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James doesn't actually mean to buy anything at the market. The three of them already have as many beaded things as they can comfortably wear, and then some, thanks to this morning's 'ooh, look at that!' orgy of enthusiasm from Hammond, and he hasn't the faintest idea what he's going to do with them all when he gets home in any case. He can get away with looking like an escapee from the 60s here in Botswana, but at home, perhaps not so much.
And yet somehow he finds himself standing in front of the stall, his eyes drawn to a pair of wooden rings that gleam in the sunlight. Jeremy and Richard have gone on ahead to where they're scheduled to meet up with Andy for lunch, and James knows he ought to be worried about getting lost. He probably will be, once he gets over worrying about the fact that he's doing something utterly mad.
The wood is a dark, reddish-brown color, with an irregular grain that looks like he ought to be able to feel it. But when he reaches out to run his finger over one it's smooth to the touch, polished. The woman behind the stall says something he can't understand – maybe it's the name of the wood, or maybe it's 'stop fondling the wares and buy something, English pig dog' – and he smiles at her helplessly.
Three minutes later the rings are in his pocket, and though they had been light in his hand, now that he's bought them he can feel them weighting him down. He makes his way slowly through the market, and all he can think about is what the wood might look like against tanned skin, the way it might feel after having been warmed by the heat of a familiar body.
Mad, he thinks. I don't even know if it will fit, for Christ's sake. Though that's really the least of his concerns.
He finds the restaurant almost absent-mindedly, rolling his eyes at the taunting greetings he receives. Jeremy says, "Not kidnapped by cannibals, then?" but his smile holds something special just for James, the way it always does, now.
James' fingers twitch towards his pocket, but then Andy says, "Jezza, must you say something offensive every single time you open your mouth?" and Jeremy huffs, and James thinks, Not yet. Not yet.
He carries the rings with him during the days as they travel, but it's not until a week into their journey that he really thinks of them again.
Andy had said they had enough film of bloody sunsets – possibly more from generosity than from actual fact – and so the crew, exhausted, have all abandoned the view in favor of lounging in low-slung chairs around the fire and eating somewhat charred meat-on-a-stick. Hammond has buggered off to his tent with his phone, which just leaves the two of them to lean against the cooling rocks and watch the sun go down.
James' arm is slung around Jeremy's shoulders and he can feel the heat of Jeremy's body against his side. One of Jeremy's hands rests on James' knee, tracing the shape of the bone beneath the fabric of his khakis; the other one's holding his beer. James has a can, too, and he sips from it occasionally, feeling the cool liquid slide down his throat and erase the dust that's gathered there.
"Bloody amazing," Jeremy mutters.
"Yes," James agrees. They don't need to say anything more, hadn't needed to say this much, really, except for the pleasure of hearing each other's voices against the soft, unceasing wind of the desert.
Jeremy turns his head and kisses the side of James' neck, quickly, before turning back to the sunset. The swift press of lips makes James' heart beat faster. He'd half-expected this thing between them to die after six months, but it's been two years now and he still wants Jeremy as much as ever, still finds his touch as exciting and amazing as it had been that first time. And yet things have changed between them, mellowed, perhaps. Jeremy is comfort now, in addition to desire. Jeremy is home.
Without any conscious thought James finds he's set his beer aside, that he's put his hand into his pocket and is rolling the rings back and forth in his palm. They feel warm to the touch, smooth from the long hours of polishing that the maker must have done.
Before James loses his nerve he takes one of the rings between thumb and forefinger, then reaches over and turns Jeremy's hand palm up. He presses the ring into the cupped palm and then curls Jeremy's fingers around it before turning his face away. He swallows then, reaches for his beer and takes a long, soothing drink, not letting himself look at anything beyond the round, red ball of the sun.
Jeremy doesn't say anything for a long moment, though James can see out of the corner of his eye that Jeremy is turning the ring over in his hands, tracing the curve of it with the pad of his thumb. He still doesn't say anything, and James breaks under the strain.
"It doesn't have to mean that we-- well," he says. "It doesn't have to mean anything. But. I saw it and I wanted to give it to you and if you don't want--"
"Shut up," Jeremy says, choked, and when James finally looks over Jeremy is wiping his eyes. "You stupid man."
For a moment James' heart sinks, and then Jeremy is kissing him, his lips dry from their long day driving across the sand, but his face wet, and James tightens his arm around Jeremy's shoulders and kisses back.
When they break away, Jeremy reaches up to wipe his eyes again. "Stupid, wonderful man," he says thickly. "Of course I want." James looks down to see Jeremy fiddle with the ring again, watches him slip it onto his finger.
"I, er," James says. "Bought two. Came as a set." He knows he sounds like an idiot but he can't quite believe even now that Jeremy really wants--
Jeremy snaps his fingers and holds out his hand again. Slowly James takes the other ring from his pocket and passes it over. Jeremy reaches up to take James' arm from around his shoulders, sliding his hands down over the exposed skin until he has James' hand cupped between them. He puts the ring onto James' finger, slowly, then lifts James' hand to his mouth to kiss it – palm, finger, ring. James' fingertips rest against Jeremy's cheek, and he can feel the tears still slowly falling there, smooth over skin that's creased and worn with age. Skin that he loves.
Everything feels intense, like he can hardly breathe for the weight of emotion that's pressing down on him, and for a moment he's terrified. He tries to joke, tries to lighten the mood. "Something in your eye?"
But Jeremy isn't having it. "Nope," he says, eyes large and bright and fixed on James'. He presses his mouth to James' palm again, this time in a gesture that's not quite a kiss, and then he laces their fingers together so that the rings just touch.
"Jeremy," James whispers, completely undone, and then he simply has to take Jeremy in his arms, has to kiss him and touch him and hold him, has to be kissed and touched and held in return.
They miss the last of the sunset. But it's okay, because James knows there will be another one just as spectacular tomorrow.