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If he’s being honest, James knew that his day was fucked long before he was hammered and bent over behind a bar licking a giant block of cocktail ice, all to be put on YouTube.
It was fucked from the instant he’d woken up, actually. He’d slept through his alarm, and his first fully-conscious moment was filled with the sinking realization that he was already twenty minutes late to record the fifth episode of his and Ed’s new podcast. Another hour somehow slipped away during the mad scramble to get dressed and across London to the studio, where Ed was waiting for him with Aisling Bea. Breakfast fell to the bottom of his list of priorities, behind ‘call Ed and apologize profusely’, ‘feel like an utter shitbag failure of a colleague, friend, and human being’, and ‘GET THERE’.
As Ed had said, it’s lucky their guest was Aisling, who is close enough friends with them both to just hang out and wait rather than cancel her planned appearance over this staggering display of unprofessionalism. Well, Ed didn’t call it a staggering display of unprofessionalism, but James feels that was implied in the gentle lecture he got at the start of recording the episode.
Somehow, in the end, it went well. James gives all the credit to Aisling being good-natured and funny as always.
But thanks to the delay, he and Ed had to rush straight from the podcasting studio to the cocktail bar where they’re filming the next episode of Just Puddings, their web series. No time for the lunch they’d planned. Which meant James’ stomach was empty apart from a Cadbury Twirl and a Coke from the studio’s vending machine, both scarfed down one-handed while packed in next to Ed on the Tube.
This explains why he’d gotten pissed after two drinks. Being pissed, though, doesn’t fully explain why he’s licking the block of ice. For that, you have to add in the fact that Ed told him to. And that Ed had just spent half an hour telling him when and how to consume the Christmas-themed pudding cocktails, all while pinning James with his most intense stare. And that they haven’t filmed an episode of this web series since Noel, at the Bonfire Night play party, had pointed out how Ed feeding things to James looks a lot like a scene.
James obviously hasn’t watched the footage yet, but he has a sneaking suspicion he might have made a sex face towards the end, there.
Anyway, now he’s got his tongue fully extended and pressed into the freezing, crystal-clear block—along with his nose, which will definitely be flattering on camera—as he repeatedly shouts, “Juth Puddinth, beh-beh!” Like a total fucking bellend.
Okay, fine, it’s funny. The viewers will only see another case of James being chaotic while Ed plays the ‘straight man’, the classic setup of a comedy duo. A select few might see a bit deeper, to James’ submission and Ed’s dominance. He tries not to think about that. Either way, though, it’ll be good cross-promo for the podcast.
No one, he’s sure, will see how he’s half aroused and half spiraling out of control in a dark, murky pit of shame, defeat, and self-loathing. Not even Ed has noticed that yet. James is very, very good at hiding it. He’s had a lot of practice.
Stuart, their director, cuts, and James straightens up too quickly. He wobbles. Ed grabs his arm to steady him, saying, “Whoa, buddy, why don’t you sit down a minute?” as he guides James over to a bench against the wall. Then he and Stuart step away, discussing how to shoot Ed’s intro for the episode and leaving James to his thoughts.
Without Ed nearby, the dark, murky pit overtakes the arousal in seconds. Why can’t he just be an adult? Hold it together long enough to do his fucking job in a responsible way? Especially when his friends are tied up in it, too. It’s one thing to crash and burn in his own career. Getting Ed—and now Josh—involved is surely going too far.
And why did he think he could take on so much this year? Taskmaster, Off Menu, developing a new tour, and Josh’s telly project, all practically at the same time. The breakdown isn’t fully behind him. He should’ve said no to more stuff. He can’t handle it. He’s a bloody mess and a wreck, as demonstrated by how Ed, once they wrap the shoot, insists on Ubering him back home and walking him to his door. Not like it’s a date, which would be acceptable, if slightly odd. More like he’s dropping his kid off at daycare.
And fuck, now James is thinking about calling Ed ‘Daddy’ again.
Well. ‘Again.’ It’s not like he’s stopped thinking about that—and regularly doing that—since Bonfire Night. It’s not like he wasn’t biting the word back all through filming at that bloody bar.
He turns around, swaying only a little, as Ed follows him through the door. “Hey,” James says, and stops.
“…Hey?”
“Ah. Um. Want to hang out?”
Ed laughs. Just for a second though, because then James steps clumsily into him, knocking the baseball cap Ed’s wearing askew as he leans even closer to make their mouths meet.
