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James generally makes himself scarce while Jeremy's interviewing the star of the week. It's partly because it's an excuse to have a cup of tea and not have anyone looking at him for a while, which is rare enough on filming day, but it's also because watching Jeremy turn his considerable charm on some gorgeous film star is a bit painful. By the time they're watching the edit on Saturday he's usually able to contain his reactions, but live it's just too much like seeing everything he wants handed to someone else on a silver platter.
Today they've got Stephen Fry, and James takes himself off into their grubby backstage room as soon as he can without looking rude. Because the thing is that he likes Stephen, wants to be able to go on liking him, really, instead of hating him for flirting with Jeremy. James already can't watch Doctor Who without a little bit of irritation – bloody Billie Piper and her see-through shirt – and he doesn't want QI to go the same way.
At least Stephen and Jeremy are already friends, which makes things a little clearer in James' head; surely if Stephen were going to take advantage of Jeremy he'd have already done so. But that doesn't seem to stop James from grinding his teeth together when he hears Jeremy's surprised hoot of laughter ring out through the metal walls of the hangar.
You're behaving like some demented romance novel heroine, James thinks disgustedly. Stop pining, man, for god's sake.
Still, after a moment he pulls out his iPod and stuffs the earbuds into his ears, then scrolls through until he finds something loud enough to drown out any other noises. It's difficult to do the crossword with AC/DC pounding in his brain, but the concentration required keeps him busy enough that when Andy's assistant comes in to tell him he's needed, the touch of her hand on his shoulder makes him jump.
"Christ!" James says, pulling out the earbuds, trying not to give away that his hands are shaking.
"Sorry!" she squeaks, but James musters up a smile.
"No, it's fine. Mind wandering, that's all." He drops his iPod onto the half-finished crossword and shoves the whole pile onto the windowsill. "I'll be right there."
He ducks into the toilet, resisting the urge to splash water on his face because makeup will have his head for it. Instead he just washes his hands, pressing cool water against the insides of his wrists, and then dries them thoroughly before heading back out to take his place beside Richard. The crew shuffles around them, checking the last-minute positioning of lights and the functioning of microphones. Across the hangar, James can just make out Jeremy and Stephen huddled together, and James has to tear his eyes away from Jeremy's smile. He realizes he's clenching his teeth again and makes himself stop.
"All right?" Richard says, under his breath.
"Fine," says James, and then the director is nodding at them, and James can't think about it anymore.
-----
He's too busy the rest of the day to get caught up in wanting what he can't have, which is a good thing. But later that evening in the pub, when there's a lull in the conversation, Jeremy grins dangerously and says, "So Stephen showed me how to use that thing."
I'm going to get very tired of hearing about Stephen Fry very quickly, James thinks, but he says, "What thing?"
Jeremy's smile dims by a fraction. "Were you not... no, you never do stay and watch the interview."
"S'my only chance to get some fresh air when we're filming," James says apologetically. Jeremy looks down, pulling out his phone.
"Well, anyway, we talked about this app called Grindr—"
James is glad that Jeremy isn't looking at him at that exact moment, because he knows his face must have gone completely white.
"—which is like," Jeremy laughs, "this homosexualist chat-up tool."
"And it was a waste of everyone's time, because it'll never make the edit," Richard says.
"It was brilliant, Hammond!" Jeremy says. "I'll bet you a tenner that Andy keeps it in."
"Oh, you are kidding," says Richard, but he stretches a hand across the table and they shake on the bet. Jeremy sets his phone on top of the table and fiddles with it for a moment, then turns it around and slides it over so the other two can look. By now James has managed to get his face under control, so he leans over along with Richard and looks at the screen, faking curiosity as if he's never seen it before.
"So then while we were waiting for you to finish having a wank, or whatever you were doing," Jeremy says, and James rolls his eyes, "he showed me how to install it. It's fascinating! Look, you can set up a profile and then people who want to have anonymous sex in a toilet can figure out where you are!"
James chokes, and Richard starts laughing.
"Is that something you've much need for?" Richard asks.
