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"What you need is an assistant!" Jeremy proclaims, leaning back against the sofa. James, sitting beside him, looks up from his newspaper and raises an eyebrow. It's been four days since the pileup on the motorway, and there have been no major disasters since then, which means James is looking more rested as well as snapping less. He's even arrived early to the office today, which is practically unheard of, and which is going to give Jeremy a priceless opportunity to harass Richard, when he finally manages to drag himself in.
"An assistant."
"Yeah, for your…" Jeremy waggles a hand in a gesture intended to indicate 'superhero stuff.'
"I hate to break it to you, Jez, but if I need any help, I'd hardly ask you. I'd be more likely to ask Oz."
"Oz Clarke?!?" The outrage he feels is so strong that Jeremy is momentarily speechless. Then he says, "Why in bloody hell would you tell him about all this? He doesn't know a damn thing about cars."
"I didn't have to tell him," James says calmly. "He figured it out for himself, like you did. Only with less breaking and entering."
Jeremy rolls his eyes. "What's a little felony between friends? But James—" Before he can finish the sentence the door opens, and Richard comes in, looking decidedly worse for wear. "This isn't over," Jeremy murmurs, poking James in the side. James rustles the paper at him.
"Hammond!" says Jeremy, and grins a little at Richard's flinch. "Nice of you to join us! I say," he booms out sarcastically, "are you perhaps a bit hungover?"
"Shut up," Richard moans. "For the love of all that is holy, shut up." He slings himself into the nearby armchair and curls his knees up, then rests his head on them.
"D'you want a cup of tea?" asks James quietly, setting the paper down.
Richard nods, and James goes down to the little kitchen at the end of the hall to make it. Jeremy harasses Richard a bit more, though he lowers his voice, but eventually gives up in the face of Richard's determined impression of a hedgehog. James comes back with a mug of tea.
"Thanks," Richard says absently, reaching for the mug and taking a sip. His eyes close, and he doesn't see the way James' face goes momentarily stupid with longing. Jeremy does, though, and he has to stifle a sigh. Idiot. He doesn't even know who he means.
"To work, boys," says Jeremy roughly, and by the time Richard looks up James is hidden behind his hair. "What are we covering in the news this week?"
"Did you see they're going to make a new Aston?" James reaches over to his desk and picks up a folder, thumbing through it to produce a printout that he hands to Jeremy. "This is what they've said it'll look like."
"Pretty," says Jeremy, and hands the picture over to Richard.
"Almost too pretty," says Richard, which makes both James and Jeremy look at him oddly. "Well, you know," he says. "It's a bit delicate looking. I like something a bit more solid."
Jeremy raises an eyebrow. "Can I quote you on that?"
Richard rolls his eyes tiredly and says, "Yes, fine, I can talk some bollocks about that and you can tease me mercilessly."
"Have to get our weekly dose of homosexualism in somehow, or the fans will be disappointed," Jeremy says. He expects Richard to protest his characterization of the topic as gay, and James to protest the inclusion of innuendo like he usually does. Instead Richard merely shrugs awkwardly, looking back down at his mug, and when Jeremy turns his gaze over to James he's staring at his sheaf of papers as if they hold the secrets of the universe. Jeremy sighs and gets up from the sofa to settle in the chair in front of his computer. "Right," he says, typing. "At least thirty seconds of picking on Hamster about not liking the new Aston. Possibly even thirty seconds of actually talking about the car; James, you're in charge of finding something vaguely interesting to say about that. Next?"
This sets the tone for the morning's writing. Richard is hungover and uncommunicative, and James wavers between supplying them with an endless stream of technical pedantry and looking anxiously at the back of Richard's head.
Can't they time their breakdowns to happen a bit further apart? Jeremy thinks, a bit sourly. It's no bloody fun when either of them's moping, and two at once is making me want to do myself in.
