![[I saw three ships]](../img/2009icon.png)
I'm so happy to get a chance to write this for bessemerprocess, whose writing I have long admired in another fandom. I hope this is a good read for you and that you don't mind that it is only nominally based around the requested element. I actually had a lot of fun writing it, I love these boys so much!
Richard isn't entirely sure that "slack water" is a real thing.
Jeremy keeps saying it, and James keeps nodding along sagely like it explains everything—or he's just a bit sozzled, which is more likely, Rich thinks as he surveys the emptys scattering the tabletop—but to Richard, it just sounds like some kind of porn slang or one of Jezza's attempts at being an outdoorsy seaman. As if, he thinks, the man has a Bang and Olufsen mobile phone, that's about as far removed from "outdoorsy" as you can get. Richard smiles absently to himself, full of affection for these two cocks who are somehow now his best friends.
The three of them have been sitting in the cosy nook of a Dover hotel bar for about 3 hours now, and Richard's been nursing his second bottle of Bud Light for about an hour. He's following the doctor's advice, no heavy drinking for the next year and a bit at least, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. The other two show him no solidarity and continue to get stuck in to the real ale with impunity, right in front of him. He's partly irritated, partly grateful that they're not treating him any differently. He doesn't want to be thought of as fragile, not here, with them.
It's been less than a year since the accident, and while he's physically fine, absolutely fine and so damned lucky, there are times when it occurs to them that he very nearly wasn't. A lot of the months following the crash involved so much bravado, giggling and joshing about how Hamster will do anything to avoid making his writing deadlines, ha-ha-ha. It's what they do, they're blokes who make professional clots of themselves on TV for a living and there's never been any room in their relationship for sentimentality. They wouldn't know what to do with it, how to shape those words or how to receive them, into something that can't be mocked. So—jokes then, the way forward. There's no topic so serious that they can't instead make light of rather than talk about like grownups.
(They don't talk about how tightly Jeremy hugged him on the first show back after the accident, or the way his voice caught and cracked when they replayed the footage from the crash. No one mentions James's pale silence that day, the way he could barely raise his head to look at the monitor showing the footage. The article in which Jeremy refers to James having an "unmanly moment" outside Richard's hospital ward is absolutely, unequivocally not up for discussion.)
Tonight, however, Jeremy has decided to take Richard's doctor's advice to heart and is now pointedly eyeing Richard's bottle every time he raises it to his lips. In the absence of anything better to do, he's obviously decided that it's time to passive-aggressively mother-hen Richard into taking better care of himself.
"Alright Grandad, I'll make this my last one," he sighs, rolling his eyes, feeling put upon and coddled and cared for.
Actually…now I really think about it, it's more like he's looking at my lips. Oh. Richard blinks and when he opens his eyes, Jeremy's gaze is still on him, warm and open and genuine, the way he rarely is in front of the cameras. Richard hadn't realised that this was going to be one of those nights, where they don't say goodnight to each other outside their respective bedroom doors. There haven't been that many of those since the accident, as if Jeremy and James were worried he might break into pieces if they spooned him too tight.
"Sorry Hamster, but someone's got to take care of you," Jeremy leans in good-naturedly, eyes not leaving Richard's face—there's a question there, or an invitation extended. Richard's not sure which, it's probably both anyway.
"Exactly, mate," James chimes in from the other side, where he's been observing the exchange, "it's rapidly coming up on your bedtime, I reckon."
It's not as though they had the chance to do this all that often before the accident—wives, children, girlfriends and cats are all commitments that can't really be ignored. They don't want to ignore them, in all honesty. The three of them spend too much time cocking about in various locations all over the world to justify spending any more time together, so they make do with moments snatched here and there during filming.
(That tent in Florida, stinky dead cow not ten yards away; on the ferry to Oslo, Richard and James keeping each other warm in that cramped cabin bed; Isle of Man, with a belly full of sausages cooked by James, the three of them tangled up like puppies in Jeremy's spare room. They've made quite a success at fucking in less than ideal conditions, with less than ample time to just be together and explore. They try not to be greedy, to take what the time that they can snatch to just be together—there's no question that their families are their priority in life, that's just the way it will be.)
