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 nessecarily 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.


Leafing through the pages he had already read more than once, and knew as well as he ever would, Craig threw down the script in disgust, and let out a hollow laugh. 'Ace' bloody Rimmer, for God's sake. Who was the arsehole sleeping with? Heh, no, given that all the higher-ups were straight males, that option was certainly out. He shook his head. What was the deal? Craig was playing the last man in the universe, and a character that was dead and insubstantial got laid more than his did. Were Rob and Doug trying to tell him something?

Of course.... He chewed his lip, working through the script in his mind. Ace Rimmer, hero of the Space Corps. Ace crashing into Starbug. Meeting Rimmer. Ace and Lister bonding. Rimmer's reaction. Slowly, a rather nasty grin spread across Craig's face.

It was ridiculously easy. All he had to do was follow the script, and play his character. After all, Spanners was supposed to idolize Ace, so when Craig leaned into that manly, friendly hug, anyone watching would just think he was acting well. How were the rest of the cast and crew to know that this was the first time he'd touched Chris in months; that he made sure to breathe on just that spot behind his ear as he leaned in; that he wore the same aftershave he'd worn that first night they stumbled back drunkenly to Chris's flat. How were they supposed to know that the adoring look in his eyes was calculated, not to convince audiences of Spanners' devotion to Ace, but to stir something deep within Chris's libido.

And Lister was supposed to get chummy with Ace, so if Craig turned in a performance that seemed almost like flirting and infatuation, that just added to the joke. If he made sure to touch Chris as Ace as much as he possibly could, all the better. What was more, Lister was supposed to be frustrated with Rimmer - that was the entire basis for the relationship between the characters. Naturally, when Lister saw Ace, he'd be a little colder towards regular old Arn; that just made sense. An extra ad-libbed insult here and there just added to the mix. Yes, it really was absurdly easy.

By the end of the first day of shooting, Craig had Chris almost conditioned to respond to him favorably when he was dressed as Ace. Chris did seem to change a little when he was in what Craig mentally referred to as "space hero mode". And Craig wouldn't say that he was entirely unaff... Well. At any rate, when Craig came down to lunch, he wasn't surprised to see the other man, in full Ace wig and costume, taking a seat next to him.


Chris, for his part, could not miss how different Craig's attitude was towards him when he was dressed as Ace. At first, he thought it might be an attempt at reconciliation; Craig could not bring himself to be polite to Chris yet, or the character he had come to know as synonymous with Chris, but perhaps, when he was in the guise of this other person, Craig could, at last, treat him with some camaraderie.

However, Chris could not reconcile this with the flirtatious activity Craig was suddenly tossing in his direction. Chris was not a man of touch, and people generally sensed that and respected it - even Craig. But while Chris was dressed as Ace, Craig could not keep his hands off, it seemed; little touches here and there. They might nonetheless be innocuous, but blowing that hot, wet breath that was almost a lick onto that spot, just below his ear, that made his libido bounce around on a pogo stick - there was no possibility of doing that by accident.

And the pure vitriol that Craig was sending towards the eyeline - the eyeline, just some poor crew member standing in - where Chris would later be, as Rimmer, was inexplicable. Chris did not know how to analyze how all of this added up, and decided that a direct approach might be best, in this situation. He was quite certain he would regret it afterwards. He gave Craig the most neutral smile in his repertoire and sat, pulling out a sandwich and starting to pick at it.

Here we go, Craig thought, looking straight ahead. Curious, he stole glances at Chris, smiling when he did so. "Hey, man."

"Hey," Chris replied, searching for an overture. "You seem happy today."

"Heh. Well, life is good, you know." Craig picked at his food, still just evaluating the situation. He couldn't help but feel a childish glee at having Chris approach him, wanting something, needing something, even if it was just conversation.

Chris smiled wanly and nodded. "Good for you." He had no idea how to draw Craig out. Jesus, he felt like a teenager trying to ask a crush out on a date.

Craig licked his lips almost unnoticeably, only just conscious of doing so. "You seem quite cheerful today yerself."

"You seem to like the outfit."

Craig laughed. "I do?"

Chris nodded. "You haven't been this friendly with me in years." That word sent a twinge through him. Yes, it had been years.

