Disclaimer:
We do not know Craig Charles or Chris Barrie; we only know the public image they present in various public appearances. This is an entirely fictional story, wherein is presented fictionalized versions of those publicly projected personalities. What is presented in this story does not necessarily reflect what I think even of those projected images. What the actors themselves are like, we have not a clue, and furthermore, it is none of our business. We would never suggest or presume to know anything about them, or their personal lives. Rather, this story takes their images and plays with them within a fictionalized universe. It is a fantasy, and nothing more. The same goes for any and all names and/or public personas used and/or mentioned in this story.

We are just fangirls with too much imagination, and we mean no harm.


It was one of their infrequent, awkward "just in the neighborhood" meet-ups, which always left Craig feeling rather more melancholy than elated, far from happy. None of them ever called the other on impulse to arrange anything; in fact, they rarely spoke at all. How Chris felt, he could only guess, but for Craig, the idea of picking up the phone and dialing the other man's number seemed an insurmountable task. He'd tried, many times. He'd sat there, phone in his hand, finger poised above the buttons, while possible and impossible scenarios played out in his mind. There it was; he just couldn't do it. What would Chris say? It wasn't as much a fear of rejection as a fear of half-heartedness. Chris seemed to tolerate him whenever they appeared together in public, which they had, on occasion. He was polite, decent, and even friendly, but there was always this cold sort of distance Craig could never seem to break through. Craig, being, in many ways, an optimist, tried to tell himself that this was just in his mind, and that there was actually a sort of friendship between them, and he had almost succeeded in convincing himself. Which is why, of course, it was so important for him not to make that phone call and have those illusions shattered.

So there were no Sunday lunches and pub-nights. But there were conventions and promotions, and accidental meetings, where they'd chat and catch up, and out of the blue, one of them would suggest going somewhere for a drink or a meal. And they would spend a fairly amicable few hours together before it ultimately became too awkward for either of them, and they'd make their excuses, and leave. Chris usually left first, which was no surprise to Craig. Still, although they were sometimes more painful than comfortable, Craig wouldn't miss these little pockets of time for the world.

This one felt different, though. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew they were going to see one another again soon, with the new series starting up, but Craig felt oddly elevated in Chris's company tonight. They'd just been to the first production meeting for the cast of the new series, to which Chris had been an unexpected, but very welcome addition, even if it was just for a few episodes. Maybe it was that they weren't in a pub, but in a small, quiet café. They never did seem to have much luck with pubs, on the whole. All in all, his spirits were high. If they hadn't been, Craig would never have reached into his coat pocket so easily, and brought out the spare set of keys he'd had made for his new apartment here. He certainly never would have put them on the table in front of Chris, with the joking excuse that it would be silly for Chris not to come along for a visit now that he'd be working here too, noting that he was always welcome, and anyway, this was much more practical all around, wasn't it?

Nevertheless, he found himself holding his breath until Chris had taken them off the table and into his hands, nodding absent-mindedly. And afterwards, he just made his excuses, and left. His mind was too full of might-have-beens to make more idle conversation. But Chris had taken them. He could have thrown them in his face. This happy fact stayed with him all the way home.


Long after Craig had left, Chris still sat, turning the keys in his hands. An unconscious gesture on Craig's part, he was sure; something matey, something I-trust-you-to-look-after-my-houseplants. Something perfectly in keeping with the unexpectedly amiable relationship they had enjoyed over the past few years. Yes, as unexpected as it had been, he had enjoyed it; camaraderie, the pleasure of the company of someone with whom Chris had shared so many experiences – even if what might be the most significant of them were never mentioned. Certainly, Chris might long for more, and often was the one to make his excuses and leave - sure, on those occasions, that Craig would be able to see through him, sure that the other man knew that some random bit of conversation had sparked a memory of delirious pub nights followed by orgasmic clawings and fumblings in Chris's flat. He was grateful for the discretion on Craig's part that let him go, let him take deep breaths to calm himself as he walked home via the long route. Yes, for Craig, this was probably the most trivial of friendly gestures. Chris could not, in all good sense, hint how much more he wished it implied – access to where Craig lived, ate, slept... Chris tucked the keys in his pocket. He would never use them. He could not risk the comfortable relationship they had, finally, pulled out of so much anger and hate; the friendship that was, for him, almost enough.


Several weeks later, Chris walked out of makeup, feeling even more self-conscious in the fecking gold lame costume with fur lapels and blond wig than he had in Natural Born Rimmers. He adjusted the absurd lapels for something to do other than think about the scene ahead. Rehearsals had been tense enough – but he had to actually kiss the man! Grateful though he was for their tenuous, friendly working relationship, he knew that it would take very little to ruin it. He also knew how very many ways this script allowed for him to do so – in such a very short scene.

Craig walked up to Chris from behind, sniggering a little at the ridiculously overdone costume. "Hey there, 'big man' - ready for yer big day?" He was almost drowning in fake bravado, and he knew it.

Chris raised his eyebrows and tried to be dismissive. "Big? There aren't that many lines..." Craig giggled and grinned. He seemed nervous, which only fed Chris's nervousness. Chris resorted to humor to try to defuse the tension "You did brush?"

"Hey, I keep telling ya, I'm not Lister!" Craig winked at Chris and grinned. In fact, he'd been doing nothing but brushing the whole morning. His gums were starting to hurt. He'd had nightmares that his bloody cap would fall off again during the scene, and he'd not only embarrass them both, but he'd have to walk around looking like an idiot until he could get it fixed.

