Chapter Text
Under the Covers
“James...” Niki pinched the top of his nose. “I refuse to believe this keeps happening by accident.”
“What are you suggesting, Nikkers?” James leaned his long torso against the doorframe – their doorframe. He crossed his ankles.
“If you call me that once more, I will trade rooms with Jarier*.”
James's face collapsed. “Don't do that to me, Niki.”
“Are you asking the hotels for adjoining rooms?”
“No! Are you?”
“No!” Niki snapped. That cut a little close to the bone. After their last adventure, involving a toilet paper snowball fight and a ransom note for five playing cards, Niki had been disappointed at the following race weekend when they weren't even on the same floor. James had gotten Room Service to deliver a series of increasingly desperate, lovelorn notes begging Niki to let him come home, that he would change his ways, that he would stop running around with other women, and get a proper job. Niki had responded to each note with a curt reply, detailing the number of pages of his flying books he'd managed to study without James messing up his concentration. His notes were far closer to fiction than James's were – he had spent most of the weekend pestering Ronnie and John for company to take his mind off James, and hadn't studied for more than half an hour.
But now they had connecting doors again.
And Niki hadn't asked for it, but he was far too happy.
Turned out, it was much easier to sleep knowing James was home safe from whatever bar he rolled into after every session on the track. And it was much more fun to wake up knowing you could hammer on the connecting door and shout “good morning, sunshine!” and to hear him say “fuck off, Niki,” in a muffled, intimate voice filled with warmth and sleep.
“Well, at least I don't have Jarier and you don't have Carlos,” James said. “I'm going to take a shower. Drink later, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Niki said.
Maybe, if Niki couldn't come up with something better to do.
He hadn't bothered planning any adjoining-room mayhem, because he was so sure that they would never have adjoining rooms again. Niki had never had a connecting door with any other driver's room, and that it happened twice with James was unusual enough without planning for Round Three.
Niki didn't trust coincidence. He wouldn't put it past James to request this. And if he had, well, that meant James had a head-start on planning.
Niki sat on the bed. He heard the shower running next door and started thinking frantically.
What was flat enough to slide under a door? So far they'd had playing cards, a ransom note, love letters... James's sweet, Regency-style letters with language plucked from books he'd read furtively as a teenager at boarding school.
Credit card. Razor blade. Lottery ticket. Scratch card. Napkin. Stick of chewing gum. Condom. Sugar packet.
Could be persuade James to snort a wrap of sugar? Probably not – he'd never believe Niki had anything that James would want to put in his face.
He lay down on the floor and looked at the gap between the door and the floor. It wasn't as small as he had feared.
Maybe he could find suitably gossamer-thin knickers to slide under there, then he could wait and see what happened...
Niki shook his head in frustration. There was no situation involving ladies' underwear in which he could get the better of James.
But maybe that would be fun...
No. Niki tamped down hard on that thought. He couldn't lie to himself about his feelings anymore – he was still dragging James's Vaseline and old-fashioned love letters around in his suitcase, and he felt a thin shiver of pleasure every time he thought of them. Using the Vaseline felt creepy and unsettling, but the idea of it was intoxicating. The thought of using it was enough, and had been enough a few times now.
Last weekend, he had imagined James cornering him in a posh drawing room, leaning close, and whispering “your achievements in the admirable sport of carriage-racing have set many hearts quite a-flutter.” That had been enough to make him spill all over his hands, long before he thought he was close. It had also been how Niki had discovered it was possible to be embarrassed while completely alone in your own home.
But even though Niki couldn't deny his feelings, James couldn't know.
He'd probably be fine with it, the fucker, while Niki died inside.
The letters were preying on Niki's mind.
He knew the power of early desires. He wondered how those silly romance novels James had sneak-read as a teenager had affected him. Niki remembered the big, bursting feeling in his chest the first time he saw one of the young maids hanging her underwear out to dry. He remembered when attraction to girls, then to boys, stopped being cute and innocent, all glances and blushes, when he started trying to find something sexy rather than flirtatious, when he went from wanting to kiss to wanting to fuck. There hadn't been much in the way of porn in Vienna in the early 60s, but what he had found – photos here and there, nudes in museums, sex scenes in American books passed around the classroom – stayed with him even now.
He wondered if James still felt a little rush at the site of an old romance novel – with the “top hat chaps,” as he called them. Did the colour of the spines make him feel dizzy and hopeful, like those old museum pictures did to Niki, even now, a decade later?