Like you invite friendliness, Craig thought, with mental scorn. The man had a comfort zone a mile wide, and tended to flinch if you as much as breathed into it for too long. It just didn't seem natural to Craig; it was like he wasn't even human. Making sure to let his look linger a little too long, Craig said "Yeah, well..." He looked down. "No use not being nice, I suppose."

That was patently untrue. "You seem to have had plenty of use for it. Odd that you ran out today."

Craig fingered the cigarette stuck behind his ear, looking straight ahead. There was no denying that, of course. Buying time, he looked down, trying to pass it off as shyness. "Well, I dunno." He stole another sidelong glance at Chris, only partly to complete the shyness act. This almost wasn't like Chris; it was like a different person had sat down to lunch with him.

Craig was not a shy person. Chris had no clue what to do with these sidelong glances. He raised his eyebrows and looked more directly at Craig, hoping to pull him out.

Craig shook his head, picking at his lunch again. He continued to flash sidelong looks at Chris, enjoying both the view and the confused irritation it seemed to cause the other man. "I suppose I just thought, you know... Enough is enough, and that."

But why now? Chris fumed. "So am I going to have to dress like this every time I want a halfway polite conversation with you?"

That was an interesting mental image. Craig's eyes went to Chris's wig, and he grinned. "I hope not!" He gave a quiet laugh. "Nah, man."

There was some barrier up, some odd Craig construction of the shyness that was utterly foreign to the man. Chris decided to prod at it a bit. "It would make pub nights interesting."

Pub nights. Ignoring the absurdity of Chris dressed in the gold flight suit and wig in full Ace-mode ordering drinks, the words stirred unwanted memories in Craig's mind. An odd, thoughtful look passed over his face. He licked his lips again, his eyes flickering. "Yeah." He concentrated quite intently on his food, not tasting anything.

Chris echoed the "Yeah." Craig gave him another one of those shy looks that looked so off on him. It made Chris even more irate. He was tired of games. "Ad-libbing a bit there, you were. I don't remember the bit about blowing in my ear in the script."

Craig almost choked on his food. He recovered and shrugged. Wincing at the obvious lie, he mumbled, "Erm... I don't remember doing tha..."

"And I always thought you were the memory man," Chris growled.

"Fer some things, yeah." Craig frowned and stabbed at something in his lunch. He peeked over at Chris to examine his face. He hadn't been expecting to be confronted.

"I'm not as good as you are at remembering scripts," Chris prodded.

"Well, no. I do tend to remember those." Chris nodded. Craig added, noncommittally, "This was a good one." Beyond good; it was uncanny. The snipes Rimmer made at Ace and Lister smacking so obviously of homophobia - and we all know what that means, Craig thought - it was almost as if Rob and Doug knew. Taffeta ballgowns and whipping the houseboy; had they been inside Chris's inner dream-house? He tried not to giggle at the unspoken jibe.

"Pretty obvious that you thought so."

Craig stole another curious glance in Chris's direction. "Eh?"

"I haven't seen you this energized in months." And I haven't seen you this mellow... ever. What was with Craig?

Craig gave a wide grin. "I guess I'm just in a good mood."

Chris sighed, and decided he might get somewhere if he got the man to actually look at him. He put his left elbow on the table and leaned his head on his hand, looking to his right, where Craig sat. It seemed to work. Craig chewed thoughtfully and looked directly at Chris.

There was that strange difference in Chris again. Craig noted the lines on his face, lines that had either appeared or deepened since the last time he had... looked at Chris that hard. It suited him; made him look more real. Well, he thought, looks can be deceiving.

It had been far too long since Chris had seen Craig with such a relaxed and pleased expression on his face. He could not help but warm to it; he had always found it a sweet face, but it was far easier to bury that feeling when the man was acting like a jackass. He unconsciously shifted slightly, opening his body language towards Craig.

Something stirred inside of Craig as he looked at Chris, almost facing him, staring so tranquilly. He swallowed and tried to pretend he was unaffected.

Chris could not help smiling as he looked at Craig. He smiled very, very slowly, until he found he was grinning broadly. He gave a short bust of laughter. Craig smiled, dropping his eyes from Chris's face back to his lunch.

