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Hammond spoke quickly, and in a higher pitch than usual, explaining exactly how dangerous this motorbike stunt was going to be. He dithered on worriedly about how he could possibly crash it to an unwilling and disconcerted James, leaning against the bike and holding onto his crash helmet for dear life. “I mean, I could roll it, or corner too fast and slide it, and I-I don’t know what I’d do if I went into another coma—”
“Write another book, probably,” Clarkson helpfully interjected as he strode past.
As Hammond tried and failed to stutter out a retort, James redirected his attention with a commanding, “Ignore him. The blithering, useless ape.”
Hammond laughed nervously, seeming intent upon scratching a sticker off his crash helmet. James took a miniscule step forward. “Richard. There… there’s something I want to say to you before you set off towards almost certain doom,” he said quietly.
At the words ‘certain doom’ Hammond cringed, but responded nonetheless. “Yes?”
James stared into Hammond’s eyes, all filled with anticipation and anxiety and concern. His own eyes wandered over Hammond’s perfectly sharp features, and in that half of a second, his only thought was, well, sod it. He leaned in, closing the gap between them and kissed Hammond, who responded tentatively, turning his head ever so slightly to achieve the best possible angle. It was new, good new, for both of them, but soon enough James had to pull back for oxygen, which he breathed in greedily.
Hammond was still close, too close to read James’ features. He cleared his throat. “T-that was – well, it was…well-spoken…” he trailed off.
James laughed gently against Hammond’s mouth. “Be careful out there, Hamster. For God’s sake.”
“I promise.”