It’s a tinge of warmth and softness, topped by a hint of sandpapery texture from Ed’s stubble, and then it’s gone. James opens his eyes to find Ed a foot away, straightening his cap and frowning.
“No,” he tells James. “You’ve had too much to drink. And I would need to clear it with Charlie first, remember?”
Shit. Way to be a fucking wanker yet again.
He wants to apologize. If only ‘sorry’ didn’t seem wholly inadequate when what he’s apologizing for is basically his entire mode of being. “Right. Yeah. You should…probably go, then.”
Ed looks uncertain. “Do you want me to call Noel?”
“Nah, he’s filming Big Fat Quiz. I just need to, um.” James shoves a hand through his hair, à la Noel, and shrugs. “Take a shower or som’en, I think.”
So Ed leaves, and James sits in his tub with scalding water pouring over his head for well beyond an hour. Add ‘environmental disaster’ to his list of crimes for the day.
He’d love nothing more than to avoid Ed for a few weeks. Naturally, that means they have to meet up again the next afternoon and review some podcast stuff. The one blessing is that James is no longer hungover.
Ed acts like everything’s normal, which he probably means to be kind, but it just makes James feel worse and more awkward. He suffers through ten minutes before he cracks. “Hey, look, I’m sorry about…when you dropped me off.”
Glancing up from the laptop balanced on his knee—they’re sitting on James’ sofa, reading a sponsorship contract together—Ed quirks an eyebrow. “You were pissed and got a little sloppy. It happens. You listened when I said ‘no’, so it’s alright.”
“Yeah, just, between getting pissed enough to do that and being late to the studio, I feel like I was…”
“A hot mess?” With his smart-arse half-smile.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, a bit.” He shrugs.
That’s not good enough for James. It’s so far from ‘good enough’, actually, he wants to scream.
“It was really unprofessional. I don’t want to, y’know, ruin this stuff.” His hand flops around, trying to indicate both Ed and the contract and by extension the whole brand they’re building together. Surely it deserves more than a shrug.
But Ed just shakes his head and puts on a reassuring tone. “You didn’t. Aisling was fine with waiting.”
“Right, but. Like you said, if it had been someone else….” He trails off. Ugh, does he have to ask Ed?
Apparently yes, because Ed is simply staring.
“Can’t you…dunno.” James’ voice drops into a mumble, coming out as something like, “Pssh-mh?”
“Didn’t catch that?”
“Punish me.”
Great, now his face is burning hotter than a road flare, and Ed’s properly frowning and twisting on the couch to get a more direct look at him.
And, yeah, James has sprung a semi. Do you even have to wonder?
Ed takes a breath like he’s going to speak, then lets it out wordlessly. After a few seconds, he starts again. “Do you want an actual punishment? Because for an actual punishment, you’d have to ask Noel. I don’t do those.”
Well, really, what is James supposed to say to that? ‘Yeah, I think I want an actual punishment, but I can’t ask Noel because he’ll actually punish me’?
Instead, he says, “Oh, c’mon, can’t you just spank me?” Hating how desperate he sounds.
“Not without knowing why you need one, no.”
James rolls his eyes. “I’m a fucking brat. I always need a spanking.”
“You might be right,” Ed allows. “But this one won’t be from me.”
James’ skin burns from head to toe as the humiliation—asking for a spanking and being denied—tips across the line into too-much. He wants to crawl underneath the sofa and refuse to come out until the expanding sun consumes the Earth.
“Ask Noel,” Ed says again, then gently pats James’ knee and goes back to reading the contract.
Which James just has to hope Ed and their lawyer have reviewed well enough. He signs without digesting a word of what it says.
Between Noel being busy doing this year’s Big Fat Quiz, and James sleeping through his alarm and getting pissed and throwing a bomb at Ed’s primary relationship, it’s been a couple of days since they’ve spoken. Noel had sent a text the day before that said, Good morning, sweetheart xx, which James had been too rushed and distracted to answer for hours, and another that said, Good night, sweetheart xx, long after James had gone to bed.
And how does James decide to apologize for his lack of communication? By showing up to Noel’s unannounced, obviously. Though Noel smiles when he opens the door, like this isn’t incredibly rude.
“Hey, sweetheart!”
Holding out the takeaway bag he’s carrying, James says, “Sorry I didn’t call ahead. I brought lobster rolls.”
