Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Title: Squirrel Tossing and Other Pastimes
Word Count: 3300
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Richard/James
Disclaimer: This is fiction. Ergo, all events described herein are fictitious.
Summary: Inspired by Series 11, episode 2. Set after the live taping, referencing the News Of The Week. Written for chocolatepeach’s Slash Edition Challenge.

Thanks to tigertale7 and elmathelas for the brilliant beta jobs!

First posted Nov, 2008

Richard opened the door to the portakabin, his grin widening by the minute. "Tossed by a squirrel, James?"

"Oh, shut up," James said mildly, heading for the coffee machine.

Jeremy followed them in, shutting the door behind him and laughing loudly. "That one's absolutely going to win the Golden Cock this season! Tossed by a squirrel. Well done, May."

"How does it grip properly, anyway?" Richard pondered, his face angelic. "Does it have to use both paws? And don't its tiny little claws scratch?"

"That's how they say it in America, you cocks," James informed them loftily. "You know, in L.A. a bloke might get tossed for his ridiculous alligator skin cowboy boots." He looked pointedly over at Richard.

Richard glared at him. "Those cost me a thousand quid! It would have to be a bloody good job for me to hand those over."

James rolled his eyes.

"Was it a red squirrel, James?" Jeremy asked. "Or one of those grey tarts? You have to be careful with the grey ones, you never know what diseases you might catch. Rabies."

"Scabies. Fleas," Richard added.

"Oh, pack it in," James muttered. "Idiots."

"Of course, it's a slippery slope," Jeremy said with sudden relish. "Getting tossed by a squirrel. What's the next step, a hamster?" He shuddered theatrically.

"Hey!" Richard protested. "First of all, we're mocking James here, not me. And second of all, I think I give a damn good hand job. Better than you would, you ham-fisted neanderthal."

James sat down at the table rather quickly, crossed his legs, and then crossed his arms on his chest. "I refuse to discuss your wanking abilities. Either of you."

"It's not wanking, it's tossing," Jeremy clarified. "There's a big difference between having a quick little wank to assuage some manly needs, and being tossed off by someone who knows what they're about."

"How would you know?" James asked as if he honestly didn't actually want to know at all.

"I have a wife, you homosexualist plonk. They do have hands, you know."

Richard turned away with a choking noise as James moaned, "Wonderful. Now I'm never going to be able to look Francie in the face again."

"What? It's perfectly acceptable human behaviour, everyone does it. I bet even the Queen has tossed off old Flappy-Lips Philip more than once over the years."

"Right, that's it," Richard growled, glaring at Jeremy and pointing to the door. "Out. And if you ever--ever--mention the Queen, Philip and sex in the same sentence again, I'm going to re-upholster my Land Rover with your hide."

Jeremy held both hands out, the picture of innocence. "What? I'm merely pointing out that a hand job--"

"DON'T!" both Richard and James bellowed at the same time. James added, "Thank you very much, Clarkson. You've probably completely ruined the only sex life I have--" He stopped, looking horrified. "I didn't--that is, I meant--oh, cock."

"James?" Jeremy asked gleefully. "When was the last time you got a leg over? You know, with another human being?"

James dropped his head in his hands. "How?" he mumbled. "How do I do this to myself?"

"Bedroom talk stays in the bedroom, May," Jeremy gibed.

"Clarkson, get out," Richard ordered, and when Jeremy began to bristle, he threatened, "Out, or I'll recount every single award I've won over the past twenty years in full and glorious detail, acceptance speeches included."

"I refuse to--"

"Nineteen eighty-seven. New employee of the year, BBC Radio North Yorkshire. They gave me a plaque and, if memory serves, I said 'Oh--er, lovely. Yes. Thank you.' Nineteen ninety-one--"

"Uncle! Uncle!" Jeremy shouted. "I surrender! For the love of God, man, that's just diabolical." He hurried from the portakabin.

Richard grinned delightedly. "I didn't think that would actually work."

James moaned behind his hands. "You can leave now, too, thank you. I'd like some privacy while I expire of utter humiliation."

"Don't be ridiculous," Richard said briskly, sitting down in the chair beside James's and reaching over to pat his knee. James twitched. "You have nothing to feel humiliated about," he continued. "So what if you haven't, you know, had sex in a while. Everyone goes through dry spells. Hell, it's been almost five months for me, not including the odd round of paddle the pickle."