"Oh, piss off," Jeremy says good-naturedly. "I mean, I knew that it's something people do, but I had no idea there was a whole..." he waves one hand vaguely in the air, "a whole industry dedicated to streamlining the process. And it makes having gay sex into something like ordering a hamburger! You don't just see the picture, but you can also see height and weight and age, and then a little blurb about what the guy is looking for. It's fascinating," he says again.
James sits back in his chair and tries to display a polite lack of interest, but it doesn't seem to matter because Jeremy is sliding the phone back towards himself.
"Look," he says, "I'll bet you we could find someone within a mile or so who's out right now cruising for a shag. On a Wednesday!"
"Please don't," Richard says. "I'm not keen on having to patch you up after you explain to some burly gay man that you followed him into the toilets just to ask him pointed questions about his sexual habits."
Jeremy laughs. "Come on, Hammond. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I left it in my other trousers," Richard says. "And if I'm going to listen to you talk about this any more, I need another drink." He gets up and goes to the bar, leaving James alone with Jeremy at the table. Jeremy turns to him.
"How about you, Slow? Think of it as a sociological experiment."
James feels a wave of irrational anger roll over him. Anger, because as entertaining as Jeremy might find it that gay men might actually want to meet each other and have sex, it's James' life. Irrational, because of course Jeremy doesn't know that. Jeremy never means to be insensitive, and yet somehow he manages it rather often.
"Why do you find it so interesting?" James bites out, trying to keep his feelings in check. "Seriously, I don't understand you sometimes."
Jeremy meets his eyes, mouth open to argue, but then pauses, and when the answer comes it's enough of a surprise that James feels his irritation fade.
"Honestly? It's just that it all seems so... sordid. I can get why a man might want to have sex with another man." James raises an eyebrow so Jeremy interrupts himself with, "I'm not a homosexualist. But I can see the appeal in theory. But this..." he waves a hand at the phone, "skulking around in back alleys and meeting some stranger just for a few minutes until you get off, I don't get that. Why would anyone want something so mechanical, something so devoid of any meaningful connection?"
It's the most intimate thing James has ever heard Jeremy say, and he finds himself responding in kind before he can really think about it.
"Maybe that's all they have," he says. "Maybe these men, some of them have girlfriends, or wives. They have lives. Maybe they feel like it's not worth giving up what they've got just for sex, except they can't live without that, either, and this is a way they can have both, a little bit, even if this isn't really enough, either. Or maybe some of them don't want those things you seem to think everyone should want. Maybe some of them don't want families and kids and being tied down. Maybe some of them just like sex. Or maybe they want that connection but they don't think they're ever going to find it." He shrugs, and makes himself look up from the table to meet Jeremy's gray, unexpectedly serious eyes.
Jeremy swallows. "So which—" and then Richard plonks three pint glasses onto the table and James jerks his eyes away, flushing.
Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, May, you idiot, you might as well have just told him flat out.
He waits for Jeremy to start taking the piss, but when he looks up again Jeremy is tucking his phone back into his pocket.
"So James was just telling me how much he loves the new Audi," Jeremy says, and it's Richard's turn to choke.
"What?"
"Jez, you cock," James says, feeling absurdly grateful even as he scrambles to defend himself. "I said nothing of the sort. It's only that it's less ugly looking than the old one, that's all," he says, and then Richard is off and running about how James is utterly, utterly wrong, and James feels his heartbeat slowly begin to calm down.
-----
The rest of the evening passes without incident, but when they finally leave the pub and go their separate ways, James is left with a strange itch under his skin. He wants... actually, he's not sure what he wants.
He can't stop thinking about Jeremy saying "people who want to have anonymous sex in a toilet," and his mind conjures up the image of Jeremy in some poorly-lit toilet stall, jeans around his ankles, face resting on the rusty metal of the stall door, just waiting to get fucked. Or Jeremy on his knees sucking the cock of some young twink with rock hard abs. It's half pain and half pleasure, thrumming together in James' head and his veins and his cock, and as he walks home, he knows he's going to have to do something or he'll never get to sleep.
He hasn't really used the stupid app before – well, not for anything more than looking – but he's had it installed for ages, and when he pulls out his phone it sits there in his list of available programs, taunting him in the way that things always do, when they're bad for him and yet oh so tempting.