Chris’s mouth ran dry at the wink. "No, but you do smoke." He took a deep breath and pulled his teasing manner back out. "If I taste whiskey..."

"Oh, shut it!" Craig’s eyes sparkled "Ye'll take it, and ye'll like it!" He realized what he had just said, but did not back off; it would look odd for him to go shy now, and after all, they were in public. This was all just talk, anyway, wasn’t it? Just two guys joshing around.

Chris tried desperately to push away the mental images that flocked teasingly into his head, images of all of the things he would, if he only could, take from Craig, and very much like. He hid behind mock offense. "My goodness, we do have star egos now, don't we? Lining up for kisses from Craig, are they?"

Craig spread his arms wide and leered. "Hey, I can't help it if the ladies can't keep their hands off me!" Not that he'd had much chance to find out, lately. He'd avoided groupies since that ill-fated night out with Chris, and the whole dating scene had just not seemed as appealing lately.

"To push you off?" Chris winked.

"Yer just jealous." God, Craig thought, meeting Chris's eyes, if only. An empty feeling tore at his stomach as he remembered the one time he had, very drunk and forlorn, gotten himself into a gay bar with the vague notion in his head that they just might have something he needed on offer. The moment someone actually tried to come on to him, though, he'd fled, terrified. It wasn't a man he needed. Not just any man. He needed Chris. The loss and hopelessness he felt at this was reflected in his eyes.

Well, yes, actually, he was jealous. Chris's lip twitched as he considered that a cute groupie could have, for a smile and a wiggle, everything of Craig’s that he so very much wanted – but this was an unproductive train of thought. Chris looked at the set, seeking out another topic of conversation.

"Don't worry, I won't try to slip ya any tongue," Craig muttered into his ear, wanting, despite what he'd just said, to lick it.

The search for other topics of conversation was dead before it began. The idea of Craig’s tongue in his mouth was firmly settled in Chris’s mind, and refused to be dislodged. He coughed. "That'd make the smegups..." his bravado was slipping away, his voice more desperate than manly. "Or get us both the sack," he finished, lamely.

Yeah, like they'd fire them for that. The way Ed talked about it, you'd think he'd want them to lick one another's tonsils. Craig laughed heartily, looking at the set, too. It was strange to imagine that they were finally going to go through with it now; this was it. "Well, not to worry man; I won't do that to ya." He turned back to Chris to give him a reassuring look, and patted him on the back. No, he was done with that. No more hurting, no more games.

This snapped Chris’s brain back into some semblance of rationality. No, Craig would not do that. Not anymore. He reached down and found his character, giving an intentionally Rimmer-ish twisted-lip glare to Craig. "Thanks, squire."

Craig smiled a little at the glare. Chris could not help grinning back. "Well, I should get into place. We'll be starting soon."

"Mmm-hmm," Chris answered, reviewing the script in his mind, trying to gloss over that overly simple stage direction at the end ([they kiss]). He went off to find a drink of water. His mouth was hellishly dry.

Craig looked at the set, considering the chair in which he would be sitting. He'd sat in it so many times before. It didn't look any different. He swallowed and walked over to it, and sat down. It didn't feel any different either. There was nothing to do now but close his eyes and try to concentrate.

At the back of the set, Chris closed his eyes for a moment, as well, channeling Ace. He swaggered into place, determined to keep himself out of this scene. Rimmer and Lister would be the only men present.

The script manifested itself behind Craig's closed eyes. He hoped the it would just stay there, readily available as it usually was, and not disappear on him when he needed to cling to it the most. It obliged; the scene passed as a blur, the lines emerging from his mouth on cue, almost without the effort of will on his part. But his heart sprang into his throat a little more than halfway through as the scene abruptly snapped back into focus. He realized what he was saying, as Lister. "Don't be daft... she couldn't hold a candle to you, man."

"Nah, you're just saying that." Chris found that remembering to breathe was taking up a significant amount of his concentration. It was a welcome distraction to the inevitable swing of the scene, a scene that was flowing with the unstoppable certainty of a train wreck.

"I'm not." Craig's eyes, against his own will, tried to communicate that Craig was saying this, just as much as Lister. "I missed you, man." He felt like reality was starting to blur, characters and actors becoming one. All he could see was Chris.

Listy, Chris thought. Listy in this line, Dave in the next. God, don't call him Craig, no matter how much the line... "And I've missed you, too, Listy." He met Craig’s gaze with intensity.

Through cotton wool, Craig mumbled something. He was sure he had flubbed the line, but nobody stopped them.

Chris was lost. What was the next line? It was something about Dave; that was all he could remember. So he said, "Dave..."

It was Craig as much as Lister who jumped up to embrace the other man, knowing it was Chris; Chris, not Rimmer. "Don't ever leave us again!" he belted. He meant it; oh god, he meant it!

Chris could feel how tightly Craig was holding him; much more tightly than was necessary, by any requirement of drama. He knew that he was holding Craig equally tightly, and for a moment, he just held him, closing his eyes, pretending that they were not surrounded by crew members, lights, and a director with a clipboard. He just held him, tightly, and breathed into his ear. But he was surrounded by crew members, lights, and a director with a clipboard; his brain pulled him back, nagging him with the cue. "I won't..." But oh, he meant it.