Niki stared, unseeing, at the hotel carpet.
An idea.
The shower next door stopped running.
James would be naked now, maybe flushed a little from the heat, towelling off-
Niki grabbed his room key and ran, his door slamming shut behind him.
Ronnie and his girlfriend Barbro were staying in Room 561. Niki hammered on their door with the heel of his hand, cursing inwardly at the pain.
Ronnie opened the door.
“Niki! What's the fucking problem?”
“Is Barbro here?” Niki asked, a little breathless from running so far through the hotel.
“Niki?” Barbro called from inside. She appeared behind Ronnie, wearing a huge tshirt and jeans. “Are you OK?”
“Barbro.” Niki shoved past Ronnie. He had always liked his friend's girlfriend. “Do you have any romance novels with you to read for the weekend? Old ones?”
Barbro's beautiful face creased in confusion. “What?”
“Niki, what's going on?” Ronnie asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“No time to explain, it's an emergency. Barbro, I see you reading in the airport sometimes – did you bring any books with you? Any in English? I need an old romance novel.”
Ronnie took Niki by his elbow.
“You haven't taken a knock on the head lately, have you?” he asked, frowning as deeply as Barbro but with what looked more like concern than confusion. “Are you alright?”
“I'm fine! Never better. It's a long story.”
“If you need something to-” Ronnie lowered his voice, “-take care of yourself with, Hunt usually has a few magazines-”
“Hunt can't know!” Niki snapped.
Barbro rolled her eyes. “I know you two have your problems, but he's not going to find a way to use your...personal time against you.”
“This isn't for 'personal time!'” Niki stuffed his hands in his pockets and paced. “Just...trust me. I need an old fashioned romance novel. I thought, women like them, maybe you have one?”
“I mostly read modern books,” Barbro said. “All I have with me this week is John D. MacDonald.”
“You only bring one book?” Niki asked.
“Yes! You think we have much time to read when we have to do the lap times? I only get to read on the plane!”
“Would Lella have one, do you think? Or any of the other wives and girlfriends? I'm looking for something with...top hats.” Niki pulled a face. “And corsets!” he added, with a sudden burst of inspiration. “Carriages. You know.”
Barbro sighed. “Let me phone around.”
She spoke on the phone for a few minutes while Niki paced and Ronnie attempted to talk some sense into him.
“Niki, you know you're my good friend, but really...you can't barge into my room and ask my girlfriend for porn.”
“I am not looking for porn!” Niki snapped, as Barbro sighed into the phone and said “I'm sure you heard that... yes, yes, he insists.”
“What could you possibly need it for?”
“It's a long story.”
“Barbro has lots more women to phone.” Ronnie sat on the desk chair and motioned for Niki to stop pacing and sit on the floor.
Niki sat, cross-legged and sulky, as Barbro said “he is insisting on top hats and corsets,” into the phone. She sighed again. “I know, Lella. It makes no sense to me either. Are you sure you want to race against these idiots?”
“So what is it?” Ronnie asked.
Niki didn't want to tell Ronnie about teenage James sneaking out to the library after Matron found his magazines. He didn't want to share that – it was too precious, too secret. Just for him.
He also didn't want to tell Ronnie about their adjoining-door wars.
“It's a gift,” Niki said, finally. “I met a woman. She likes those books.”
“Niki.” Ronnie's eyes lit up. “You met someone? That's great! Tell me everything!”
“Well, she's... blonde.”
Ronnie nodded.
“English. Tall. Funny. Smart. Talented.”
“And does she like you?” Ronnie asked. Niki bit back a smile. His friend's excitement for him was sweet, even if Ronnie didn't know the full story.
“I don't know – I'm trying to prove myself.” Niki shrugged. “You have to, when you look like me.”
“Don't be like that.” Ronnie nudged Niki's knee with his foot. “You may not be Hunt, but I'm also not Hunt and I do OK.” His smile towards Barbro was goofy, as she said “well, could you look on her nightstand?” and twirled the phone cord around her fingers. “And...oh.” Realisation dawned on Ronnie's face. “You don't want Hunt to know in case he steals her? A tall English blonde sounds just his type.”
Niki hadn't considered before that James's womanising was narcissism in disguise, but it kind of fitted.
“Something like that.” Niki poked at the carpet fibres with his toes as Barbro dialled a different room. “How does she know all the room numbers?” Niki asked.