Fuck it, he thinks.
James knows better than to turn it on when he's at home, because Jeremy knows where he lives (even if the picture on James' profile doesn't show his face), so he ends up in a back alley behind a local pub, still buzzed from the beer he'd drunk, the hood of his jacket up to hide his face as he nervously scans the screen. This is – Christ – the stupidest thing he's ever done in his life.
The screen changes as someone sends him a message, and James' heart pounds.
Hey. Looking for company? It's from someone with the profile name "Robert" – no picture, but his profile indicates that he's tall and about James' age.
James' fingers shake as they tap over the screen. Yeah, he types, and then, just to clarify. Not looking for Mr. Right. More Mr. Right Now. There's a pause, and then he gets a little smiley face in return.
:) I can be that.
James sends his location, tugs the hood more firmly around his face, and tries to keep his breathing steady. It's a warm enough night that he doesn't really need the jacket, but hopefully this way he can keep his face hidden and not end up splashed all over the front page of the Sun. God, he thinks, this is really extremely stupid. But the danger only makes his skin feel tighter, his cock harder, until he feels like he might shake apart into pieces if someone doesn't touch him soon.
Then there's a crunch of gravel as he hears someone walk down the side of the pub towards the alley. On the screen of his phone, Robert's location moves almost on top of James' own. James cocks one hip against the crumbling brick in what he hopes is a seductive pose and sucks in a deep breath. The other man turns the corner and—
"Jez?"
James can't help the way his voice shakes. He fumbles his phone and then drops it, absurdly grateful that it lands screen down, as if that will hide the evidence. Jeremy takes a step closer, and then he's kicking the phone away and shoving James against the wall, his mouth hot against James' ear.
"This what you want?"
James is hot all over with shame and desire, but he doesn't get a chance to respond because Jeremy bites down on his earlobe and all he can do is moan. Jeremy's cock is hard against his thigh. He reaches forward, but Jeremy's hands hold his wrists against the brick, long fingers pressing against his skin until he knows he'll have bruises later.
"You want something filthy and quick in a dark alley? You want someone to get on your knees for? Someone to fuck you against this wall until you're raw and aching?"
"I want you," James groans out, too far gone to stop himself, and Jeremy abruptly lets go and takes a step back, leaving James cold and shaking as he tries to get a hold on himself.
There's a long pause, and then Jeremy says, "I'm not having this conversation here. Let's go back to yours." It's a command, not a suggestion, and James nods more to have something to do with himself than in acquiescence. He squats down and picks up his phone, shutting everything off before standing again and tucking it into his pocket.
They don't speak until they've gone all the way back to James' house and into the kitchen. James makes tea in silence, Jeremy's with milk and sugar just the way he likes it. When it's ready, he sets the mugs on the table and sinks down into the chair, meeting Jeremy's eyes warily. James can't tell if Jeremy is angry or upset or indifferent, and that frightens him more than anything, because normally Jeremy is the easiest person in the world to read. James doesn't feel hot anymore, or tight in his skin – just sick and clammy and afraid.
After a moment, Jeremy picks up the mug and blows across the surface of the liquid to cool it.
"Have you done that before?" he asks quietly. James shakes his head.
"But you are..." Jeremy prompts. This time James makes himself say it out loud.
"I am gay. Or. Bisexual, really." Saying it is the most terrifying thing he's ever done, even though it's not like Jeremy hasn't got the picture already. When Jeremy doesn't storm out or call him a "fucking faggot" or punch him in the face, James takes a deep, shuddering breath. Jeremy just watches him with that same impassive expression, and when James gets himself under control he says, "My turn to ask. Did you know it was me before you went into that alley?"
Now Jeremy looks away, just for a split second, and then one corner of his mouth turns up ruefully. "Yeah, I did. That profile picture, well, I've seen your bloody wine program."
James bites the inside of his cheek. Does that mean he— holy hell. He can feel himself blushing at the thought that Jeremy had recognized that particular part of his anatomy. "Ah," he says.
Jeremy takes a sip of tea. "My turn again. Did you mean what you said? That you want... me?"