James groaned. "Oh, God."

"You don't like that one? How about beating the bishop? That's suitably old-fashioned for you, isn't it?"

"Richard, please," James implored, finally lifting his head and looking Richard straight in the shirt pocket. "Isn't it enough for you to know that I haven't had sex in three years, you have to--"

Richard's eyes opened wide. "Three years? Bloody hell, James."

"Oh, COCK." James thunked his head down on the table, the flush rapidly climbing up his neck. "I did not just say that. I did not."

"Hate to tell you this, mate, but you sort of did."

"I don't suppose you'll oblige me by forgetting you ever heard it?"

"Er--no," Richard said cheerfully. "However, it does explain a few things. No, I'm not making fun of you," he said over James's indignant noises. "But this situation requires some careful thought, a bit of open discussion, and possibly a diagram or two. Come with me." Richard stood, locked the portakabin door, wedged a chair under the handle in case Clarkson remembered he had a key, and walked down the hall and into the green room. "James, shift your arse."

James lifted his head off the table and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you want, Hammond?" he asked tiredly.

"You. In here. Now!" Richard called loudly from the other room.

James sighed, then muttered, "I didn't even know you cared," as he climbed to his feet and grudgingly followed Richard to the green room. He stepped inside--

--and was immediately grabbed by his leather jacket and swung around until his back slammed up against the flimsy wall, making the whole room shudder. Before he could draw breath to protest, to demand an explanation or an apology, Richard was pressed up against him tightly from chest to knee and Richard's mouth was on his, hot and insistent and oh, God--

James managed to clutch at Richard's biceps and push him back just enough to break the kiss--Jesus, but Hammond was a wiry little bugger--and gasp, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Open discussion," he panted, and surged upward. Deft fingers tangled in James's hair, hard palms against the hinge of his jaw, and James thought Richard's kiss was rather like a Ferrari--fast, slick, and growly.

After a moment, James shoved him back again. "What--what happened to careful thought?"

"Did that between the door and here," Richard said, straining forward to nuzzle at the hollow of James's throat. He inhaled deeply. "God, you smell good."

"Rich--Richard, please--" James stammered breathlessly. "I don't understand--"

Richard grinned even as he licked James's collarbone. "Time for a diagram, then? I've had such a fucking crush on you, James, it was like being eighteen again. Stomach butterfiles and racing pulse and getting hard every time you so much as smiled at me."

"Why--why are you telling me this? Why now?"

"I may not be as smart as you are, James, but I'm not entirely thick, either. I've seen the way you look at me sometimes." He breathed hotly against James's throat. "I've finally put it together. Those looks, the way you sit down and cross your legs whenever I talk about sex. The fact that you haven't had sex in three years. I remember what three years ago was, James. I remember just as well as you."

"Oslo," James whispered against his will.

"Oslo," Richard murmured in agreement, nuzzling James's neck with his nose. "I didn't realise it at the time. God help me, but I wish I had."

"You--you don't," James said desperately. "You can't."

"I do. And I can." Richard's hand slid down and palmed James's erection through his jeans. "I'm going to toss you off, James, and it's going to be the best fucking hand job you've ever had."

James's breath hitched, and he was mortified to hear a moan pass his lips.

The sound seemed to spur Richard on, and he lunged. With one hand still rubbing James's fly, he used his other to grip the nape of James's neck and pull him down into another searing kiss.

James was utterly overwhelmed. Richard--Richard--was on his toes, pressed up tight against him, all heat and urgency and hands and tongue; something tiny and previously overlooked in James's brain snapped and with a needy sound in the back of his throat he buried his hands in Richard's hair and kissed for all he was worth--

Richard tugged on James's lower lip with his teeth, then huffed a tiny laugh against the wet corner of his mouth. "Better. Much better."

"Richard," James panted, feeling an erection digging into his thigh but needing to be utterly certain, even as he trailed a path of kisses to Richard's ear. "Tell me you're serious. If you're taking the piss--"

"Christ on a bike, no," Richard said vehemently, tipping his head to the side to allow James better access to his throat. "Bastard, how could you even think that of me? I'm serious as a fucking heart attack. Serious as a helmet full of mud. Serious as a Bugatti eight litre quad-turbocharged--oh God--" He cut off with a strangled groan as James licked a hot wet swath up his neck to fasten on his earlobe, biting gently.