“They trade them when they check-in – the women,” Ronnie explained. “So if one of us dies, they know where to go.”**
Niki exhaled like he'd been punched.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“We put them through a lot,” Niki whispered.
Ronnie nodded.
“I don't think Hunt would deliberately steal your girl,” Ronnie said. “He's a dick but he's not malicious.”
Niki made a face that he hoped conveyed I will not outright insult him, but I like him less than you do.
Eventually Barbro finished calling. She shook her head.
“Sorry, Niki. We're all crime and horror.”
Ronnie grinned as Barbro walked over to him. “Why would you need to read romances when you have me?”
Barbro swatted at Ronnie with her hand. Niki pushed himself up from the floor, awkward and ungainly.
“Thanks for trying,” he said. “And sorry to intrude on your afternoon.”
“Are you sure you didn't hit your head?”
“Piss off,” Niki said, without ire, and stepped back into the corridor.
“Mr. Lauda, are you enjoying your stay?” The clerk at the reception desk smiled at Niki.
“Yes, very much.” Niki glanced around and leaned forward. “I need some advice, though.”
“Of course.” The clerk nodded, his face serious, as though he was trying to imply that anything from cocaine to sex to endangered wildlife could be acquired with appropriate discretion. Niki had definitely been under-using his unspoken driver privileges.
“Is there a used bookshop anywhere in the town? With books in English?”
To the clerk's credit, he maintained his professional demeanour and sketched the route quickly in black ink on one of the complimentary maps. “I'm not sure how many books they will have in English,” he said. “But some, certainly.”
“Do people ever leave English books behind here, in the hotel? Is there a lost and found?”
“Sometimes,” the clerk said, “but none at the moment. The staff often borrow them; if we have any, they are on a shelf over there.” He pointed towards a stubbornly book-free display unit.
“Thank you.” Niki took the paper and tore off towards the door. In the street, he looked down at the map – too far too walk, and it was late afternoon on a Thursday, so traffic was already building. He couldn't bear sitting in the back of a clammy car, alone with his thoughts, probably working himself up into a state about what he would do with a book once he got it, and how James might react.
In an act of self-protection, he nicked Ronnie's bike.
The local used bookshop was an unexpected delight. Niki locked Ronnie's bike to a railing. Although the ease with which he had gotten the lock open didn't exactly inspire confidence in its strength, Niki chose to believe that he was the only man in town sufficiently desperate for wheels to target the battered old contraption Ronnie insisted on dragging from race to race. He picked his way through the stone flower pots filled with brightly-coloured spring blooms, and pushed open the rickety glass-and-wood door to the sound of a tinkling brass bell.
Behind its fairy-tale red brick exterior, the shop itself was small and labyrinthine. Some American backpackers were riffling through piles of popular novels by the cash register, looking for something to see them through their next train ride, holding up titles for each other to consider. A family were nosing through the picture books. Niki breezed past all of them, and scanned the shelves – the books in other languages seemed to be mostly mixed in with the rest of their genre, so after becoming distracted by some motorsport biographies and aviation books, Niki reluctantly plunged into the romance section. The books were all slender, with brightly coloured spines, and a surprising number were in English. Niki spent some time glancing over the titles, and found himself reaching for Love in the Clouds and The Demon in his Blue Eyes before remembering his mission.
Top hats. Corsets. Ideally published in England in the early 1960s.
He made a pile of all of the romance novels in English and whittled them down to anything that looked less than modern. Then for the second time in as many hours, he sat cross-legged on a floor and hoped.
In the end, only a handful met his specifications. Niki paged through Trapped Until Midnight , The Duke at Whitsuntide, and A Kiss for a Debutante. The heroines really were all James in disguise – daring, spirited blondes with upper-class English accents. Niki had no idea there was such a rich resource of James-related reading material, if he was just willing to overlook the minor matter of gender.
“Excuse me?” A voice from above made Niki drop A Kiss for a Debutante just before the debutante got kissed. He scrambled to his feet, knocking over the rest of his stack.
“Are you Niki Lauda?” A man in a sports jacket and checked shirt was holding out his hand to be shaken.
Niki knew there was no point denying it, not with his teeth.
“Yes, I am.” He shook the man's hand. “Are you in town for the race?”
The man nodded. “I'll be rooting for you. You're doing a good job in that Ferrari.”
“I hope the Old Man thinks so,” Niki said, because it's what you said even when the Old Man could go and fuck himself.