The breath in his ear had melted Craig’s spine, and the next line followed as naturally as his own breathing. "You promise?"

Some part of Chris’s mind tried to make this a fantasy for a moment; tried to pretend that it was almost ten years ago, and that they had been holding each other for the first time. But his eyes had not been so clear, back then, and the face in front of him so sweetly mature. He concentrated firmly on hamming the next line, trying to drive out any potential import of what he was about to do; "Ohhh, Listy..."

The line emerged from Craig’s lips on auto-pilot. The words meant nothing, but the look in Chris's eyes did. There was something there; a closeness Craig could only pray was real, and not a result of clever acting. "Ohh, Rimsy..."

As he bent down, Chris realized that his lips were dry, terribly dry. He wanted to lick them, to make it a tolerable kiss, at least, but he could not. What would that send? He felt them trembling with his indecision. He grasped Craig very firmly under the arms.

If he lost control now, Craig knew, he would ravish Chris on the spot, ruining more than the take. And what would it be like to re-do the scene with Chris resenting him. No. He moved as slowly as he could, hurting inside.

Chris leaned in closer - slowly, painfully slowly. He needed to compose himself before this – but it would take more than the second and a half this delay gave to compose himself. He gave up and darted in.

When their lips finally touched, a thrill like a small orgasm flitted through Craig; it was the culmination of so much. He had to remind himself to keep his tongue in check, to not deepen the kiss. The effort of not doing so was erotic in itself, which was ludicrous. There were more than fifty people watching them, for Christ's sake!

Chris was afraid he would lose himself in the delicious softness of Craig's lips as they worked against his, and god, he wanted to open his mouth and lick those lips, but he told himself, over and over - don't, don’t. He held Craig close, grasping the other man desperately to hold himself in check.

Eager for contact, Craig’s hand reached up to touch Chris's cheek. He removed it almost immediately, not sure if he could keep control with it there; this was a show, he kept telling himself. This should not look... so sultry. And yet, he could feel the other man grabbing him so tightly, his lips pressed harder to Craig’s than any stage direction could ever mandate – Chris felt this, too. He must! As his lips moved on the other man's, this knowledge surged through his very being.

This sweetness felt like it would never stop. How much could he take? Chris felt himself pulling Craig closer with the off-camera hand - he had to stop it, his rational mind cried out, but he simply could not. Why did the word 'cut' never come? Surely they'd been at it for far too long now? Seemed like half a minute at least. Was Ed having them on? He wouldn't put it past him.

Craig could feel Chris's unease; it echoed his own. Much more of this, and he'd have Chris on the floor, which would be embarrassing to explain. And almost at the same time, there seemed to break out, between them, an understanding; a certain feeling of "to hell with it." Craig felt, to his astonishment, that the tip of Chris's tongue had started feeling along the line of his own lips at the same moment that Craig's tongue stuck out to touch Chris's. Oh, they would be on the floor, all right. Craig felt his mouth opening wider, almost of its own accord, and he tried to jam it shut without biting his tongue off. Where was the 'cut', dammit? Stop it! For God's sake, just stop it!

Sense returned with the soulless 'cut!' and Chris fell back, trying to let go, his hands not wanting to leave Craig’s sides.

As they broke apart, the connection he had felt and the realization of what it meant sang in Craig’s soul - Chris felt it, too! He wanted to burst out into laughter, tears, singing - something!

Chris looked nervously at Craig, and was dumbfounded by his grin. He had seen Craig smile, laugh, fall off of his chair in amusement, but he could not remember ever seeing such a broad, open smile on his face.

Still holding on to Chris, Craig found the other man's hand, grasping and squeezing it as Chris let go of Craig’s jumpsuit. Somehow, he just knew he wouldn't be pushed away, and that knowing... That knowing was as close to bliss as he had ever hoped to come in recent times.

Chris could not resist the joy that was beaming from Craig’s face. He took Craig's hand, furtively, but smiling, and wondering, now... had he been wrong? Confusion jostled with sweetness for the upper hand. Too much was happening; he could not process it. He tried to look at Craig, but was afraid to meet his eyes – afraid to see an answer there. He was not sure which answer would be more frightening.

The only fact in Craig's mind was still this: Chris didn't hate him; he liked him, seemed to genuinely care about him, and that was all that mattered. There was love shining in Craig's eyes, his face, his entire being. If you stuck him in a dark room, he was sure he would glow slightly.

Even out of the corner of his eye, Chris could not miss the delight that Craig was radiating. It was contagious, irresistible; he could not stop smiling. He squeezed Craig's hand for a moment, tentatively.

Trying to breathe and laugh at the same time, Craig felt Chris's hand squeeze his, and started laughing harder, breathing more erratically. What was this place; reality? Was he high?

Chris could not help it; a chuckle slipped out of him, too. He felt like he was losing it. Loosing what? Some sensibility, the one that was keeping him from laughing and clinging tightly to Craig. He laughed harder, unable to let go.

Craig kept his hold on Chris’s hand, knowing that he would have to let it go soon, or this would start to look odd. He glanced into Chris's eyes, and noticed for the first time how incredibly turned on he was. Beyond turned on; there needed to be a new word for this. Horny did not suffice. Entire, black-listed dictionaries would not suffice. He managed to let go of Chris’s hand, caressing it with his fingers as he did so, as though he could communicate solely through touch.