Perhaps he could have done something to stop himself, but Chris sat as a not-so-innocent bystander as his Craig-proximal hand rose slightly and moved towards the other man. Then his rationality caught hold of the hand and dropped it. The man hates you, Chris. He's playing at something. Chris put the hand down on his own thigh, the fingers spread to grip it solidly.

Craig noticed the hand in his peripheral vision, tracking it with the corner of his eye. He noticed, to his irritation, that this stupid tiny gesture - or rather, the ideas it gave birth to - were actually turning him on. He knew that hand, those hands, all too well; knew what they were capable of. He almost felt them now, on his thigh, his hips, moving up his back, slowly. He let out a breath, trying not to make a sound.

Chris frowned, looking down at his hand. He raised his head off of his other hand, turning back to lunch. He gazed at it without appetite. Or rather, without the appetite for a sandwich.

Remembering where he was and why, Craig pretended to resume eating. "Must be nice to play someone else for a change."

Chris nodded. That much was obvious. "I was having a bit of git overload, yes."

Pushing the food around, Craig realized he had only a vague idea of what was on his plate. "Heh, too right, eh? This should be something different then. Get the old charm muscles out."

Chris looked down at his flightsuit, vaguely embarrassed at the reference to how over-the-top it all was. "There are no half-measures in this show. You're either a total ass or... " he spread his hands slightly to indicate the costume.

Before he could stop himself, Craig finished the sentence. "Wha, a gay centerfold?" As the words left his mouth he realized what he'd said, but of course it was too late by then. Oh well, the man could take it. He should!

Chris looked over at Craig with irritation. Ah, so this was part of the game, at least. Show up Chris as some kind of gay twonk.

Craig bit his lip and tried to make light of it. "Erm, not that I'd..." He stabbed at the unrecognizable mess in front of him, wanting to hurt it, badly. "Never mind."

It was Chris's turn to finish the sentence. "Not that you'd flirt with a gay centerfold?" He raised one eyebrow. The man might deny it, but he wanted to put it out in the air.

"Flirting?"

"That's what it's generally called, yes," Chris replied, stubbornly.

"No wait, you're saying I'm flirting with you?" So the man wasn't all stupid. Well, that was the point of all this, wasn't it? Trying to make the man see what he was missing, what he could have had?

As Chris had been expecting. "Empirical data suggests."

Craig snorted "Get real."

Chris shrugged and turned back to his uninteresting lunch. "I don't know what your game is." He felt tired. The investigation into whatever game Craig was playing was turning into yet another game. Did the man ever stop?

"Look man, just because you're playing this superman hunk type doesn't mean all and sundry is gonna flirt with you."

"I didn't say that." He was definitely tired, but he had to give this one more go. "I said that you were. And why? That's what I wanted you to tell me."

Craig shook his head, smiling a little.

Chris laid down the facts. "You don't touch me for over a year. Now you can't keep your hands off. I just want to know what your game is."

And who threatened me with physical violence if I touched you? Craig thought. "It's in the script, man," he said aloud, giving Chris a teasing look. "And like you say, I know the script."

This was going nowhere, and as he thought he would, Chris felt like an ass for even trying. "If you don't want to talk, I can't make you." He stood up and started to collect his uneaten lunch.

"Who's not talking?"

Chris stopped, waiting for whatever would come next. He did not have high hopes that he would want to hear it.

"I'm just being honest here; you're the one not happy with what I'm telling ya." Craig arranged his face into his most innocent expression, one that served him well when playing Lister.

"What are you telling me?"

Craig shrugged. "That I want things to not be so tense anymore, man. That's all I'm saying. Be nice, that." He gave Chris an earnest look.

Chris considered that word. "Nice," he said, feeling it in his mouth. Such a weak, unappealing word. Teachers were nice. Aunt Ermie was nice. A day where it stopped raining for ten minutes at lunch was nice. Thinking back over what he had experienced with Craig - many adjectives jumped to mind, but this one just trivialized it all to inanity.

"Yeah, nice." Craig sent an earnest smile down to join the look and expression.

Chris chewed the word, making it polysyllabic. "Just... nice," he said, looking down at the man to whom he wanted to do... so many conflicting things. None of which could be described as nice.

Craig shrugged again "What else is there?"