“Would you mind actually...” The man patted his pockets. “I've got my race ticket here somewhere.” Eventually he produced it, while Niki sweated through his shirt and jacket and glanced down at the five novels which had landed – of course – corset-side up on the floor.
Niki signed the back of the ticket, making sure not to mark any areas that the race organisers would need to tear off.
“Thanks, Niki. Could I help you with your-” The man gestured at the fallen books.
“No, no, it's fine, I've got them,” Niki lied, as the man bent down and picked up all of the thin paperbacks. As he passed them to Niki, he raised one thick, beetle-ish eyebrow.
“Interesting choices,” the man said.
“For my girlfriend,” Niki said.
“I didn't know you were...” The man trailed off, giving Niki a chance to drop more gossip.
“Must have forgotten to call you about it.” Niki regretted the words as soon as they were out, but the man paused only a second before deciding to laugh.
“Well, I hope she brings you good luck,” he said, slapping Niki on the back. “Not sure the birds bring James Hunt much luck, but maybe he doesn't mind.”
Niki's heart leaped at the mention of James, which felt especially potent as he stood here, his hands full of secret desire.
“He always has a big smile, for sure,” Niki said, with a nod to signal that the conversation was over. “Nice meeting you.”
“And thanks for the autograph.” The man tipped his hat and went back to his partner, who was browsing the crime section. What was it with all the women and crime, all of a sudden?
Niki looked down at the books in his hands. Rather than take any further risks with whatever remained of his reputation, he bought all of them.
Back at the hotel, Niki's wealthy Viennese upbringing made itself known for the first time in a while.
He had never been a studious boy, but his family had somehow instilled in him the belief that culture was important. Niki didn't much like art, or opera, or books, but he recognised that they were important. He knew in his bones that to make art was special, even if the effect was often lost on him, and he remembered the vitriol with which his family had spoken of the Nazi book burnings. A book in the Lauda household was not a luxury – nothing was, really, with his father's money – but it was a sacred object. Much like you might choose not to pray, you would never stomp on someone's rosary beads, Niki may not have been a keen reader, but he found the idea of taking a blade to a book – even The Rake's Sexy Secret – ugly in a way he hadn't expected.
But it was never going under the door intact, and he was not sending it to James via Room Service on a silver salver.
He made a private promise to buy another copy of the book and make sure it survived, then took a deep breath and sliced off the cover with his pocketknife.
Niki wasn't much of an artist, but he managed to add an overbite and curls to the hero, and sketch a small patch beneath the title that read 'SEX' with lines underneath approximating the shape of the words 'Breakfast of Champions.' On the inside of the cover, he wrote
Decided to try the top hat chaps.
He slid it under the door, realising as he did so that he had no idea if James was in, or if he had gone out while Niki was tearing all over town trying to buy sexy stories for the most sought-after man in half the world.
As soon as the book cover was gone, Niki would have given his racing contract, his money, his home, and everything else he owned to call it back. There was no sound from the room next door – maybe James was out. Maybe there was time for Niki to break in next door (somehow) and steal the book cover back. Maybe he could take James's suggestion from a couple of races ago and flood the adjoining room just enough to drench the book cover beyond recognition.
Niki knelt on the floor, listening, his heart in his mouth and his teeth digging into his knuckles. What the fuck had he been thinking? He could blame temporary insanity, but it had lasted long enough to run all over the hotel and into town and back, and to desecrate a book, and to draw silly little features on to the hero.
With some willpower, he lowered his fist from his mouth.
And if James was there, by now he had probably picked up the cover and read what was on the back. Niki realised with a start that he had basically implied he was about to jerk off – which admittedly, wasn't an escalation from a few weeks back, when he had explicitly asked James to stop bothering him so he could. But he hadn't meant it then, which was why James's onslaught of romantic aids was so funny. And he didn't mean it now – God , as if arousal could mix with this level of terror – but it was beginning to feel like he was trying to creep on James, always making seedy jokes.
But then, James literally wore patches on his racing overalls that said 'SEX – Breakfast of Champions', 'Happiness is a tight pussy' and 'Sex is a high performance sport.' For someone who claimed to be a great lover, he seemed to need a lot of cheat sheets.
Niki filed that jibe away for future use and stood. He couldn't resist pacing the room, thrumming with nervous energy.