As the morning goes past and Richard doesn't perk up, though, Jeremy starts to feel worryingly, well, worried. He's never like this, he thinks. When Richard is angry he gets fighty, and when he's tired he gets fighty, and when he's upset he gets fighty; it's as if someone early on in life had told him that a punch in the face, anybody's face, would invariably solve his problems. He never just shuts himself off, never goes inside himself instead of out. He just needs something to fight about, Jeremy thinks. That'll set him right again.
He tries the time-honored attacks on Porsches, the familiar teeth-whitening references, the short jokes. None of them draw so much as a flicker of interest from Richard, and by the time James is starting to get visibly irritated at Jeremy for being such an immense cock, Jeremy is actually, properly concerned. His last three conversational gambits have met with nothing but grunts, and he's debating the merits of saying something truly offensive when James pushes back from the desk and gets up.
"I'm going to get lunch," says James, sounding tired.
"We have minions for that," says Jeremy automatically.
James says, "I just fancy getting outside for a while, all right?" and Jeremy suddenly realizes that James probably has freaky superhero business to attend to.
"All right, fine," he says. "I want a ploughman's, then, a proper one."
"With fancy cheese?" James sneers, putting his jacket on. Jeremy flips him two fingers and James laughs. "Hammond, you, too?"
"Yeah, sure," says Richard from his side of the desk, obviously distracted by whatever he's reading. James frowns, but he doesn't say anything, just goes out.
Jeremy works a bit longer, then stretches, working the kinks out of his shoulders. "D'you think he'll get lost on the way down the block?" he asks idly. Richard makes an indistinct noise, still staring at his screen. Jeremy snorts and gets up, walking around to Richard's side of the desk to peer over his shoulder at whatever it is that's got him all distracted. When he sees it, he bursts out laughing.
Richard jumps and moves to close the window, but Jeremy grabs his hand before he can click and wrenches it away.
It's a website, one of those message board things where people gather to argue with each other about whether various celebrities are fucking or which of the message board members has spotted the most diesel locomotives of class 43 during his unutterably pathetic lifetime.
Only this site seems to be dedicated to Captain Speed, and after Jeremy manages to get his breath back, he can acknowledge that it sort of makes sense. Captain Speed is interesting, unusual enough to deserve comment, and even though there are a fair amount of posts about how the object of their affection is "sooooo cool," they're mixed in with more straightforward sighting reports, and some surprisingly sensible speculation about who the man actually is.
Not that this is going to stop Jeremy from mocking Richard forever and ever.
"You have got to be kidding me," he says. "I mean, seriously, Hammond. Seriously?" He's half amused, and half irritated that Richard's been wasting the morning looking at this and sulking, all the while making Jeremy feel like a crap friend.
"Shut up," Richard says weakly. "Everyone needs a hobby, all right?"
"Stamp collecting is a hobby. Knitting is a hobby. Hell, even getting drunk and buying terrible old bikes on ebay is a hobby. This is not a hobby. This is an obsession."
"It's not an obsession!" Richard protests. He yanks his hand from Jeremy's grip and gets up, stalking over to the window.
Jeremy turns back to the computer and scrolls a little, looking at all the replies. Twenty pages of comments about the wreck last week! he thinks. Buggering fuck, some of these are awfully close to the mark. He himself is mentioned by one commenter, and then there's another one scoffing at the idea of Clarkson actually helping other human beings, which makes Jeremy roll his eyes.
Richard is growling, but Jeremy ignores it, considering instead a variety of different methods of damage control. He'll have to lead them off James' scent somehow. "Come on, Hammond,” he says finally, “you have to admit that being a member of the Captain Speed fan club is a little bit homosexualist. You've even got a little picture of him next to your name!” He turns away from the computer, then puts one hand to his chest and sniffs dramatically. “You know, I’m hurt that you haven’t wanted to confide in me about this new and important part of your life.”
“Well if you stopped taking the piss for more than two seconds at a time, maybe I would!” Richard snarls.
Jeremy’s mouth drops open, and he forgets all about the stupid message board. “What?”