Chris stepped back and brought that hand to his mouth to stifle the laughter, but he bent over, the laugher seeping out despite himself. He felt that a huge weight that had been present for so long that he had learned to ignore it had been lifted from his shoulders. He weighed less than nothing, and would shortly float upwards.

As his fingers left Chris's palm, Craig felt as though they were charged with electricity. He stumbled off of the set, backwards, crashing heavily into a wall, which set him off laughing again. The world just seemed to be brighter, all of a sudden.

Chris finally managed to catch hold of himself. He straightened, still grinning, and followed Craig, trying to keep a respectful distance. Whatever that might mean now.

With the solidity of the wall behind him as a calming influence, Craig stood still for a moment, trying to catch his breath. There was a certain weightlessness to this moment. He wondered if Chris felt that, too?

The elation of the take was still lifting him, and Chris did something that surprised himself; he put his arm over Craig's shoulders, pulling him out into the corridor.

At that point, Chris could have asked Craig to do anything, and he would have complied without thinking. He was putty, he was plasticine. The weight and feel of Chris's arm sent delightful messages to Craig's brain, and he soaked them up; thrilled to feel a physical reaction to the touch. It had been far too long.

With a few more breaths, though, Chris felt the elation start to bubble away, and he abruptly let go. Dangerous thoughts were whirling in his mind. Friendship-ruining thoughts. Acutely sexual thoughts. He stepped away.

As the other man stepped away, Craig looked up at Chris, still with that look of love, mixed now with mischievousness. "Hey..." he said.

Chris found that he was panting. Yes, very dangerous thoughts. He took a deep breath. "Yes?"

"You still have that key, yeah?" Craig licked his lips subtly. But not too subtly. The time for misunderstandings had come and gone, as far as he was concerned.

Chris swallowed, the dangerous thoughts becoming more vivid. "Yes..."

"Good." Craig gave Chris a meaningful look. "I'll be heading straight home, after. You're always welcome." A pure, almost animal hunger shone in his eyes. For a moment he considered just saying it straight out; they were relatively alone, after all. Chris, he could say, I want to take you home and shag your brains out. Would that be all right? He could handle a 'no.' He glanced at Chris's panting form. Maybe.

Chris licked his lips quickly, lost in that look. "I might just..." he croaked. He stopped. He did not trust himself to finish that thought. He took a step backwards and stumbled into a table.

Well, that was ambiguous enough. Why was the man so bloody hard to read! Good thing he hadn't been as blunt then. Instead, Craig tried to put all of his lust and wanting into a single, sultry smile, with extra lingering eye-contact on the side. That would have to do. "See ya later then." And because he just couldn't resist touching what was usually so clearly off-limits, he gave Chris a friendly pat on the arm, which turned into a light caress all down it. He shivered as contact was lost, forcing himself to turn around at the very same moment. It had to be Chris's decision. He couldn't force him, and he didn't want to push.

Dammit. His trousers felt two sizes too small. Walking was difficult.

Chris was speechless, his mouth a desert. He looked at Craig's retreating back and could only nod.


Chris stood outside of Craig’s flat later that evening. He held the key and turned it in his hands. He had intentionally taken a great deal of time to get out of costume and cleaned up, trying to settle down and think. He ruffled his still-wet hair. What had happened that afternoon? Lust? Love? A passing fancy that had been fed by the scene? There was so much potential to ruin the friendship that they had worked so hard to establish – but there was so much want in him that he felt willing to risk it. He closed his eyes and gripped the key, its serrations digging into his palm.

Craig hoped he didn't look like a total idiot as he took the stairs two at a time, panting, out of breath. The only change of clothing he'd had with him at the studio had been an old shirt he'd meant to get rid of ages ago and some reasonably worn black jeans, but it would have to do. He'd sworn at himself for not thinking ahead, but then again, how could he have known? He'd spent far too long rummaging around trying to see if he might have something else stashed away in the dressing room somewhere, but there was nothing. Too late, he realized he could have gone home straight away, like he'd said, and changed and showered there, but the time for that had passed. What if Chris arrived while he was still in the shower? Well, that might not be entirely bad, he had to admit. Still, he ended up showering in a rushed state, trying to be efficient and as clean as possible at the same time. It felt suddenly very important to be clean. Now, here he was, looking, if anything, more stressed and disheveled than before the shower. Frankly, somewhat desperate, too. This, of course, led to him not seeing Chris, and crashing into him.

Chris stumbled into the door.

"Ooh... Ah!" Craig gasped. Chris! This was... but then... Emotions swirled around inside him like confused butterflies. The sudden closeness, the familiar scent... He did not know what to do with his hands.

Chris regained his balance and looked at Craig, confused for a moment. But this collision as he stood at the door in indecision was just another absurdity layered on a day full of them, and he could not help it. He grinned and tried to stifle a laugh that was bubbling up in him. It came out as a snort.

The laughter was liberating, and Craig felt himself pulled in. The closeness. The scent. Everything that was Chris. Here. Now. He was startled to hear himself laugh.

Craig’s laughter pushed Chris into an all-out guffaw. He reached out to touch Craig’s cheek, still laughing. Absurdities. Like being able to caress Craig again. He stroked the cheek, gently, caught up in the ludicrous possibility of the moment.

God, where was his keys? And why wouldn't they just go into that stupid lock without him having to look at it while he pushed it in? Craig didn't want to look away from Chris's face, and fumed as his key stabbed at the sides of the lock, impotently.

