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.


Better Than Life

Chris did not like to think of himself as someone who got hung up on normal and expected. But somehow, this bothered him. Waking up with anything from a dull headache to a real hangover, his cock aching in a much more satisfying manner, Craig snoring away next to him with one arm flung almost possessively across his chest, himself often pulled into the other man's satisfying warmth - well, that wasn't exactly the standard way one acts with one's mates, was it? He could pretend it was only because he was drunk, but when you have done this over and over, acceptance of one drink more is as good as an invitation back to Chris's flat for - whatever this was.

Craig seemed to think the same. It was never explicitly stated or talked over - god, who wanted to have that conversation? - but through hints and bits of dropped innuendo early in their work in the second series, it was generally agreed-upon. They would not do... whatever it was they had been doing. They would be mates, hang out, drink together, talk together, and keep their tongues out of each others' mouths and their hands off of each others'... well.

Chris did wonder why he did not feel relieved that it was over. After all, it was just a complication in an otherwise perfectly friendly relationship with a co-worker, wasn't it? They still hung around with each other. They still had fun. He felt a bit of emptiness, true, knowing that Craig would leave this evening, once they ran out of conversational topics, but he wouldn't exactly say he felt bad about it, and that was fine for him. The start of that little complication just happened, and the stop just happened, too, not bothering him either in the initiation or in the cessation.

So Chris found himself on his couch, his legs crossed, facing Craig - a completely comfortable, matey conversation, Chris thought. He was not blitz-drunk; just slightly buzzed, enough to lubricate his tongue. He could not stop talking about the Jag he had just finished filming with. It had been in impeccable condition - well, until it had spent all day driving around on a wet beach. "Not a good noise - I think it got sand in the differential." He snorted. "And that used to be a very nice car!"

Craig sat opposite him on the couch, his arms crossed, leaning backwards, trying to look nonchalant. There was this about Chris; Craig admired him and resented him at the same time. Sometimes he was honest enough with himself to admit he resented him precisely because he looked up to him. Whatever other feelings were involved, well... they were just feelings. No big thing. "Eh, you and yer cars, man." He considered. "Mind you, that was a bit of a looker."

Chris snorted. "You're going to get one. That's what you do with money - get nice cars." Of course. The pleasure they gave was not orgasmic, but more like a very lengthy makeout session. Pleasing, in a gentle and ongoing way. His mind dwelled on them pleasantly. Marvelous things.

All of this was vaguely unsettling for Craig. He'd never been in the sort of situation that existed between him and Chris now before, but he could tell that Chris had, from the nonchalance with which he treated it all. Craig wanted to do things right; never let it be said that he let Chris one-up him in terms of knowing "how these things went." They weren't doing it any more, and that was that. Obviously it was the right thing to do, from what Chris indicated. That said, the proximity of the other man, and merely being in this place, on this couch, where... things had happened so many times before was making him horny against his will. He was trying very hard to look Chris in the eyes, and just in the eyes. He could just about manage that. Nowhere, and this was very important, absolutely nowhere else. "Yeah? What about girls then? Could spend a fair amount on that, if ya wanted." This was suitably laddish conversation fodder, he thought nervously, wondering why he was nervous at all. "I bet they line up for you though, don't they?"

Chris was looking out from the couch at nothing, only glancing at Craig now and again. He shifted uncomfortably at that question. "They are too expensive. Fun, but..." he shrugged. Unpredictable.

Craig belted out a peal of nervous laughter, feeling, somehow, that he was just acting another part; that of platonic, macho friend. "Heh, yeah."

"Not a good tradeoff, usually." Chris shifted. He hated to sound so prosaic, but it was simply true. You have to do the calculations, because the emotion only lasts so long. He had done the emotional thing in the past, and it had not been worth it in the end. Fun to remember, but not an error to repeat.

Oh shit, now he'd run out of things to say. That very rarely happened to Craig, and he got the sudden urge to bite his nails. A slight panic rose in him. "Erm, no," he said, shifting on the couch, careful not to move to close to Chris, because that would be wrong, wouldn't it?