Maybe James would take the book cover and show it around to some of his friends. They mostly had the same friends among the drivers – Ronnie, John Watson – but Niki couldn't warm to the Hesketh team, and the feeling was mutual. They would love something to embarrass Niki with. Niki was not a stranger to being told that the idea of him feeling desire was disgusting. Back in Vienna, at school, there had been a girl...and it was a ploy. A nasty one, to make Lauda look silly, to catch him at his most vulnerable. Niki hoped those shitheads watched his races at the weekends, saw him surrounded by beautiful women and fast cars, and then woke up for their terrible jobs on Mondays, toiling away for their miserable fathers.
Niki hadn't forgotten how it felt to be laughed at for daring to feel attracted to someone. He hadn't forgotten that there were people who would not acknowledge that there was a human heart and a thrum of desire behind a face like his.
A note appeared under the door. Niki grabbed for it and knelt to read.
It was on hotel notepaper.
Excellent choice. Hope you don't mind if I keep the cover. The hero is rather appealing. Might have a date with him later on... xxx
Niki was not widely believed to be a sensitive man, but his iron self-control was simply proof that there was a part of him that needed to be controlled, and that it demanded iron.
That part of him dropped to the floor and lay there for a moment, as the iron in him thought, I did not swoon. There is no way anyone could call this a swoon. There was no loss of consciousness or balance. I simply felt an excess of excitement and decided it could best be processed by lying down.
The part of him that wasn't iron thought, James thinks I'm rather appealing , and either wants to see me or is implying he'll jerk off to the book cover later on. Is it too soon to confirm Stephansdom for the wedding?
By the time Niki had recovered from the excess of excitement that could be best processed by lying down, another note had appeared.
Don't keep me in suspense, naughty Nikkers. Slide me in the good bits.
Niki had made a threat about James using that name, and he had to follow it through, even if the silly name did give him butterflies in his stomach and hot, damp palms. He flipped through the book for the hero and heroine's first kiss, sliced out the relevant pages, and sealed them into an envelope. He made a quick, quiet call to Barbro. He found some notepaper and wrote
I warned you what would happen if you called me that. Jarier is in Room 289. It would be the work of five minutes to swap. Do you think, if he moves in here, he'll take the keen interest I do in your reading?
The note was barely under the door when he heard James laugh.
Then Niki slid the envelope halfway under, his ear pressed tight to the wood.
He felt James's fingers grab the envelope and yanked it sharply back.
“Nooooo!” James cried from next door.
Niki slid the envelope under again. This time, James did nothing for a moment, evidently waiting for Niki to relax his grip, then snatched at the envelope. But Niki had never relaxed (according to his family, the last time he was at ease was in utero), and pulled it back as soon as James's fingers tensed.
To pass the time, he started reading what was left of the book. It wasn't bad.
A few minutes later, another sheet of paper came through, with a very bad line-drawing of James – recognisable only by the square chin, flyaway uncoloured hair, and massive, downturned mouth. A speech bubble said 'SORRY.'
Niki shoved the envelope entirely under the door and waited.
A kiss, you teasing little shit. All that for a kiss.
Heart pounding, mouth dry, Niki sent back
Was that a complaint, or a demand?
J: A complaint. Kindly direct me to your complaints department.
N: Room 289.
J: NIKI.
N: He's very good at dealing with complaints.
J: Yes, he would be: he gets so many. May I have some more book, please?
Niki read for a little longer, then carefully sliced out the least salacious pages he could find, and sent them next door.
Something nicer, please.
James was a faster reader than Niki had thought. The man was full of surprises.
N: I'll trade you. The end of the horseback escape book for the (ahem) climax of this one.
J: AHEM? AHEM? YOU MADE A JOKE. NIKI MADE A JOKE. HANG ON, I HAVE TO RING LONDON. THE PAPERS WILL NEED TO KNOW.
Niki waited and kept reading. Eventually, another note.
I don't have a copy. It was a library book, remember? I only have what my fevered little teenage brain retained and frankly most of my blood wasn't north of the border at the time.
Niki, quite determinedly, did not allow the part of him that was prone to swooning to think about James in a public school uniform, reading in the corner of a library, hard in his regulation grey pants, his tie loosened, his fingers itching to touch himself. The iron part of him insisted that it was very, very wrong to mentally dress a 26-year-old man as a schoolboy.
He did not wonder if James still had his school uniform and if it still fit. He was definitely not thinking of how it might look if it was just slightly too small across the chest and ass...
Niki wrote back, once his hand had stopped trembling.