Chris paid no attention. He was consumed with the thought that he could actually do this - stroke Craig’s cheek, his fingers catching slightly on stubble. He remembered the young son of a neighbor he once had, who had looked at his motorbike from his window with lustful eyes. The next time he saw the boy playing, he invited him to sit on the bike. The boy had stood there for a minute, frozen, just marveling - marveling that he could do something he had thought was only in the realm of fantasy. In this moment, the look on that boy’s face made perfect sense to Chris.

Craig couldn't stop laughing, although it was calmer now, breathy. He leaned into Chris's hand, not fully knowing what the gesture meant, but treasuring it just for existing. With the door finally unlocked, Craig leaned on it, almost falling inwards, grabbing Chris's hand and pulling him in with him. He deposited Chris inside and closed the door, then turned, leaning against it - almost afraid, suddenly. What would happen now? Why had Chris come? What was this feeling between them?

Chris let himself be dragged inside, still laughing slightly. As Craig turned to him, though, he felt his smile fade. He licked his lips. This needed to be said, quickly, like the rip of a bandage off of a wound. If this was a fancy, a fling, he had to leave. "I should warn you...." He swallowed

"What?" Craig forced his mind to be a blank. Don't hope. Don't think.

Chris made himself say it slowly and clearly. Nothing would be served by trying to slur his way through this. "I still love you."

And there it was again; the arrow through his chest, striking him down for the second time. Someone had turned back time and sent him back to that alley behind the pub; allowing him to set things straight, do them right. Do right by Chris. How had he come to deserve this? Craig found bursts of almost-laughter, almost-crying, coming out of him as he choked out, "Oh, thank god!"

Craig’s laughter started Chris off again. He did not get the joke, whatever it might be, but he could not stop chuckling.

With no reason to hold back any longer, Craig reached out and pulled Chris towards him by the lapels of his shirt, stopping only when their faces were almost touching.

Chris forced his breathing to steady. He touched Craig’s hips gently, realizing that he was so very horny that he could barely trust himself, now.

That beautiful face so close to his; it was a miracle he was able to speak at all. "I thought I'd lost that. I thought..." Craig choked. "I think I've loved you since forever." He had. He had always loved Chris, always.

The words constricted Chris’s throat. He struggled to breathe as this washed over him. Craig loved him? This was not what he expected. This was... he grasped Craig’s hips more tightly as the room began to spin. Breathe. Pause. Breathe.

"Always," Craig breathed. "Always."

Chris tried to say something. What was it? It did not matter, as it only came out as a strangled moan.

Their lips were practically touching anyway, so kissing was just a matter of distance. Craig leaned forward to cross that distance, pulling Chris towards him, hungrily, as their lips met for the second time that day - but in many ways, for the first time ever. It was finally a gesture with certainty behind it.

Chris tried to sort out his thoughts. The mere fact that this was happening, here, now, was too much to process. And all it implied - that he could do everything he had been fantasizing about... he opened his mouth, pushing his lips on Craig's.

As soon as he could, simply because he could, Craig deepened the kiss. There was power in this; power in how he felt Chris respond to his actions, power in the way he made himself feel by doing it. He caressed Chris with both hands, turning that into a crushing embrace, holding on for dear life.

Chris slid his hands from Craig’s hips to his buttocks, pulling the other man even closer; he slid his left hand up Craig’s back, trying to feel the man, pull him tight. That hand made its way to the back of Craig’s head as he opened his mouth wider.

Craig yelped a little as his buttocks were touched, feeling weightless. His entire body screamed out for more, and as by pure instinct, he started moving away from the door, kissing between pauses to breathe, talking slightly in those intervals. "Let," a groping kiss, "me show you," a lick, just below the jawline, up towards the ear-lobe, "the bedroom." And a breath, a hot, heavy breath on that spot, pushing the door open and taking Chris through.

Chris moved with Craig; as long as the other man was close, he did not care where they were. He gasped as Craig breathed on just that spot, and grabbed a fistful of pants with his right hand. "Lovely bedroom," he choked out, not looking at it, not caring at all.

With an awkward kick, Craig closed the door behind them, and pushed Chris onto the bed. "Yes, it is now."

Chris chuckled breathlessly, then pulled Craig down onto him and started kissing him again. He started to nibble along the jawline, tasting with fascination the change in texture and taste from tongue to lips to rough, stubbled skin. He started to suck on Craig’s soft earlobe, rubbing the other man’s back with one hand and squeezing his buttock with the other.

It was like being a child on Christmas morning, presented with a wealth of presents and not knowing which one to open first. Only because it was what was closest to him, Craig started to work on the top buttons of Chris's shirt. This simple task was, however, made rather difficult by his shaking hands and dazed state of mind. It was taking forever, and he tugged at them with a soft moan.

The back rubbing was starting to pull Craig’s shirt free; Chris slipped his hand underneath and kept rubbing. He leaned back slightly to allow Craig access to his own shirt.

"Man... your body just drives me wild," Craig gasped, working his way down the buttons with agonizing slowness. He bit his lip to keep from pulling the shirt right open, but felt his motions becoming rougher nonetheless.

"I need yours," Chris sighed. "Now." He started to pull up on Craig’s shirt.