Yes, an adroit question, Craig. You've moved on, to a new girlfriend, a new life. As I should have done long ago. "Nothing at all." Just bland lunches and - being nice.

"Right then."

Chris finished collecting his picked-at lunch. He licked his lips. "Well, it's been" he pulled out the polysyllabic version of the ghastly word again, "nice talking with you." He walked off to change, feeling anything but nice.

Craig's eyes fell to Chris's tight trousers, a crotch view turning to an ass view as the man walked away. "Yeah..." he muttered, feeling... odd. He ran his fingers through his hair, still looking.

He was still looking minutes later, when Chris had been out of view for a long time. He felt the eyes of people around him staring at him staring, and tried to pull himself away. But he couldn't.

Even when he closed his eyes, the image was still there.


The afternoon shoot was not all that much different from the cold, tense shoots that he and Craig had been dealing with for almost two series, now, but the contrast to the odd chumminess and flirtation that Craig had displayed at the earlier Ace-shoot made it almost painful. Chris felt great relief when it was over, and pretended that his strong urge to get out of his Arn costume was merely because it was hot and sweaty. He hurried to the dressing room, pulling off his H along the way. Noting that the room was empty, he started undressing as per his preference - very slowly and neatly.


Craig felt himself in rather a cheerful mood as he walked into the dressing room. So far his strategy of getting Chris to actually relate to him seemed to be working perfectly. All right, so he might be pushing it a little with the insults and negativity towards Chris as Rimmer, but he couldn't help it. It was so good to have an outlet for all the frustration and irritation the man had caused him over the... well, the years by now, he supposed. Had it been that long? Ah well. He entered with a light step, shrugged off his jacket, and threw it across the room. It landed on chair, and he giggled a little at his incomparable aim. He hardly noticed Chris, who was shaking his head at Craig's antics.

Chris sat down to pull off his boots. Craig meandered aimlessly through the dressing room, humming, and singing a little under his breath from time to time. The tune annoyed Chris; it was almost recognizable, but Craig's quiet voice and tiny snippets of lyric did not let him catch hold of it. The man did have a lovely voice, and that was just another on a long list of things that Chris did not want to think about. "What's that - 'I'm getting married in the morning?'"

A surprised snort stopped Craig in the middle of a line. "What?" He hummed a few bars exaggeratedly, looking expectantly at Chris, and chuckled when a blank stare was all he got in return. "You trying to tell me don't recognize I Heard It Through The Grapevine?" Chris shrugged, non-committally. "Marvin Gaye, man!" Chris raised an eyebrow. Craig moved a little closer, gesticulating wildly. "Gladys Knight & the Pips! Ring a bell? At all?" Chris did not respond, and Craig shook his head, sighed, and went back to his singing.

"Losin' you would end my life you see,"

Chris pulled off his jacket, hanging it neatly. He untucked the long-sleeved shirt he wore underneath.

"Cause you mean that much to me." Craig stopped, suddenly. "No wedding for me, no sir!" he commented loftily as he meandered, hands in his pockets.

"Learned your lesson?"

Craig leered. "Maybe that, maybe that."

Chris pulled off his shirt and started to fold it, shrugging. "I did, too. Too expensive."

"Oh and I'm just about to lose my mind." Craig chuckled. "Heh." He finally got around to the point of being in the dressing room, taking off his hat and starting to remove his trousers. "People say believe half of what you see, son, and none of what you hear." The realization struck him suddenly that he had not seen Chris even shirtless for a very long time. He looked away, pointedly, his singing turning to half-hearted hums.

With the tune matter out of the way, Chris paid no attention to anything but his locker. He pulled his own shirt out and set it next to him.

Craig clumsily removed his trousers, desperately looking the other way. He stood there in his boxers and T-shirt, trying to sing, but got distracted by the fact that he kept forgetting the words. He always remembered the words!

Chris sat to shuck his trousers, still not looking at Craig - but feeling a heaviness in the other man not looking at him, either.

"Can't..." Craig coughed slightly as he removed his socks. He stopped trying to sing or hum. The silence fell heavily in the small room.

Chris glanced back at Craig as the humming stopped, feeling needles run down his back. "What?" he asked, testily, starting to fold his uniform trousers.