Oh, well. No deal.
He lay on the carpet by the adjoining door and noisily turned pages and hummed. It was difficult to read loudly, but he thought lots of flicky-paper sounds would do the trick.
Then came the metallic grind of a twisting doorknob.
James had opened his door – to no avail, though, as Niki's remained stubbornly closed and locked.
James Hunt, great lover and immortal fuck, had shown his hand.
Niki tried not to feel like a princess in a tower, waiting for her lover to breach the battlements.
(Those books were bloody contagious. He shouldn't keep them in the room while he slept; he'd wake up in a waistcoat and breeches, whatever they were).
“ Niki ,” James whinged, sounding like he was on the floor. “Don't be such a beast .”
“I'm told you have the best stash of porn on the grid,” Niki replied evenly. “Surely you can cope without stealing my reading material.”
“Are you going to make a joke that I can't read?”
“I have never thought you lacked any skills, James. Just that you choose not to use them.”
“Well, I want to use at least one of them now...” James's voice, gravelly and tense, nailed Niki right below his naval. “But someone is being a horrible HOG.”
Niki let himself bask for a moment. James was on the floor, begging him for...well, something close to satisfaction, to bliss. Even though it was all a game – even though they both knew if James wanted an orgasm, all he had to do was open his bedroom door – it didn't matter. He was begging Niki . He was on his knees for Niki. He was clamouring at the door that only led to Niki.
“Do you want to know what we did back at school, to boys who didn't share?” James asked.
“Probably not,” Niki replied, with complete honesty.
“If they wouldn't share with us, we wouldn't share with them.”
“What could you possibly have that I could want to share?” Niki asked, filling his voice with tired, lazy contempt. “Back slaps and pestering? Hotel notepaper?”
“It just so happens...” James purred.
Niki did not swoon.
“...I have a gorgeous white wine here. Chilling. I picked it just for you. I don't know what it is, but I asked the waiter for a good one.”
“Unspecified wine,” Niki said. “A delight. I suppose it's the thought that counts.”
“You liked white wine when we last had adjoining rooms!” James said indignantly. “You certainly drank enough of it. You said it was delicious, and you asked me why you wasted so much of your life studying flight instruments and racing cars when you could just lie on a carpet with me drinking white wine.”
Niki blushed, glad the door concealed his face from James.
“What did you say?”
“I said if you didn't live such a boring life, you wouldn't be my favourite little rat.”
All of Niki tingled. He heard footsteps, and a rattle of ice.
“The label is in French , Niki!”
“Mr. Hunt, you're trying to seduce me.” Niki tried his best Dustin Hoffman voice, which wasn't very good, but James got the reference to The Graduate and laughed.
“My husband won't be home for hours, Benjamin.” James sounded low and smoky, like Anne Bancroft. Niki went warm all over.
“That would have been a very different film with British accents,” Niki said.
“Better, or worse?” A hint of a challenge.
“Don't you people think British is always better?”
“Except for wine.”
Niki heard a cork pop from the neck of a bottle, and the ticking sound of wine being poured. James must be holding the bottle and glass right to the keyhole.
“Like that sound of that, Niki?”
Truthfully, Niki could take or leave any drink.
“So what are you offering?”
“A glass for a climax?”
“One glass?” Niki was incredulous.
“You never drink more than one!” James protested. “Or at least not very often. Which is a good thing, since you fell asleep the last time you drank wine. Then I went card-hunting. That sounds filthier than it was, actually.”
“I was awake the whole time!”
“Not when you were snoring and calling me Natasha.”
Niki couldn't hold back an almost-giggle.
He had enjoyed being drunk on the floor with James, but that was mostly about the floor and James than the alcohol. He supposed that only being drunk would get him to loosen up quite that much, but if he thought too hard about wine getting him horizontal with James, he might never be sober again.
“If I let you call me Natasha again, will you open the door?”
Niki had no idea whether they were still playing.
“I've only ever wanted to call you James,” he said, seriously.
“Call me James and have a drink with me.”
Niki took a breath, flexed his knuckles to steady his hands, and opened the door.
“Is that your best pick up line?” Niki asked, taking the glass. He tried not to look at James, tall and broad and filling the doorway, his distinctive shoulder hunch in evidence, his tshirt fitted and perfect.
“Honestly, these days 'Hi, I'm James Hunt,' works pretty well. It's embarrassing for a practitioner of my calibre.” James walked past Niki and flopped down on the bed, somehow not spilling the open beer in his hand.