No, there's no angst to be found here, truly—they love their wives and kids and lives and would never, ever give those up for anything. It's just, well—the three of them, they love each other. It's not negotiable, the same way as it is never ever up for discussion. And maybe they could live without the sex, and just be mates who drive cars really fast at each other and cock about, but truthfully? The sex part is pretty great too. Kept like this, between them and no one else, it's hard to see who this might be hurting.
Richard comes back to himself, looks from James's face to Jeremy's and back again, at the honest love and care he sees there. And he realises that tonight they have a big king sized bed to roll around in, no cramped single bed or stuffy pop up tent tonight for them. They have time, and plenty of space, and well… it just seems wrong not to make the best of it. Carpe diem and all that. Richard is alive, and well and whole and so happy and that feels like something to celebrate.
He lifts his bottle of Bud, drains the dregs and slams it down on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he goes. "Ok, I'm ready," he murmurs, "let's get going."
And when they wander upstairs a few minutes later, Jeremy's arms looped casually around Richard and James's necks, it seems like the most natural thing in the world that they all pile into Jeremy's room. James and Richard ease Jeremy down onto the bed, all elbows and knees and guffaws and teasing. James undoes the laces of Jeremy's old man shoes and pulls them off along with his socks, while Richard deals with jacket, shirt and belt. All three chuckle, mumbling to each other warmly about what clots they all are, Jeremy in particular, and press reassuring kisses to lips, necks, collarbones. Soon all three are naked, once again James and Richard lying on either side of Jeremy, curled into him with heads pillowed on his shoulders. For all his bluster, Jeremy worries, is the big brother of this pack and carries all the weight of the show and of the world on his shoulders. Richard and James try to press some comfort into him whenever they can, so it feels right that they should bracket him tonight, cover him with affection like this.
Richard curls his hand around Jeremy's cock, giving it a smooth firm pull. James cups his hand over Jeremy's balls and kneads gently, curling his index and middle fingers to press neatly behind. Jeremy is just gone on this, speechless and gasping at the same time already, and when he turns his eyes towards Richard they are full of gratitude and happiness and, ok, love. James glances over with a sweet twinkle in his eyes, and all three share a look which takes away the need for any of those messy, unmanly words.
Events progress rapidly, soon Richard is lying on his right side, with Jeremy spooned around him and inside him, whilst James in turn is curled around and inside Jeremy. It's slow, and mostly quiet, and middle aged and lovely. It's necessary, to them—sweetly rocking against each other, back and forth and again. It's so good to know that this can still happen, these quiet times together. Soft grunts, necks nuzzled and kissed and cries muffled, as Richard is brought off by James's hand steadily stroking his cock. James grunts and stiffens and follows him over the edge, which triggers Jeremy's orgasm, rolling over him like a sweet wave.
They pant their way back to catching their collective breath, the messy necessities dealt with as soon as they can lift tired limbs to grab tissues, discarded boxers, whatever is nearest. Climbing under the covers, curled all over each other like puppies (again), Richard reaches over to switch off the bedside light, and he catches Jeremy's eye, sharing an amused look at the snore already emanating from James's sleeping form.
I'm alright, you big daft cock, Richard tries to convey with his eyes.
I know, Jeremy eyebrows back. I just like to make sure.
Lights off, they settle into sleep.
In a few hours, Jeremy will wake up, still a bit drunk and hit on the bright idea of gluing the lids from the hotel bins to the side of the Nissank to "make it float better", and James and Richard will accompany him outside. Not to help, mind—but to mock and heckle the way all good best mates and part-time lovers should.
The cars are modified, the Nissank and the Dampervan, and James's ridiculous Triumph dinghy. Tomorrow they will attempt to sail across the English Channel in them, for no other reason than it's fun and ridiculous and impossible and they're together, idiots with a plan, ambitious but rubbish as always.
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