Those words, although they sent lovely shivers down his spine, made Craig stop suddenly. This was all... This was heaven, pure and simple. But hadn't they been here before? Hadn't everything seemed right and good, only to suddenly fall apart? Considering what he'd done to Chris - could this be an admittedly well-deserved revenge? Or what if Chris couldn't bear it, like so many times before? Thinking of those early times, his hopes going up and down like a roller-coaster, made his throat constrict like a snare. He caught Chris’s face between both hands, the shirt forgotten, and looked at him intently. "Are you sure?" he asked. He could not do this, not again, not without knowing. It would hurt too much. Hell, just the thought of it hurt unbearably.

Chris breathed for a moment, holding Craig's shirt. "What is there I could not be sure about?" He twisted Craig’s shirt in his hands.

Craig tried to keep control over his voice. "Good. Good. I just wanted..." How could he say this without sounding like a whining git? "You don't know what it was like for me that time. I thought you were only in it for..." he shrugged, seeking a word. "I dunno. The excitement?" We're so different you and I, he thought. Class. Color. Language. The way we move, the way we think. Was that all it was? Opposites attracting? It wasn't for me.

"Excitement." Chris tasted the word. There had been no shortage of that, the first time. "Yes, maybe." He panted, finding it very difficult to think clearly while he was painfully horny. He continued to twist the shirt in his hands. "It took me a damnably long... too long." He cast about for words, which evaded his sweaty hands. "I think - I was in love with you since then. I just..." he frowned, memories of his thoughts and actions cooling his ardor with shame. "I couldn't admit it to myself. I've been a damn idiot." He looked Craig in the eyes. "Haven't I paid enough for that mistake?" He felt increasingly desperate. How could he prove himself, beyond – waiting, for so long? He began to feel sick. If he lost this now...

No, please, no! Don't let it fall apart now! Craig pawed at Chris’s chest uselessly, tearing up. "Feck, no; I'm not blaming ya! I just... I can't believe..." His eyes started to water. This was not the time for words. If this was going to hell, he needed to take advantage of what he had before it was gone. He leaned forwards, kissing Chris’s exposed chest, the salt of his tears mixing with the perspiration there, mingling with the hairs that had increased in number since he'd last been so close, so close.

A shudder of a sigh hissed through Chris’s teeth. The relief that flowed through him left him feeling weak and shaky. He closed his eyes as he ran his hands gently over Craig’s back, under the shirt. He began to lift it off again.

When he felt those amazing hands move across his body, Craig was only barely able to push Chris's shirt aside. His own hands slipped down Chris’s legs, running over the muscles; oh, the tactile sensation! He let his own shirt be pulled off, slightly irritated at the fact that it didn't just disappear by itself, and straddled Chris, just sitting there for a while, enjoying the feel of Chris's hands.

Chris tossed the shirt aside and ran his fingers down Craig's chest, delighting at the feel of the solidity, the wiry black hairs that were missing the last time he was able to do this, so long ago.

"Gorgeous," Craig mumbled, staring at an out-of-focus Chris.

Chris grinned. "Delectable." He felt like an epicure, running his hands up and down Craig’s chest.

Reaching down again, Craig licked his way down to Chris’s navel, moving his hands to the back of Chris’s legs, running his fingers over the buttocks and back around to the front. He hesitated at the top of the jeans, stealing a glance up at Chris. He felt ten years younger, but not in a good way.

Chris had been running his hands through Craig’s hair, looking down at the man with nothing but adoration in his eyes. Sighing, the hurt and humiliation from the last time he'd tried this fresh again in his mind, Craig moved his hands to Chris’s belt, keeping eye contact as he pulled it open, feeling desperate need despite the fear.

Chris took a deep, shuddering breath, not wanting to hope; just running his feet up and down the back of Craig’s legs. He moved them faster as Craig slowly unbuttoned his fly, too slowly, but he could do nothing but watch and try to stroke Craig’s hair without tugging at it. He was panting, now, quick gasps that would be more appropriate to running a marathon.

Craig’s heart was pounding so high in throat, he felt it was about to leap out of his mouth. Still nervous as a teenager, he reached down and kissed the boxer-clad erection, lightly. He could pull away. Hell, he didn't want to, but he could, he could.

Chris closed his eyes. He could not watch and anticipate; he would go mad. "God, Craig..." he moaned. "I need you," he gasped, trying not to grasp Craig's hair painfully. He trembled, trying to lie still and let Craig do no more than he wanted to.

"Missed you..." Craig mumbled, all need now. "Missed this." Even if it had just been one time, god, yes, his has missed this. He rose slightly on his knees, and in two swift movements, pulled off Chris’s jeans, followed by his boxers. He leaned down, his mouth filling with saliva, and swallowed the erection whole, willing to take any consequences, good or bad. He needed this like he needed his heart to keep on beating.

Chris groaned and grabbed the blanket, twisting it in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut. The noises he could hear himself making were somewhere between moans and screams. He did not want to hurt Craig, but it was agonizing to not thrust into that hot wetness.

Egged on by that delectable reaction, Craig grabbed Chris's buttocks and squeezed. He let the erection fall out of his mouth, and started licking at it, caressing it with his tongue, licking the head. He'd fantasized about this so many times, and was eager to try some of his imagined tricks in real life. He wondered if some of them were physically possible. He really hoped they were.

Chris panted, throwing his head from side to side. He was sweating, spitting out moans with every breath, rational thought was gone, now, and the world had turned into a scratchy blanket at his back, and Craig’s hands and mouth on him, in complete control of him, working him to a fever. He whined as Craig grazed his erection slightly with his teeth. "Craig..." he gasped – not asking, just stating, as if he could bundle ten years of want into one word.