“A practitioner of what?”
“The seductive arts.”
“That's a bold claim for a man who has just flung himself on my bed, fully dressed, holding a beer.”
“I'm not fully dressed.” James waggled his extremely unsexy bare feet. “How is the wine?”
Niki tasted it. “It's very good,” he said. “Compliments to the waiter who chose it.”
“I'll pass that on. We can name our first child after him.”
The spire of the Stephansdom flashed in Niki's head and he blushed.
Niki had never drunk wine so slowly with his heart pounding so much. Every sip tasted of hot, nervous beats.
When he finished the glass, James give him a slow smile. Niki wondered how many people had melted for that smile.
“You're much more fun with a connecting door,” James said.
“You're much more persistent.”
“Another glass?”
“Sure. Join me?”
Between two, they killed the bottle without Niki feeling too woozy. He still had the massive flashing sign in his head telling him not overplay his hand, not to show his real face. That was good. When that sign disappeared, he would need to evict James. For now, he was just happy, mellow and a little bit sleepy.
“Tipsy little rat?” James asked, affectionately.
Niki did a 'maybe' gesture.
“Should I leave you to sleep? Practice tomorrow. I know you like to be alert.”
Niki's eyes shot open. No more playing? No more silly romance novels?
Don't show your face.
“Thanks, that's kind of you.” Niki stood. He bustled uselessly to hide a wave of feeling; he picked up some items and moved them, not even sure what they were.
“Guess I'll be off then.” James stretched languidly. He looked like a big, sleepy dog. “Off to Slumberland. Early night. Just the ticket. Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise, I hear.”
“If you say so.”
“Ho, hum.” James made no actual moves to leave. Niki continued to bustle.
After a moment, Niki asked, “well?”
“Well what?”
“Aren't you going?”
“Just as soon as I've had my bedtime story.”
Niki dropped a mug he was holding for some reason.
“Don't you remember? A climax for a drink? And you had two glasses so I feel you owe me two climaxes.”
“James...what are you...” Niki stammered.
“Don't panic, little rat. You don't have to read me the entire book. Just the last sex scene.”
“You want me to read you a sex scene?” Niki managed.
“They say he's the most intelligent driver the sport has ever seen,” James said, in a mock-commentator voice. Oddly good, Niki thought, in spite of the red alert firing in his mind.
“James, I...” The alert was not the only thing going red. Niki's cheeks were hot. Unconsciously he raised a hand to touch his face. “I...I can't, not...no, I just...”
“Hey hey hey.” James stood in a single fluid movement and went to Niki, his big hands on Niki's biceps in a split second. “Just playing, Niki, OK? You don't do anything you're not comfortable with, alright? Never. And if anyone tries to make you, send them my way and I'll sort them out.”
The iron part of Niki had fled, leaving the softness undefended. He felt like a sluggy sea creature that had shed its shell. James was so close, like he had been in the airport that time, every little vein and pore visible, and every one of them perfect in Niki's eyes.
“I don't need you protecting me,” he lied.
“I know.” James nodded. “But I've made you uncomfortable and I need to joke my way out of it, so let me pretend I'm your big tough friend instead of the oaf who teased you too much and hit a nerve?”
Gott, the man had a silver tongue.
“I'm not uncomfortable.”
“You are the same colour as your car.” James let Niki go. He felt cold where James's hands had been – James was always warm.
“I just...don't like reading aloud. In English,” Niki improvised. “I was a bad student – it reminds me of-”
“Oh, well that's easily fixed.” James's usual breezy, flirty manner was back. “I'll just take the shredded remains of the book and leave you be.”
James moved like a ninja at the best of times, and Niki's ability to keep up was compromised by wine and unshed sadness. Before Niki could stop him, James had snatched up the remains of The Rake's Sexy Secret and was through the adjoining door, locking his door just as Niki reached it.
“YOU ASS, HUNT! I WAS READING THAT!”
“And now I'm reading it!”
Niki thumped the door. “No, I was actually reading it! I want to know what happens to Charlotte and her sisters!”
“I'll give you a clue, Niki – some chap rides them ragged til the sun comes up. And then I read about it. Good NIGHT.”
“But they were ruined by the wastrel stepfather!”
“And now they'll be ruined by some man with a pocketwatch, but this time it will be fun.”
Niki shook his head in annoyance.
“Tables have turned, Niki. Sleep well!”