It was one of the things Richard loved most about James, the way he was so easy in his skin. That wasn't to say things were always easy between the two of them; god knew they had their share of shouting over petty bullshit. But James was comfortable with himself more than anyone Richard knew. He didn't seem to have that pressure, the constant feeling that he needed to drive faster, climb higher, run and run until he was stronger.
It was a feeling that Richard couldn't seem to escape from. He liked spending an afternoon working on a bike together, but then he'd get itchy, have to take himself off for a long run or go fling a car around a track somewhere.
James didn't seem to mind it, just nodded when he went and welcomed him home with a kiss, but Richard always felt guilty. Later, when they went to bed, he'd try to keep things slow, try to be patient. Sometimes James let him, but other times he bit Richard's lip, pulled his hair, fucked into him hard and fast and strong until Richard was high with it, shaking and groaning and desperate.
He loved the moments after that the most – when they'd fucked rough and glorious and then lay together, skin to sweaty skin, James' lips just pressed against the side of his head. He felt like he could borrow a little of James' calm, in those moments. Like maybe James got something from him, too.