“You never have to call ahead.” Noel leans over to kiss him, then accepts the bag. “Thank you. Come in.”
“How did the quiz go?” James asks. Before Noel can speak, he adds, “Uh, but don’t spoil anything, please. I look forward to watching it every year.” Especially when Noel is on the panel.
“It was good, but exhausting.” Noel goes around the half-wall that divides his front door from the kitchen and reaches for a stack of plates on one of the open shelves as James removes his shoes. “Five straight hours of filming. I swear, most of the shit I do on that show is just because I’m so tired.”
Yeah, that’s a long time for anyone to keep up their energy enough to be entertaining, James knows—particularly someone like Noel, who’s fairly low-key in real life. Following him, James sits down at the little table, on which Noel is now laying out two place settings, and asks, “Why do you keep agreeing to do it, then?”
“It pays well, and a lot of it is fun. Plus, Richard would be lonely without me.”
James suspects Noel would do literally anything if Richard Ayoade asked. Not that he’s jealous.
“How was your day yesterday?” Noel asks. “Had a good time with Ed?”
“Mm,” James says, because he is a coward. “Aisling was funny. Really good guest. She’s the one who put the idea of lobster rolls in my head. They were on her menu.”
“They smell amazing.”
The pair of them eat without talking about much else of substance. It’s easy, with Noel, for conversations to wind around like a hedge-maze designed by a madman, where every path is the correct one but you don’t know where it leads.
When they’re finished, Noel takes the plates to the sink and starts to do the washing-up right away. He hates mess. His small flat is packed with art, music, and weird mementos from his career, yet because everything has its own place, it doesn’t feel cluttered, just warm and colorful.
Normally, James would be wholly relaxed here.
He gets up and tries to tug Noel away from the sink. “Come help me pick out a record to listen to?”
“Wh-Hang on, this’ll only take a few minutes.”
Sighing heavily, James turns around to rest his bum against the edge of the worktop.
Noel sweeps his eyes—black-lined and soft—over James and says, “Why don’t you go find a few you haven’t heard yet and I’ll pick from those?”
Compromise. Like a sensible adult. James’ brat-hackles raise. He considers what would happen if he took the opportunity to start rearranging the record collection under a different system. Rainbow-order by first color mentioned in the lyrics, perhaps?
Then Noel would find him in the lounge surrounded by stacks of LPs and would either give him a fast, fun spanking and have him put them all back where he found them; or he’d suggest they divide them into categories like ‘horses would enjoy’ and ‘mermaids would enjoy’ instead and draw James into a debate on the correct placement for each album until James gave up, in tears of laughter. And then would come the fast, fun spanking and the putting-them-back.
But James doesn’t feel like fast or fun.
All at once, he presses himself to Noel’s back, nose buried in Noel’s hair—which he still can’t believe, sometimes, that he gets to touch—and arms wrapped around Noel’s chest. It’s not as comforting as he’d hoped. James feels…gangly. More so than usual. Something to do with how Noel is a few inches shorter, so James has to hunch himself over a bit to really get the full-length contact he’s craving.
Noel goes motionless for a moment, then shakes with laughter in his hold. “I feel like a football must do when the goalie's got it clutched beneath them.” He demonstrates with the cup he’s washing. “Very cozy. Bet the football loves it.” Then he looks over his shoulder. “You alright, though?”
“Mm.”
“Mm?”
“Leave the washing-up?”
“I’m nearly done, look.”
James makes a wordless, whining noise. He hates himself for it. Whining outside of a scene is extremely not on. It’s childish, it’s irritating, it’s-
“James. Is there something you want to ask me for?”
“…No?”
Noel puts the cup down, turns around, slides his wet hands into James’ rear pockets, and fixes him with raised eyebrows. “Are you trying to start a scene, or a punishment?”
His heart thuds. It’s so loud, in his ears.
“Sweetheart–”
“I don’t know!” James cries, then clenches his eyes shut, trying not to…something. Implode, maybe. After a few seconds’ silence—apart from the blood still pounding inside his own head—he says, “Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to shout....” His nose prickles sharply. “I don’t want to be too much.”
“What does that mean, ‘too much’?” Noel asks.
“Too much of me.”
“What? Why do you think that’s possible?”
James snorts, eyes still closed. “About fifteen years of break-up speeches?”
To be specific, they usually include the phrase ‘it’s too much,’ not ‘you’re too much,’ but given that he’s the only common denominator to ‘it’...
