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Richard wasn't scared, really he wasn't. But it was rather dark, and the camera crew had finally left, and now he and James were alone in a Smart ForFour in the middle of a haunted wood and Richard couldn't sleep. The wind around the corners of the car sounded like the distant horn of a train, like moaning, like words whispered just on the threshold of his hearing. There was enough light in the distance that he could make out the basic interior of the car but not enough to see outside the windows, and even the protruding bits of the dashboard and the steering wheel had somehow begun to take on a vaguely menacing appearance.
He couldn't quite tell if James was actually asleep – there was no snoring, but he wasn't moving, either, seemingly dead to the world but for the slow rise and fall of his back as he breathed.
Don't think about death, Richard told himself. Especially not James' death. That's not going to help. "James," he whispered. "James, are you awake?" No answer, not even a twitch, which could indicate either deep sleep or faking it. "James?" Richard said again, a little louder. "Are you—"
"I am now," James grumbled. "What is it?"
"I—" Richard said, and then, "erm. Nothing. Just wondering if you were awake, that's all."
"Well, wonder a bit quieter, if you don't mind."
They were silent for a moment. "James?" Richard ventured again.
"What?"
"Do you believe in... you know, ghosts and all that stuff?"
James rolled over ponderously until they were facing each other. "Is that what's keeping you up? No, of course not. It's complete bollocks, Hammond."
"How do you know?"
"Because if dead people could actually haunt someone, then Jeremy'd never get a moment's rest with all the environmentalists harassing him all the time."
Richard laughed. "Good point." He felt calmer already, though he wasn't sure if it was from James' easy dismissal of the subject or just the sound of his voice, steady and familiar in the darkness. "If you could haunt someone after you died, do you think you would? Come back from beyond the grave and send chills up the spines of your mortal enemies?"
"I haven't got any mortal enemies," said James. "Except maybe the men who invented this bloody thing." He made a broad waving gesture that encompassed the entirety of the ForFour. "But if I did... I don't think so. I'd like to believe I'd be able to let it go and just move on to my next destination. If you can't move on from things when you're dead, then you really do have problems, I should think."
"Yeah," said Richard, considering. "I suppose you're right. It's just sometimes I think about all the things I haven't done yet and the idea of unfinished business begins to seem a bit realistic." There was something about lying in the dark with someone else that always made Richard feel a bit confessional, though generally the experience was a bit more post-coital.
"You're a famous telly presenter, you've driven all of the fastest cars that are on the market at the moment, you've played car darts, and you've just bought that ridiculous Charger," said James. "What do you have left unfinished, going to bloody space?"
Richard opened his mouth to answer, then realized that a part of his brain had put together 'James' and 'post-coital' and was beginning to get somewhat excited about the notion. James' skin, warm and soft beneath his hands. "Ah—" he said, caught off guard by the thought. "Well, I— erm." Don't say that out loud, for god's sake, he told himself firmly. You can work out whether you're going mad later. "I've always wanted to fly a helicopter?" he offered weakly.
"A helicopter?" James asked incredulously. "Hammond, are you out of your—"
Something skittered past the edge of the car, a quick rattle and then it was gone. Richard jumped, caught himself, tried to stifle the twitch and ended up banging his head against the window. "Ow! Bloody buggering—" James began to snigger, and Richard thumped him in the chest. "Oi," he said. "Less of that, you arse – I could have concussed myself! I could be bleeding!"
Richard reached up to touch the throbbing bruise on the back of his head, but James got there first. "Let me have a look," he said, his fingers sliding over Richard's temple and into his hair until he was all but cradling Richard's head in his palm."You big baby," he said. "It's fine." But his gentle touch belied the words, fingertips carefully tracing the edge of the bruise. Richard realized that his heart was still racing, not from fright now but from something else entirely.
"James—" It came out as a croak. Oh, god, shut up, Richard thought. Stop right now.
James' eyes flickered downwards, just barely visible in the darkness of the car. "Richard," he said, a soft exhale. And then they were kissing softly, an exploratory meeting of lips that sent a shiver through Richard's whole body. James' hand slid down over the back of his head to the nape of his neck and his thumb began to rub slow circles into the skin there.
What are we doing? Richard thought, but he didn't pull away. Instead he let James' hand tug him closer – or as much closer as they could get, stretched out across the ForFour's bucket seats. James' tongue stroked over Richard's lips and then slipped between them. He tasted faintly of mint toothpaste and of something smoky underneath, and Richard kissed him and kissed him until they were both gasping.
"This is a terrible idea," said James, tearing his mouth away to breathe raggedly. His fingers were still pressed against Richard's neck, desperate, almost possessive.
"Probably," said Richard. But I don't want to leave it unfinished, he thought.
Outside the car the wind went on muttering by, telling its secrets into the darkness. But neither of them heard it. They leaned in again at the same time.