Richard shrugs, not meeting Jeremy’s eyes. “Maybe... maybe. A long time ago I, well. I s'pose I thought it was just being young and...” He waves a hand vaguely. "But now I think. I think it wasn't just that." He looks up, his voice hardening. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Well,” Jeremy says. “No. ‘Course not.” Inside he's thinking, Oh, for Christ's sake, and then, Well, at least he's fighty again. Still, he can’t help but examine Richard in a new light; they’ve known each other for a long time now, and it’s a bit of a shock to discover something new about him, especially something as fundamental as this. Despite his assurance, it rather is a big deal.
He hasn't really thought of Richard in a sexual way before, hadn't even been aware of any conscious decision not to think of him that way. Only now, all the thoughts he hasn't had suddenly begin jostling for attention at the edges of his brain. He shakes them off, then tilts his head to the side, considering. “Is there a particular reason you’ve decided to mention it now?”
Richard sighs, looking away again. “Dunno,” he mutters. “It’s. You know. There’s someone. But it isn’t… I dunno.”
“Someone unattainable,” Jeremy guesses. “Someone who changed your mind. Someone I know?”
Richard snorts. “No. Not someone you’d want to know.”
Things begin to come together in very unpleasant ways for Jeremy. Maybe he’s reading this all wrong, but considering what’s been occupying Hammond all bloody morning he doesn’t think he is. He meets Richard’s eyes and raises one eyebrow. Richard flushes brick red, and, well, Jeremy really doesn’t think he’s reading this wrong.
Unbe-fucking-lievable.
There is the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside, and then the door opens, revealing James carrying two big paper bags. Richard gives Jeremy a pleading look and Jeremy rolls his eyes, but lets the subject be changed to the utterly fascinating topic of lunch. Once Richard has started rooting around in the nearest bag, Jeremy looks at James and gets another pleading gaze for his trouble. He sighs, and decides it’s not worth it to mention either Richard's revelation or the fact that it apparently took James 45 minutes to get sandwiches (and that he'd bought Richard's favorite type of crisps).
They knock out the script that afternoon; Richard seems a bit more talkative now, and whatever James had been doing while he was out was apparently more successful than not, because he's looser and more willing to laugh than he had been.
Still, Jeremy can’t ignore the fact that this bizarre triangular whatever-it-is has now turned into two people who are both a) infatuated with each other and b) too stupid to realize it. He stifles a sigh, feeling strangely exhausted about the whole thing. Why can’t they just see how ridiculous they’re being?
When it reaches five o’clock, James shuts down his computer and gets up. Before Jeremy can even open his mouth to suggest they adjourn to the pub, however, James says, “Got some things to do tonight. See you tomorrow, gentlemen.”
“See you,” says Richard, and Jeremy echoes it helplessly. At least he won’t have to juggle the two of them tonight. He turns, and fixes Richard with a look.
Richard says, “Look, let’s have dinner and you can tell me what a twat I’m being, all right?”
Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Food first, berating you afterwards. But yes. Let’s.”
-----
By the time they’ve finished the pizza and are settled on Jeremy’s sofa with a couple of bottles of beer, Jeremy has heard more about how brave, strong, adventurous, and generally all-around brilliant Captain Speed is than he can bear. Frankly, he doesn’t understand it, and he doesn’t think he’d understand it even if he didn’t know that underneath the sleek suit is a man with shaggy hair and a tendency to wear floral-print shirts.
Then again, he’s sort of outgrown his love of superheroes. He’d been fascinated by them as a child, like all men of his age, but somehow past age seventeen his interest had faded, and their place had been filled by cars and music and sex and cynicism. He’d had enough trouble being human then, much less being superhuman.
The last few months knowing James’ secret have brought the interest back, a bit, but it’s an interest tempered by the knowledge that the James’ hidden life is anything but glamorous. He wonders if Richard would feel differently, if he’d seen what Jeremy has seen – if he’d think less of Captain Speed, for being regular old James underneath.