"Eh?" Craig turned around to the sound of Chris's voice unthinkingly, and swallowed at sight of the other man in only his boxers. He tried to look at something else. He did not know where to look.

"The buzzing stopped."

"Yeah, I..." Craig made a pathetic attempt at removing his T-shirt. "Gonna... Erm..." He hoped to god that he was not blushing.

Chris frowned and turned back to his locker, putting the neatly folded trousers away. He pulled his own trousers out.

Craig was sweating. He desperately needed a shower. But how was he to get there? The idea of walking past Chris right now, in his underwear, did not seem appealing. He managed to get his T-shirt off, and just stood there, pondering his next move.

Chris frowned as he felt Craig's eyes on him. Was this more of the game that the man would not talk about? Chris was even more sick of it now, after that tense afternoon, than he had been at lunch. He turned to face Craig full-on, ignoring the fact that he had nothing but his trousers on. "What?" he asked in exasperation.

Thankful for the locker door between then, Craig tried to make himself as small as possible, and stared intently at his change of clothes. "What? Um... Nothing?"

Chris could feel his frustration bubbling out of control. "What do you want?" he asked, spreading his hands helplessly.

Craig did not look. He did not look. He congratulated himself on not looking, which meant that he lost control of himself long enough to peek out from behind the door. "Want?" he asked, genuinely confused. He realized that looking was a mistake as he saw the other man's torso. He swallowed again.

"You flirt. Then you just want to be," Chris drew out the polysyllabic version again, "nice."

All Craig could do was stare, all conversational and even basic communicative skills forgotten.

"Then you sit there and stare."

Craig heard words, but he had no idea what they might mean. He was hypnotized.

"What do you want?" Chris said, as Craig finally managed to look up into Chris's eyes. "If you want to drive me nutters, it's working!" Chris was almost crying in frustration. Dammit, nobody got him this upset!

These words made it through. "What I want?" Craig asked, quietly. "Is it about that now?"

"Yes!" Chris said, barely managing to get the word out.

Craig forgot that he was dressed in just boxers; forgot everything except his swelling anger. He walked out from behind the locker door, facing Chris, something akin to hatred in his voice. "Well, there's a change!"

Chris abruptly realized that he had played right into Craig's hands. He had let himself get riled up, and now the punch line was going to come. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You ran out on me, back when..." he stumbled, not able to think of a word to describe what had happened. Not a sentence. A novel, a sonnet, bodies writhing in ecstasy, and he did not have the time to write one. "...back when," he finished, lamely.

"Let's talk about what I want, shall we?" Craig choked out. "Let's talk about what I wanted," he tried to imitate Chris's voice, but failed miserably, feeling all the worse because of it, "'back when'!"

Chris frowned. What Craig wanted. He had spent long, dull evenings since then trying to figure out what on earth he wanted - finding out, eventually, far too late. How was he to have the faintest idea what Craig had wanted?

"Because there wasn't much talk of that then, was there? Wasn't much talk of sod all, was there?" Craig advanced towards Chris, and felt as though he were moving back in time, into the shower, into Chris's miserable flat, trying to undo ancient history.

"No, there wasn't," Chris growled. "You never said what you wanted. You never..." he paused, trying to find the words. They ran around his head like bits of fluff, impossible to catch. "...asked. Just... took?" God, he needed another novel. His fault in his passivity, no question; letting things happen, only taking the upper hand when it had become obvious. But Craig's fault in his assumptions, assuming that Chris... could read his mind, see what he wanted, understand every gesture, subtle and not-so. Never giving Chris the time to think, to decide yes - or no, but god, he could not have said no, could he?

Craig had decided never to let the insufferable bastard hurt him again. It just wasn't worth it, wasn't worth his time or his emotions. But this... this... Craig's eyes widened, completely shocked. "I... took? You are un-fecking believable!"

Chris sighed, heavily. Words, usually his allies, were failing him utterly. "That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then, eh?" Anger flowed through Craig in the place of blood. He kept it under control - barely. He wasn't entirely sure how long he wanted to do so, though. Not sure at all.

"I had... I didn't..." Chris sighed in frustration. So many things he hadn't done. How could he possibly fit them all into words? Quick sentences?

"Yeah." Craig narrowed his eyes. "That's what I thought." No idea. No understanding. No fecking soul.

