer concrit.
Word Count: 433
Disclaimer: I am not associated with Top Gear or any of its affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
He held him close, just to hold him close. He memorised his breathing patterns and the way he smelt: so original, yet familiar at the same time. His fingers grasped at the collar of his shirt and held on, hoping that somehow it would bring them closer in more ways than just physically.
He waited for these moments, the moments that came as frequent as a blue moon. Nothing else mattered when they occurred, and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Jeremy gently carded his fingers through James’ shoulder-length hair, sending a soothing sensation down his spine. James’ head lulled backwards with the delicate movements, exposing his throat to the other man.
There was no noise, just the sounds of their breathing and the slight rustling of clothes as they moved softly.
Jeremy’s eyes fell shut as James tilted his head back up and pressed his nose into the curve of his neck.
To James, Jeremy smelled like soap, polos, and a mild musk of sweat mixed with aftershave. Jeremy always disagreed, saying he smelt of engine oil, cigarette smoke, and perverted old man. It was his version of frogs, snails, and puppy dog tails. The dispute would never last, as Jeremy would pin James against a hard surface and ravage him, until he admitted either he was wrong, or came. Which ever happened first.
James pressed a light kiss to then skin below his lips and slowly moved his face upwards towards Jeremy’s ear. Jeremy’s eyes opened once again, as he realised what was happening.
This was where James would whisper the lines of beloved poems and Jeremy would just listen to the comforting sound of his voice.
This time he chose the words of John Donne, the words death, be not proud, burning into Jeremy’s ears not only from the warmth of James’ breath, but from the intensity, the passion James chose to weave into his words. Only James knew it wasn’t just because of his love of poetry, but also his love of Jeremy. That he should be able to hold both never failed to steal his breath away.
Jeremy’s hand, still moving through James’ hair, stopped and moved to cup James’ chin. As the final words of the poem died away and the silence once again returned, Jeremy turned his face so they were only a few centimetres away from each other, and their breaths mingled in the gap between.
With one final glance into James’s eyes, Jeremy closed the space and kissed him tenderly.
Of all the moments in his life, he savoured these the most.
Pairing: James May / Jeremy Clarkson
Prompt: James/Jeremy, and some sort of tenderness between them..
Warnings: None
Author: blacktofade
Rating: PG
A/N: This was written for swing_set. This has not been beta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes/offer concrit.
Word Count: 433
Disclaimer: I am not associated with Top Gear or any of its affiliates. I don't mean any harm, this is all made up.
He held him close, just to hold him close. He memorised his breathing patterns and the way he smelt: so original, yet familiar at the same time. His fingers grasped at the collar of his shirt and held on, hoping that somehow it would bring them closer in more ways than just physically.
He waited for these moments, the moments that came as frequent as a blue moon. Nothing else mattered when they occurred, and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Jeremy gently carded his fingers through James’ shoulder-length hair, sending a soothing sensation down his spine. James’ head lulled backwards with the delicate movements, exposing his throat to the other man.
There was no noise, just the sounds of their breathing and the slight rustling of clothes as they moved softly.
Jeremy’s eyes fell shut as James tilted his head back up and pressed his nose into the curve of his neck.
To James, Jeremy smelled like soap, polos, and a mild musk of sweat mixed with aftershave. Jeremy always disagreed, saying he smelt of engine oil, cigarette smoke, and perverted old man. It was his version of frogs, snails, and puppy dog tails. The dispute would never last, as Jeremy would pin James against a hard surface and ravage him, until he admitted either he was wrong, or came. Which ever happened first.
James pressed a light kiss to then skin below his lips and slowly moved his face upwards towards Jeremy’s ear. Jeremy’s eyes opened once again, as he realised what was happening.
This was where James would whisper the lines of beloved poems and Jeremy would just listen to the comforting sound of his voice.
This time he chose the words of John Donne, the words death, be not proud, burning into Jeremy’s ears not only from the warmth of James’ breath, but from the intensity, the passion James chose to weave into his words. Only James knew it wasn’t just because of his love of poetry, but also his love of Jeremy. That he should be able to hold both never failed to steal his breath away.
Jeremy’s hand, still moving through James’ hair, stopped and moved to cup James’ chin. As the final words of the poem died away and the silence once again returned, Jeremy turned his face so they were only a few centimetres away from each other, and their breaths mingled in the gap between.
With one final glance into James’s eyes, Jeremy closed the space and kissed him tenderly.
Of all the moments in his life, he savoured these the most.