Because he'd been waiting for it, Craig looked up quickly, as he heard his name afraid that something was wrong, despite the tone of the voice. He paused, the erection half-way into his mouth, hands kneading as thought on auto-pilot.

"Yes... god." Chris panted.

The words snaked themselves into Craig's ears, almost climaxes in themselves. Permission. Acceptance. Everything that was never said before. Yes. In a state beyond himself, Craig swallowed Chris's erection as far down as he could get it; idly noting that he'd never thought the fact that he didn't have much of a gag-reflex to speak of would become useful in any way. Yes – the certainty of it! He licked, ferociously, trying to remember what girlfriends have done to him in the past. Again, the surprise of the intense pleasure this act gave him overcame him. He could do this forever; until Chris came, until he came; he'd just lick him back up into a frenzy again and start over, again and again and again, and...

Chris realized that his fingers were wasting themselves on an unfeeling blanket. He let go and touched Craig's ears, stroking them, running his hands along their soft, warm lines, catching the other man’s wiry hair. He moved his fingers to Craig’s cheeks, caressing them tenderly. The frantic ecstasy had built up in him and moved him beyond frenzy, to a calmer state of bliss. He groaned and caressed, marveling at the feel of Craig's cheek, Craig's neck, Craig's hair. Craig slowed his pace to match the caresses. "Lovely," Chris sighed.

As his groin ground against Chris's legs, Craig started to forget which body was which. He pressed against the other man with something akin to desperation, sucking and licking in time with his thrusts. This brought Chris back to awareness of the fact that he was making love. He grabbed Craig's chin a little more firmly and pulled upwards. Craig groaned in protest and tried to pull back, not wanting to lose that thrilling sensation, but he felt weak and light-headed. Chris continued to pull upwards, insistently, leaning down and opening his mouth. Craig stretched up to meet him, eagerly, forgetting all else for the moment. Chris stuck his tongue in as deeply as he could, licking the inside of Craig's mouth. He tasted a new muskiness that must be himself layered over the nicotine and whiskey that he had tasted earlier. It was heady, and he continued to sample it.

Craig whimpered; his touch and caresses were becoming limp and weak. His groin was beginning to actually hurt. He did not care. His head was swimming.

Chris slid his hand down, caressing Craig's buttock, pulling him in tight, grinding and kissing. He stroked Craig’s hair with his other hand as he kissed him deeply.

Trying to communicate his state of being, Craig managed to force out some words that might have been "Need" and "you", but with their mouths locked, it was hard to tell. Incredibly, the kiss was making him even more aroused. This should be illegal, he thought. Can’t be good for you.

Chris pulled back for air, kissing lips on lips. "Love," kiss, "you," kiss.

"Yes," Craig answered, weakly. "Love..." The ease of it. It almost did him in.

Chris ran his hands up and down Craig's sides, then opened Craig’s pants, sliding his hands under them. He pushed them down without finesse, throwing the boxers down after.

If he had to keep biting his lip like this, Craig thought, he might need reconstructive surgery before the night was over. He had been undressed before by some very hot girls, but this was beyond anything he had felt before. He did not dare to hope what might happen next; he just accepted the sensations.

"I want all of you," Chris muttered into his ear. He did. He wanted the man’s body, the man’s soul.

Craig could not answer; he only squeaked. He finally managed two words - "Take me!"

Chris fully intended to. He rolled over, so that Craig was now underneath him. He paused for a second, running his hand down Craig’s cheek, then bent his head and began to lick his way down Craig’s chest. He stopped at the navel, spending some time there while stroking Craig’s sides.

How could this be happening? Craig felt disoriented, yet amazingly thrilled. This was not happening, he was sure of it – but it could not be a dream, as he had not even dreamed of this. Not in any of his wildest fantasies had Chris done anything like this, and certainly anything like what - oh yes! - Craig was hoping this would culminate in. If it did happen, Craig was sure he would explode, in more ways than one.

Chris slid his hand to Craig’s erection, slowly and gently pulling the foreskin back. But he owed Craig so much more than this. He pulled himself back and licked the head tentatively.

Dream, reality; it did not matter anymore. There was only sensation; overwhelming sensation and the electrifying knowledge of who was doing this to him, making this happen. Craig arched his back, gritting his teeth together to keep from screaming. He tried not to move any more than this, afraid of upsetting some delicate balance.

Chris started to suckle at the head, gently, experiencing the mind-pummeling novelty of it. It was not, as he had feared, a viscerally revolting process; he found himself oddly thrilled by the musky taste and the twitching vitality. He spit on his hand, sliding it up and down as he licked and sucked at the head.

"I love you... Love you..." Craig choked out. Words were becoming impossible.

Chris shivered as he heard this, and tried to take in a little more in as he cupped Craig's testicles. He leaned on his elbow, trying to swallow Craig’s erection, now, electrified by the reaction he was eliciting. He moaned in excitement as he sucked, stroking Craig’s testicles gently.

Craig moaned with him, his knuckles white with the effort to keep from coming. He bucked his hips slightly, partly because he didn't want to hurt Chris, but mostly because he was too weak for anything else.

This action was heightening Chris’s own excitement, and he found himself gasping, trying to suck between breaths. He licked when he could, and sighed hot breath when he could not.

Chris, Craig thought. This was Chris sucking him. The thought almost brought him over the edge. He felt his vision blurring.