"I didn't know what we were doing! If you... we... had only..." If we had only thought. If we had only talked. If we had only worked together, not tried to fumble our way along each other in the dark.

"Right, 'cause if you had any idea, you'd've never done nothing, would ya?" And that was the heart of it. Chris had always just went along. Nothing really mattered to him; it was just a way to pass the time. And now he was upset because Craig wouldn't lie down and take it like... Well. Tough.

Chris sighed, the futility of the exercise dragging him into a very dark place. "What does it matter anyway?" he sighed. "You have your lovely girlfriend. Why don't you go ogle her, instead?" Whatever he should have said or done, he hadn't said it and he hadn't done it. It was over, now, irrevocably so.

Craig shouldered his way into Chris's face. "This... isn't... about her," he growled.

Chris barely noticed. He leaned back against the locker, eyes downcast.

Craig sighed and looked away.

"No, it's about the stupid goddam things I've done..." Chris said, feeling the weight of them all, "and the fact that you won't let me forget them." No, every time the man smiled, every time he was chummy with someone else, every time he kissed his girlfriend so easily and unthinkingly on the cheek. "Not for a second."

"Unbelievable," Craig mumbled, giving a humorless chuckle. He started searching around for a towel.

Chris reviewed his words with a groan, wondering if he had said something true and understandable in the entire conversation. If he had said one word that had made it through to Craig. Well, there were two that, perhaps, would. "I'm sorry," he choked, still leaning against his locker, arms crossed like a barrier, and staring at the floor. "You don't know how much so."

Craig stopped. He looked towards Chris slowly, examining him, trying to remember that he was still angry. "If that's an apology, that's... I appreciate that, man."

Chris bit his lip. "But I wish..." something was rising up in his throat, strangling him, and he found it almost impossible to talk. "I wish... I hadn't..." he swallowed, having to force the words through one at a time "done..."

Craig smiled, sadly. "I know." The apology had mellowed something in him. Maybe Chris just hadn't realized what he'd gotten himself into. Hell, Craig hadn't either! No wonder he wished it had never happened. It was only a confused fling, after all - no feelings behind it. Not, at least, for Chris.

Chris made an effort, addressing a cracked floor tile. "Whatever the hell I did to drive you off," he spat out.

Craig raised his eyebrow. What?

"I... don't know if I could do it any differently. I still don't know what the fuck I did," he trailed off, feeling nothing but confusion and remorse. He looked up and shook himself. Pointless. Pointless, this whole exercise. Pointless speaking to the other man. Pointless, somewhat, breathing in and out. He picked up his shirt and put it on. "Whatever."

Where did this come from? Craig was in some sort of shock. This was too late. Far too late. He found himself wanting to do half a million things, most of which involved pressing Chris up against the wall and either beating him senseless or ripping his shirt open and licking that smooth chest until Chris screamed for mercy, screamed for Craig to do... what he would never lower himself to do to Craig. Ah. Craig embraced the anger like a long-lost lover. Damn him! Why was this coming now, now that Craig had a girlfriend, now... "Chris, man..." His voice was flat, as though it was having trouble keeping up with his inner turmoil of emotions.

Chris put on his shoes and socks, quickly, fumbling.

"I don't know what to say," Craig said, his voice shaking.

"No, and I never did, either. What a team," Chris grated out through his teeth.

Craig shook his head, a little unsteadily. He leaned one hand on Chris's shoulder, without thinking, hardly noticing it was there. It just felt natural, like it belonged there. Chris flinched and froze. Craig let his hand slide off after a second, running down the upper arm a little bit before falling away, limply. He walked towards the shower. "I'm 'a.." he pointed at it, wondering why he was bothering to explain.

Chris looked at Craig with his towel, then looked back down at feet, trying very, very hard not to think.

Craig looked at Chris, thinking of what could have been.

Chris finished with his feet. He got to them, unsteadily, and walked out, very quickly. He let a sigh out as he gripped the shoulder that Craig had touched. He felt with certainty that he would have to masturbate once he got home, and spend the rest of the evening feeling very, very shitty.

Craig stood there, feeling alone - abandoned, even. He raised the hand that had touched Chris's shoulder, and did not know what to feel.