Oh, god, James thinks, and then, The cat's well and truly out of the bag in any case.
"Yeah," he says. "I meant it."
"Just because of tonight, or—"
"Have done. For a while."
Jeremy swallows, and his eyes flicker away. "James—"
"My turn again," James interrupts, not sure if he's ready to hear it yet, whatever it is. But then he has to think of a question to ask, and the only thing he can come up with is, "Were you looking for me, tonight, or just looking for somebody?"
"I don't know," Jeremy says. "I thought... the way you talked about it, in the pub, it sounded like you knew what you were talking about. I was curious. I thought maybe... I don't know."
"But you are..." James prompts, consciously using Jeremy's words of only moments before. Jeremy blows out a breath, still not looking at him.
"I don't know," he says again. "The whole thing still seems so weird to me, but when I saw that picture and I knew it was you I felt... jealous."
James feels something petty and exultant rise in his chest, but he reins it in before it can escape, because this is Jeremy being honest, and he doesn't want to fuck it up. Still, his pulse thumps out a quick rhythm of "jealous, jealous, jealous!" in his ears.
"The thing is, I only even turned it on because," James says, and now Jeremy's looking at him, gray eyes dark and intent, "because I had to watch you flirting with Stephen all day, and then I had to listen to you talking about having sex in a toilet, and I was pretty bloody jealous myself."
They look at each other for a long moment, and then Jeremy starts to laugh.
"You thought I was flirting with Stephen?" he asks incredulously.
"He showed you a gay sex app," James says. "What was I supposed to think?"
Jeremy doesn't answer, because by now he's laughing too hard, and eventually James feels the disgruntled twist of his lips turn up into a reluctant smile.
"Well, good, then," he says, which makes Jeremy laugh even harder.
Eventually Jeremy's laughter calms to a chuckle, and he takes another sip of his tea. James realizes that if he's ever going to make his move, it had better be now, while Jeremy is loose-limbed from laughter.
"I could show you what it's all about," James murmurs, daring to reach out and run his fingertips across the back of Jeremy's knuckles.
Jeremy stiffens a little but doesn't pull away. "Because you like sex?" he asks, looking down at his tea and sounding both interested and resigned.
"Because I think we could have a meaningful connection," James says. Jeremy's eyes snap up to his.
"I— You— Really?"
James sits back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. "How much clearer do I have to be?" he asks, exasperated. "I've wanted to have sex with you for a while and I really liked it when you bit my ear and I don't watch your interviews because I can't stand seeing you flirt with people who are better looking and more interesting than me. Yes, really, Clarkson. But if you're not... I'm not going to bother you if you're really not interested, okay?"
He really doesn't know what Jeremy's going to do, which makes it a pleasant surprise when Jeremy stands up, pulls James out of his chair, and kisses him. James opens his mouth against Jeremy's hot, agile tongue, and wraps his arms around Jeremy's neck, pulling him closer. One of Jeremy's hands goes to his waist, fingers crooking into a belt loop as his tongue performs roughly the same maneuver against James' teeth. James groans, lost in the feeling of Jeremy's slick tongue and the rough press of his lips. Then Jeremy mouths a line up James' jaw and bites down on his earlobe, just as he had in the alley, and James feels a familiar spark of desire shoot through every nerve in his body.
"Go on, then," Jeremy murmurs into his ear. "Show me."
James smirks, then unwinds his arms from Jeremy's neck long enough to draw him into the sitting room and push him onto the sofa.
He goes down on his knees between Jeremy's spread legs, enjoying Jeremy's sudden intake of breath, and puts his hands on those stupid green shoes to draw Jeremy's feet further apart. He slides his hands slowly up over Jeremy's long legs, feeling the flex of muscles underneath the denim, until his thumbs are brushing the bulge of Jeremy's stiffening cock. Jeremy's breath quickens but James doesn't linger there, just slides his hands up further over Jeremy's chest to tease at the bit of hair revealed by the gap in his collar, and then starts unfastening the buttons of Jeremy's shirt, drawing the edges of the fabric apart as he moves downwards.