"You should've said something," James accused in a whisper, his nose nuzzling at the shell of Richard's ear. "You should've told me, you twat."

Richard breathlessly chuckled, rocking up on the balls of his feet to ride James's thigh. "So should you have. God, I want to climb you like a fucking tree."

"If that's intended to lead to some sort of squirrel joke, you can--"

Richard threw his head back and laughed. "I swear it's not. Bloody hell, James, come here." He unpeeled himself from James's front and dragged him by the arm over to the sofa in the corner of the room, then gave him a shove to make him sit. Immediately he straddled James, his knees sinking into the sofa cushions, and leaned in to cover James's mouth with his own.

Still somewhat stunned, James felt Richard's weight on his thighs, felt narrow hands come to rest against his chest before pushing his leather jacket back over his shoulders. Without breaking the bewildering, astonishing heat of Richard's kiss, James leaned forward so that Richard could remove the jacket entirely. After Richard had tossed it to the side, James returned the favour, dragging Richard's blazer down to his elbows.

Richard squirmed on James' lap, hands trapped in his sleeves, his kiss turning frenetic, desperate. James held him like that for a moment longer.

"James," Richard gasped, scattering kisses along James's jaw, scraping teeth along his neck. "Bloody fucking bastard tease--"

James relented, tugging Richard's jacket the rest of the way down his arms and dropping it to the floor as he leaned forward to reclaim Richard's lips. His hands wandered up under Richard's shirt, and he groaned at the first touch of his fingertips against warm smooth skin. A second later, he felt a jerk on his waistband and broke the kiss to look down.

Richard buried his nose in James's hair as he undid the button and pulled down the zip on James's jeans. "Your hair may look stupid," he said huskily, rising up on his knees to give James room to push his jeans and pants down his thighs, "but it smells lovely." He moved to sit again, but James held him up.

"I'll not be the only one naked here," James warned, using his grip on Richard's waist to pull him closer. He nosed Richard's shirt up out of the way, nuzzled his soft, bare stomach, and then drove his tongue into Richard's navel, alternately licking and nipping at his skin.

"Shit!" Richard yelped, his hips bucking a little. "Fucking Christ, James." He reached under James's chin to begin frantically scrabbling at his own flies, shoving his jeans and boxers down to just underneath his arse. He stroked a hand across James's hair, and then none-too-gently pushed his head away. Biting his lip, he settled himself on James's bare thighs and took James's erection in one fervid hand.

James tongued Richard's throat, fluttering and laving by turns, increasingly aroused by what Richard's slender fingers were doing to his cock. When Richard swiped his thumb across the tight head of James's erection, he moaned, resting his forehead against Richard's collarbone and breathing hotly, damply against his skin. "Hammond," he breathed. "I can't--I won't last."

Richard let go, shifting in order to awkwardly reach down and cup James's bollocks, massaging them gently. "Touch me," he whispered against James's hair.

James turned his face into the crook of Richard's neck, lips pressing against his throat even as he trailed his fingers down Richard's side, over his hip, and down the length of his cock before taking it in hand. When Richard groaned low in his throat, James tightened his fist and began to stroke him slowly, silken skin sliding over rigidity beneath. "You feel so good," he said, his voice low and uneven, "You're so fucking hard, Richard."

Richard shuddered. "You do this to me," he said raggedly. "Your skin, your smell, your voice. Your hand on my cock." His head dropped back, baring his throat to James's gaze.

James opened his mouth and fastened on to Richard's neck, sucking hard even as he twisted a bit with his wrist, the dual assault making Richard moan and try to press closer. James lifted his head and murmured, "God, Richard," as he strained upwards to kiss his mouth, hard and urgent.

Richard rocked into his hand once, twice, then broke the kiss, gasping. "Right. That's me caught up, then." He swatted James's hand away from his cock, but before a complaint could be voiced, he took both erections in one hand and squeezed, tugging at the same time.

"Bloody hell," James said, his voice strangled, and his thighs jerked even with Richard's weight on him. His hands wavered in mid-air for a moment until he brought them to rest on Richard's hips, his thumbs pressing down into the creases at the tops of Richard's bunched thighs.