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
He does. Noel is frowning.
“Have I ever said—or made you believe—you’re too much for me?”
Shaking his head, James says, “You haven’t seen me at my worst yet, though.”
The frown falls away. Noel speaks slowly, deliberately. “James. I have been through some shit. On my own and with partners. It takes a lot to scare me. You don’t even come close, okay?”
“...Okay,” says James. He rests his forehead against Noel’s and tries to trust his words.
Then both Noel’s hands in James’ rear pockets give his arse a squeeze. “So. I think there was something you wanted to ask me for?”
James flushes. Noel can probably feel it where their skin is touching. And he still doesn’t know what he wants, but he thinks he knows how to ask for it. “The thing you did, um, at your studio last month? After the Bonfire Night party. Was that punishment, or fun?”
“Neither,” Noel says, pulling back a bit. “I told you what that was: stress relief.”
Of course. Just hearing the words puts some slack in the tension running through James from head to toe. “Um. That. Would be good.”
Noel presses a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Okay. Want to tell me what you’re stressed about before, or after?”
“...Neither?”
He laughs. “Not an option, if you want this to happen.”
Grimacing, James says, “After.”
“Alright,” Noel says, then takes his arm and swoops fluidly around him to pull one of the kitchen chairs away from the table and sit in it. “Over you get.”
Fuck, let’s not waste any time with this. James falls forward, like there’s a magnetic attraction between his hips and Noel’s lap—which is nothing new, come to think of it.
It’s only when he’s pressing his fingertips into the floor that he realizes his trousers are still on. Noel laughs. “Since when do we not start bare? Lift up.”
Explaining that he was too eager to begin would make James die of embarrassment. Instead, he raises himself enough so Noel can work a hand underneath him to undo his fly and yank the trousers and pants down to his knees with a force that drives a whimper from his lips.
“Shh, it’s alright,” Noel says. He lets go of the clothing only to wrap those fingers, so clever with a paintbrush, around James’ cock instead. “I got you.”
He does.
All the countless spankings in James’ life, and none of them have ever felt like this. Like he’s being systematically demolished, down to his foundation, and then even that crumbling to dust, the earth turned over. Like beginning again from a new plan. The orgasm cuts through inexorably, leaves him quaking on the unsteady ground watered by his tears.
He crashes to his knees the moment Noel lets go.
And Noel is talking, stroking and stroking James’ scalp as he rests his head on the other man’s thigh, but for a long time, James can’t hear anything over his own sobs.
“I have this huge fear of failure, you know?” James says, a lot later, after he’s told Noel the full story of yesterday.
“I think you have a fear of success.”
James lowers the mug he’d been about to sip tea from and stares unseeingly at Noel’s Christmas tree in the corner of the lounge. He can feel Noel watching, turned sideways next to him with one arm running along the back of the couch behind James’ neck. “Shit. That’s probably true.” Since Taskmaster, he’s gotten double the inquiries funneled to him from his agent, each one stirring up waves of anxiety. And he’d thought his career was taking off before, with the Netflix specials.
“Amounts to the same thing, though,” says Noel. “You fear success because the more successful you are, the bigger you can fail. But…the thing is, you can’t ever really fail at art. Maybe it doesn’t come out how you wanted and that feels like failure, but it’s still art, right? Just a different kind.”
“A kind no one wants to pay for.”
Laughing, Noel says, “Well. Yeah, there’s that. You’ve got a savings account, right? You should probably start building it up for your inevitable decline into obscurity a few years from now. ‘Remember that kid in the Bake Off ‘had a breakdown’ meme,’ they’ll say. ‘Wonder whatever happened to him.’”
James shoves his shoulder. “Fuck off!”
Noel responds by pulling him closer, feathery hair against James’ cheek. “‘Probably hunkered down in a cabin somewhere, endlessly baking flapjacks.’ Build the cabin out of flapjacks, that’d be at least one aspect of your future secured.”
“Couldn’t build a cabin out of my flapjacks. Too wet, remember?”
“Mm. I’m glad Ed refused to do what you were asking today. It wouldn’t have helped.”
The sudden shift back on topic steals James’ breath a bit. When he’s caught it, he says, “Yeah, I can see that now. It was just… it’s hard to ask for this.”
“Do you need me to do what I did at my studio? When I saw what you could use and decided for you?”
