A/N: I wrote the second chap so thought I'd go ahead and post it. Moving slowly... :D

oooOOOooo

"Telemann?" Richard observed dubiously.

James adjusted the volume on his stereo. "I find him quite bracing after a few pints."

"Bracing after a brace of pints," Richard muttered to himself as he ambled around the perimeter of Hathaway's living room, peering at books and photos. The flat looked rather like an Ikea floor model. Furnished with the more conservative items in the catalogue, naturally. It seemed sparse in comparison with Richard's own cluttered, Edwardian residence. James emerged from the kitchen with a bottle of pinot grigio in his left hand and two wine glasses clinking softly together in his right. He had doffed his jacket; the sleeves of his Charles Tyrwhitt dress shirt were rolled up to just below the elbow. He proffered the wine-bottle for his guest's inspection.

"Shall I do the honors?" Richard asked, grasping the bottle. James relinquished the pinot and pulled a corkscrew from his trouser pocket. Richard perched on the sofa, bracing the wine between his knees and applying the sharp tip of the screw to the cork.

"That was a good job recognizing Telemann. You only heard a few bars."

Richard looked up from beneath his fair brows. "My father was one of the world's premiere experts on Wagner. A poor son I'd be if I weren't familiar with the major German composers." He grimaced as he popped the cork. James held out the glasses for him to fill.

"And, of course, Dr. Cole was your good friend," the blond added, the detective in him always wanting to push the envelope. He took a seat on the sofa next to Richard.

"Yes. For my entire adult life." He tilted each glass to pour the wine smoothly and then handed one back to James. "I'm...I'm at a loss, really, how to behave as a grown man without him. If that makes any sense."

James sipped at the wine. Not too dry, a little fruity. "And you two never...?"

Richard scowled, but not in anger. "No. I mean, there was a time when perhaps...I think he may have hoped that I..." He took a healthy swallow of the pinot. "Sometimes I wonder if our relationship might have been better, if we were lovers. Richer, somehow. I found myself a little jealous of those young men, the boys he lusted after, but for no good reason."

"It wasn't strictly sexual jealousy."

"No, I suppose not." Richard cut his eyes at James, whose crossed legs seemed to extend for miles. "I wasn't really his type, at any rate."

James loosened his narrow tie slightly. "Liked the athletes, didn't he? Milo, for instance?"

"Yes," the ginger agreed, lips on his wineglass. "But he would have adored you."

"Me?" James snorted incredulously.

"Mm," Richard answered through a mouthful of wine. "A tall Aryan brute and a crisp vinyl Wagner recording, that would have been his perfect evening. Plus you're clever. And musical." His eyes flicked toward the Gibson guitar propped regally on James' armchair.

"I'm a bit skinny for the Aryan ideal," the sergeant commented wryly.

"Lean," Richard corrected.

"Gangling."

"Lanky," the ginger rephrased, his eyes roaming over James' long limbs.

The blond narrowed his eyes. "You're demonstrating a suspiciously fine appreciation of the male form, professor. For a straight man."

"Well, I am straight. Mostly." Richard added the final word with no hint of irony.

James' grin was as immediate and broad as dawn over Oxford. "'Depressingly heterosexual' were the words you used, I believe, when we were interviewing you initially."

"What? Have you got that written in your notebook too?"

"No. I remember it clearly because it was such an odd turn of phrase. And I found it somewhat disappointing."

Richard squeezed his eyes shut. "I've had too much to drink," he declared, but it did not seem to be an accusation, nor did he make any move to rise from the couch.

"I could put the kettle on?" James offered, gesturing toward the kitchen with his glass.

"No," the professor said, smiling slightly as if there were some comic scene unfolding that only he understood. "No, I'd rather..." He rested his forearm on the back of the sofa and heaved himself closer to his companion. James watched him expressionlessly. Richard settled himself next to the blond, his knee bumping the other man's. His face was a picture of bemusement. Still James said nothing, though the corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly. Richard opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He leaned in toward James, who tilted his head. The professor inched closer.

"Gott in Himmel ," James swore, eyes rolling. He closed the distance and pressed his lips gently against the other man's.

TBC...