“You realize how completely mental this all sounds,” Jeremy says at last. “I mean, you literally sound mental. I’m waiting for the dribbling to start any minute now, honestly.”
“I know,” Richard whines, toying with the edge of the label on his beer bottle. “Believe me, I know it doesn't make sense to think I'm crazy for someone I've never even met, especially since I'm, I dunno, mostly straight. But there's just... there's just something about him."
"Maybe you just need to get a leg over with some other bloke," Jeremy says. "That's the best cure for being obsessed with someone unobtainable. Get it out of your system." He might need a bit of that himself, if he has to put up with James and Richard mooning unknowingly over each other for much longer.
Richard snorts. "Maybe." He looks away, but doesn't sound completely opposed to the idea.
Hmm. It occurs to Jeremy that perhaps he could shortcut the tedious pining and confessing and shouting if he nudged the two of them in the right direction now. The problem is that if he outs James without permission the reaction isn’t going to be pretty.
Therefore, he will have to be subtle. “Now that I know you're in the market for man-love," he says, "I believe I can assist you. I have someone in mind who's been interested for a while."
Richard shakes himself, then raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" He looks caught between amusement and wariness.
"Someone who thought you were straight," Jeremy hints. "I mean, there's probably a lot of people who'd be surprised."
Richard looks off to the side, distant for a moment, then sets his jaw. He puts his beer down on the coffee table with a clink. "You might as well not try being subtle, Jez. It doesn't suit you." In a sudden, swift movement he kneels up, swings a leg around so that he's straddling Jeremy's lap. "'Oh,'" he mimics in a high-pitched, mocking voice. "'I was— I mean, my friend – was wondering if you'd be interested.'" He rolls his eyes. "I think you're probably right about getting a leg over, though. If fucking you doesn't send me screaming back to women, then I'll know it's real."
Hang on, Jeremy thinks. He opens his mouth to protest that his friend is actually not a euphemism, thank you very much, and even if it were, 'sleeping with you will probably be revolting enough to make me run away' is not exactly the most gracious reaction to his genuine attempt to be helpful.
This is, of course, when Richard kisses him.
Richard's lips are warm and a little rough, and he presses them full on against Jeremy's so sweetly that Jeremy feels himself shiver. "Fuck," Richard mumbles against Jeremy's mouth. "I've'nt had sex in fucking ages."
He tastes good – like beer and cheese – and Jeremy's outraged feelings disappear swiftly under the onslaught of a warm, pushy Hammond.
James is going to kill me, Jeremy thinks, and then – because he's no good at denying himself things, never has been – he thinks, Well, at least I'll die happy, and kisses back.
He lets his mouth fall open a little, and Richard moans before tangling their tongues together. Richard kisses like he does everything, hot and messy and eager, and it isn't long before Jeremy has to pull him closer, has to wrap a hand around the back of Richard's neck and slide the other one down the smooth plane of his back.
They kiss for long minutes, Jeremy leaning back against the cushions to pull Richard on top of him. Richard's cock begins to harden against Jeremy's thigh, and Jeremy thinks, a little dazedly, This is a brilliant idea. I'm glad I thought of it.
There's the sound of a key in a lock, the sound of the front door opening.
"Jez," calls James down the hallway. Richard jerks away from Jeremy, hard, but they're too entangled for the gambit to work and all he accomplishes is making Jeremy's shoulder ache like bugger-all.
"You wanted to be my assistant," says James, bursting into the room as he's pulling off Captain Speed's helmet, "well, I need a hand with—" He catches sight of the two of them on the sofa and stops short. Jeremy guiltily removes his hand from the back of Richard's trousers.
"Oh, cock," says James.
"Erm," says Jeremy. "I can explain."
He can tell the exact moment when Richard sees the logo on the helmet and draws all the right conclusions. "You're—" Richard says. "You're," and then stops, and puts his head in his hands. "This is," he says, "officially, the most embarrassing day of my entire life."