James thumbs a nipple, casually, and Jeremy breathes his name raggedly, so James does it again, and then pinches a little, and then draws his fingernails down Jeremy's belly to the waist of his trousers. His hands are steady as he unfastens the buckle of Jeremy's belt, pulls open the button and downs the zip of his jeans. Jeremy's cock is hard against the cotton of his boxers and the inside of the zipper, and James runs his thumb over the exposed cloth, down and then up, listening to the hitch of breath and the moan that he receives.
"Lift your hips," he says, and Jeremy hikes himself up high enough for James to pull down his jeans and boxers. And then his cock is right there, flushed and hard and gorgeous, and James' mouth goes dry, and he's wanted this for so fucking long, and though he means to draw this out even further, to make it good, he finds himself bending down to lick at the tip, desperate to get his mouth on it.
Jeremy groans, low and heartfelt, and James licks even more obscenely across the head of his cock, and then sucks him in, loosening his jaw so he can slide down. Jeremy's hands gather James' hair back off his face and James tilts his eyes up to give him an approving look. Once he's looking up, though, he can't make himself look away, because Jeremy's whole chest is flushed, coated in sweat, and his eyes are dark with lust, and as James begins to suck Jeremy licks across his bottom lip, which is already red and swollen from their earlier kisses.
James sucks him slow and sweet, Jeremy's cock heavy on his tongue and his hands careful at the nape of James' neck. James hasn't done this in forever but he hasn't forgotten how much he enjoys it, how much he loves the smell and the taste and the feel of hot, silky skin against his tongue. Jeremy moans, and grunts a little when James flicks his tongue along the underside of his cock, and whimpers when James uses his teeth, delicately, just the tiniest bit. James sucks and licks and then brings one hand up to trace the curve of Jeremy's balls, feeling the crinkle of skin and hair under his fingertips. He sucks and sucks again, ignoring the helpless thrusts of Jeremy's hips, just driving him inexorably to the edge with a slow, steady rhythm.
"God," Jeremy says, "oh, god, James, please," and he tugs on James' hair, and suddenly James can't wait much longer. He sucks harder now, and uses his hand to curl around the base of Jeremy's cock where his mouth can't quite reach, and then Jeremy gasps and snaps his hips up and comes, hard, shooting salty come across the back of James' tongue and down his throat. James drinks it down, loves it, just holds Jeremy's cock in his mouth until it goes soft and Jeremy collapses, spent, against the cushions.
"Bloody hell," Jeremy says, with feeling, and James wipes the corner of his mouth on Jeremy's knee and laughs, hoarsely. Jeremy's hands stroke through his hair. "You, er," Jeremy says, "All right?"
James kisses his leg. "Very all right."
"You want to come up here?"
Instead of answering, James hauls himself up onto the sofa, knees creaking. He's still hard – so fucking hard, so fucking desperate – but he doesn't want to make a show of it, in case he scares Jeremy off.
But apparently James has underestimated him, because as soon as James is beside him Jeremy is reaching for his belt and unfastening his fly. James lifts his hips and shoves his jeans down, and then Jeremy's hand wraps around his cock, and James' head falls backwards onto the sofa with a thunk.
Jeremy's fingers are long and calloused, rough enough to provide plenty of sensation but gentle – god, so gentle – where they stroke him. Then Jeremy lifts his hand to his mouth and licks across his palm before bringing it back to James' cock. James makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, one he hadn't known he was going to make, and then Jeremy is gripping him harder, stroking him more firmly, and James says, "Fuck, oh, Jeremy, fuck," and comes all over himself.
When James can breathe again, when he can think again, he lifts his head and meets Jeremy's eyes. Jeremy looks amused, and sated, and very pleased with himself, and James thinks he ought not to find the smugness attractive except this is Jeremy, so he does anyway. And then Jeremy lifts his hand from James' cock and licks curiously at one of the stripes of James' come that landed on the back of his thumb. James feels his cock twitch, and he groans.
"Don't," he says. "That's too sexy and I'm not recovered yet." Jeremy laughs and puts his hand down on James' leg, then leans in to kiss him, slow and careful.
"For the record?" Jeremy says, when they break apart. "Stephen Fry is not better looking than you. And after tonight, I can promise you I don't know anyone more interesting."