Richard made a sound deep in his throat, and he leaned his forehead against James's, eyes closed. His hand pumped them both, fingers curled tight around James, thumb almost vertical on his own cock. "All right, James?" he asked softly, the words drifting across James's lips.

"God, yes. It feels...awfully good," James breathed. He canted up slightly, as much as Richard's weight on his legs would allow, pushing his erection further into the hot grip of Richard's hand, searching for more friction, more heat, more everything. As he rocked slowly up and down, his forehead pulled against Richard's, until sweat slowly grew slick between their skin.

Richard bit his lip and sped his hand up slightly, drawing a groan from James. "Jesus, James, you're fucking brilliant...your cock feels incredible. I want to make you come; I want you to come in my hand, all over my cock."

James felt a hard twist low in his belly, and his breath stuttered. "Rich--Richard. Bloody hell. Richard, I--I--" He didn't even know what he was trying to say, other than to convey to Richard yes yes more harder faster why didn't you tell me fuck me--

Richard's rhythm sped up again, uneven and frantic and desperate. "James--fuck--God, I love your cock. Next time--fuck, yeah--next time I'm giving you a blowjob," he panted, his wrist working and twitching. "Next time I'm going to suck you off until you fucking see stars, and then I'm going to kiss you with the goddamned taste of you still on my tongue."

James could manage nothing more than a rough moan, and his hands slid around to grip Richard's arse, his fingers digging into firm flesh. He angled his head until he was sucking on the side of Richard's throat. Richard's head dropped back with a groan, and James latched on to the tendon that stood out, scraping it with his teeth.

"Fuckin' hell, James," Richard's voice was low, ragged. "You're so fucking gorgeous. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you over the back of the sofa, I want to bloody well fuck you into the middle of next week. I want to know--oh God, I want to know what you sound like when you're driven mad, when you're desperate, when you're begging, I want to know what you shout when you come with me buried up to my bollocks in you--"

A shudder ran through James's body like a shockwave, and with a strangled cry he came hard, spending over both their cocks, Richard's hand and his belly. He shoved himself up into Richard's hard slick grip, gasping, every muscle in his body rigid and on fire, clutching at Richard's arse, his back, anything to try and hold on through what must surely be the death of him.

Richard laughed out loud, breathless and fierce and glad. "Yes, James. Yes, you lovely fucking bastard, you gorgeous pedantic cocking prat." His hand flew, soft slapping noises as he worked himself and James's still-twitching prick.

"Richard," James panted, pressing his sweaty forehead against Richard's collarbone, writhing against his body. "Richard. Jesus, Richard. I--I have reservations about fornicating on this sofa. God, that feels so good, Rich. I think I might--bloody hell, I've lost all feeling in my fingertips, is that usual?--I think we should go to my flat and you can fornicate me through the mattress right into next goddamned fucking month."

With a loud shout Richard jerked forward and came, shooting halfway up James's chest, before collapsing with his head cradled in the crook of James's neck. He lay there for a long moment, juddering. "Well, that was entirely unexpected," he finally croaked, trying to catch his breath.

James stroked his sweaty hair. "What was?"

"Fornicating, James? Who the hell says fornicating? Then again, seeing as it is you, I reckon I really oughtn't to be surprised." His lips curved against James's skin.

"I do enjoy the word fornicate, it feels so dirty in your mouth," James said, his voice low and gruff in Richard's ear. Suddenly it turned sibilant, making Richard shudder. "Almost as much as sexual congress, but you prefer fuck, do you? I could be convinced to fuck, I suppose."

"I'll work on it, I swear to God," Richard gasped, grabbing James's head between his hands to kiss him hard, all teeth and open mouth and gratitude. Soon, though, it gentled, and Richard's tongue swiped across James's lips, soothing any abuses he'd inflicted on that lovely mouth. They kissed slowly, nuzzling noses and cheeks and finally coming to rest forehead to forehead, breathing each other's air.

James's mouth curved upwards. "So that's being tossed off, is it?"

"Yeah. You reckon it's different from wanking, then?" Richard grinned.

"Yes. And I can quite definitively say I've never had that done to me by a squirrel."