His stomach does a slow, lazy flip before settling against the warmth radiating up from his sore arse. “Um. Yeah, could you?”
Noel lifts his head away so he can look James in the eye. “You’d still be able to safeword.”
“I know.”
“And it’s not a punishment. We both know I wouldn’t be able to punish you with a spanking. And it’s not a substitute for therapy, either.”
“Of course not.”
“Alright, then.” He kisses James, pulls back, and looks thoughtful. “Have you ever tried maintenance spankings?”
“Nnno?”
“I think they might help, too. Wind you down before you get to this point.”
“What’s, uh- I mean, um, what…?”
“At a set time every week—or could be every fortnight, or even daily, if you’re going through a rough patch—you’d come here or I’d come to yours and give you a spanking.”
Frowning, James asks, “How’s that different to regular scenes?”
“Mainly the purpose behind them, and also being scheduled and happening no matter what—like, even if you’ve had an intense scene with someone else earlier that day, the maintenance doesn’t get canceled. Although it might be modified if needs be. But you’d have plenty of advance notice it’s coming, so attempts to evade at the last minute would better have a good reason.”
Well, fuck. James can’t tell if he likes the idea or hates it. He shakes his head, though. “What if we’re busy that day?”
“We can reschedule sometimes, as long as it’s not always. Or if I’m filming Bake Off or something that takes me away for too long, I can outsource. Do a demonstration at the loft and then pass around a sign-up sheet. ‘Looking for volunteers to give James his maintenance spankings.’ I’m sure we’d have no trouble finding people willing to lend a hand. Pun unintended.”
James’ dick makes a valiant effort to harden again in his pants. Noel sees it and laughs.
“You’re so easy.”
“Yep,” James agrees, face hot. “Um. You’ll really do that, though?”
“Sure.”
It just comes out: “I love you.”
…Fuck. FUCK. Since when does he say that first?
And Noel is staring at him, expression unreadable.
FUUUCKK.
He reaches the door before he realizes he’s gotten up, around the same time he remembers you generally need trousers to be seen outside. Backtracking, in a haze of panic, he snatches them off the kitchen floor and tries to shove both feet into them simultaneously. While standing.
“James.”
Oh, god, he’s followed me, don’t- just- “You don’t have to- I don’t know why I said that, just forget it, you don’t need to say anything-“
“Sweet-”
“No, it’s alright, I wish I was never born, but I’ll be fine, don’t worry, you don’t have to say it just because I said it, I-”
Noel smacks his arse.
He’s got good aim, for the fact that James was hopping around in a crazed circle. James freezes and slowly, still half-bent-over, raises his eyes to meet Noel’s.
“That worked?” Noel asks, like he’s surprised. “Wow.” He steps closer, pries James’ fingers off the waistband of his trousers, and makes him straighten up. Then he says, “I love you, too, James. And I’m not just saying that to say it or whatever. Don’t insult me.”
“…Oh,” James says. “Uh. Alright.”
This is definitely the strangest fucking relationship he’s ever been in.
Two days later, Ed enters the recording studio for another episode of the podcast, jumps, and nearly drops his water bottle. “Christ! I thought I was the first one here! Ben hasn’t even arrived yet.”
Ben is their editor, and it’s true that he was nowhere to be seen when James had walked through the production office. He shrugs and tries to look casual. “I wanted to get in early this time.”
Ed sits down in his usual chair, then leans back, eyebrows colliding and gaze narrow. “You asked Noel.”
Well of course, James is instantly red.
“Yeah,” Ed says, with a smug little nod. “Don’t have to tell me what he did, I can see it helped.”
“It wasn’t just that,” James says, not bothering to explain that ‘that’ probably isn’t what Ed’s assuming. “We also, uh…it was the first time we said ‘I love you’ to each other.”
“Really?! Aw, James!” He gets up and leans over James to give him a hug, then plops back into his seat. “I’m so happy for you two weirdos.”
James rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”
Taking a sip of his water, Ed cocks his head to one side. “Y’know, I never thought about it before, how this sort of makes me Noel Fielding’s daddy-in-law.”
“It does not, shut up!”
“Does. Isn’t that, like, every father’s nightmare, too? Pretty sure I get some sort of commiseration prize.”
James opens his mouth to argue, but then Ben comes into the studio, so he has to settle for sticking his tongue out at Ed and let the subject drop. It’s fine; he can pick it up some other time. Ed will still be around. James hasn’t ruined this.