Panting and sucking, Chris leaned down a little to rest his very, very painful erection against Craig's foot. He pulled up to take a deep breath, looking with delight at Craig's delirious face. He expelled the breath and leaned back in.

"Can't," Craig gasped, "last much longer."

Chris tried to say "good," with his mouth full, and it came out sounding more like "god." It was all one. He opened his mouth, licking the erection that still lay inside.

This was far beyond too much, but Craig still feared driving Chris away. Was he ready for this? Still, nature could not be held back, and Craig came, violently, in a storm of emotions, sighing, panting and half-screaming what should have been terms of endearment, but were only incoherent noises.

Chris was startled at the bitterness of the come. He coughed and spit, still licking the erection, delighting at the feel of Craig shuddering under him, at the ecstatic noises Craig made.

"Sorry," Craig gasped as the shudders passed, a hint of shame in his voice. He hadn't meant for it to happen like that; he felt like he'd failed, somehow.

"Sorry?" Chris asked, licking at Craig's belly. What part of this perfection did Craig feel sorry about? He ran his tongue, sticky with come and saliva, up Craig’s chest. He was so acutely horny that he wondered if he could even climax.

Craig closed his eyes and lay back, whimpering at the touch. He was thrilling with post-coital hypersensitivity. Words exited his mouth in random order - God, you, I, want, what, do with me. He managed to gain control after what seemed like an eternity. "Do what you want with me," he sighed. He felt limp and spent, riding a wave of utopian joy.

Chris had worked his way upwards, and was now sucking at the join of Craig’s shoulder and neck. He rubbed his erection against Craig's hip. He slid one hand up Craig's chest, over his shoulder, and down his arm. He gently lifted Craig’s hand and put it on his own erection, still licking Craig’s shoulder.

Wishing he could do so much more, Craig swallowed and grabbed Chris’s erection, hard.

Chris gave a half-groan, half-whine. "God, yes, please." He shut his eyes and rested his forehead on Craig's shoulder; his back had to arch up in the air to let this all work. He needed climax, now.

Craig started pumping, as well as he could manage; he spit into his hand and replaced it, rubbing in time to the thrust of Chris’s hips thrusting. He quickened his pace, feeling oddly possessive. If he could show Chris only a minute percentage of what he'd felt himself...

Chris came with an intensity that made gravity useless. He was not sure which way was up, and grabbed Craig's shoulder in his mouth, sucking, muffling his cries, his arms shaking. The shudders began to ebb, and as soon as down became understandable, he lowered himself to lie on top of Craig.

Craig embraced Chris, his eyes watering, mumbling incoherently. Chris gave one last, desperate moan, and Craig laughed lovingly at the sound, feeling oddly - at home. What other word could there be for this feeling?

Chris concentrated on breathing, unable to move anything other than his lungs.

The ceiling loomed above Craig as he sucked air in through his teeth. It would never look the same to him again. "I could do this all night," he sighed, content.

As muscle control returned, Chris rubbed his hand up and down Craig's side. "I'm not 28 anymore," he sighed. "I'd have to give over at some point." A latecomer spasm sent a shiver through him. He gasped, quietly.

Craig almost did not hear him. He wished he could do this – again, again, and again. "I'd have lasted longer if I hadn't been lusting after ya for that many years!" he giggled.

Chris lifted himself up slightly and leaned in for a kiss. He stopped halfway, realizing he had come in his mouth. He stroked Craig's cheek instead.

The hesitance didn't register with Craig, who merely closed the gap for a kiss. Chris closed his eyes as their lips met. "Is this real?" Craig asked as Chris pulled back. Let it be real. He needed it to be real.

Chris continued to stroke Craig's cheek, his hand trembling. "God, I hope so. If this is a dream, and you pinch me," he continued, very gently, "I'll kill you."

On cue, Craig pinched his buttocks, and Chris yelped, to Craig's never-ending amusement.

"You don't know how lucky you are that I didn't wake up!" Chris snarled in mock chastisement.

Craig gave him an intent look. "Yes - I think I do know, rather."

Chris smiled, and realized that his back would give out shortly. He rolled onto it with a groan. "God," he moaned, stretching.

Suddenly remembering, Craig smiled. "Yeah. Adonis."

Chris raised his head and looked down at his no-longer-twenty-eight-year-old body. "Not for years." If Craig had been expecting the svelte boy he used to be, he must be rather disappointed now.

Craig shrugged. "Good. This is better." More Herculean, though he knew better than to say this out loud. For such a good looking man, Chris got weird about compliments about his body.

Chris smiled and pulled Craig closer. He wrapped both arms around Craig and lay back, closing his eyes with a satisfied sigh. He was sated as he could not remember having been before, and wanted nothing more than to sleep with this delicious warm weight on his chest.

Craig was beyond content, and yet he was hungry – hungry with the knowledge that there would be - must be! - more of this. "Gorgeous," he mumbled into Chris’s chest, snuggling up closer.

Chris mumbled, half-asleep, "Yes, you are." He left himself drift off.

"I want..." Craig started to say. He stopped. He did not know what he wanted. He abruptly realized that he had everything he would ever need. "Never mind." He kissed Chris’s chest rising and falling already with gentle snores, and settled down. He lay awake for some time, feeling the difference in Chris's body from those times so long ago, enjoying the way it looked and felt then and there.

He could hardly wait for morning.