"Nah." Chris grinned as he looked at Craig, feeling a very slightly drunken camaraderie. "You know what you're getting with cars." He sat back, satisfied that he had made his point.

Oh, good, the conversation hadn't stalled completely yet. Craig gave Chris a thankful smile. "Yeah, I suppose that's true."

"They don't complain when you go out with your mates..." Chris continued, still grinning.

That triggered some memories. Craig grumbled internally. He'd gotten married way too young, but it was too late to regret that now. "Goh, yeah..." He shook his head. This was not the time for these thoughts. He came here partly to get away from that.

Chris raised his eyebrows at Craig's slightly too-heartfelt agreement, but plunged ahead. "You can go for a ride any time. It's never the wrong time of the month for a Jag."

The image of Chris in a Jaguar seemed oddly alluring. Craig looked up at him and swallowed.

Chris had gone back to thinking of cars, a little lost in memories of ones he had had - or just wished he had had, and driven with delight - and anticipated future possession, use. He finally came back to the present, not exactly sure how long he had been gone. He licked his lips, looking down.

"Oh, right. Yeah, that'd be... nice." Craig was not thinking about cars. All right, cars did feature in his thoughts to some extent; him and Chris in a Jaguar...

Chris shrugged. "Well, you can. You're a free man." Craig would, once in a while, get into these moods that Chris thought of as younger-brother moods; indecisive, seeming almost to want permission. He was a big boy; he could make his own decisions! Although, looking at his cherubic face, Chris sometimes had to remind himself that the man was twenty-five. He had an inexplicably charming way of grinning winsomely and looking about fifteen.

Man. Yes, he was a man. Certainly every bit as much as Chris was! "That's true! Ain't nobody gonna tell me what to do, yeah?" It sounded almost like the lyrics to a song, and he always remembered lyrics, but somehow this one escaped him. Maybe it wasn't a song. Oh, what did it matter. Man. He was a manly man.

Chris grinned, thinking about cars, and Craig, and Craig getting a Jag. Or a Rolls. Fitting. A very independent move. "Yeah. But don't put on fuzzy dice. Dear lord."

Craig laughed. "God, no! Who does that, eh?"

"Too many bloody people with no taste," Chris groused. Like dressing a beautiful woman in a green tarp. He shook his head, thinking of people with money and no taste.

Uncrossing his arms in excitement, one arm now lay across the back of the couch, pointed towards Chris. He was only partially aware of this. After all, it was just an arm. "You've got good taste though. No furry dice for you!" He laughed, slightly drunk.

Chris looked at Craig's shifted position. He uncrossed and recrossed his legs, feeling uncomfortable. There were implications to this reshuffling. Or maybe there weren't, and he was just a little too tipsy and was reading too much into Craig. He made a note of the other man's position, and tried to move on. "I had a pair that I hung around my neck when I was younger. To make my mates laugh. Ran around pretending to be a convertible."

This image swirled around in Craig’s mind, trying to come into focus, making him slightly dizzy. Chris doing that? Granted, he could be wild and zany, but there was always that implication of control there, making it seem as though he wasn't really letting himself go and having fun; he was being calculatedly crazy. It just didn't seem possible. Craig raised his eyebrows. "I find that hard to imagine!"

"I did all kinds of stupid stuff to make my mates laugh. Imitations, mostly." The same things he did these days. He had a bigger bag of tricks and got paid for it, was pretty much the only difference.

"Yeah?" Craig asked, getting interested.

"Clown stuff. Never did my lessons, though."

"Heh, you and me both. Still, did well enough for ourselves, didn't we?"

Chris sat back, thinking about all of his unsuccessful attempts at a 'real' job. "I got the sack so many times..." He stretched his legs out. He sighed and put his head back, feeling loopy still.

Craig found himself relaxing. This wasn't so bad. This was just being friends, just regular guy friends hanging around. That wasn't hard. He grinned and looked down. "Well, here we are now, man. Funny how life works, innit?" He glanced up at Chris, and was surprised to see a rather distant look in the other man's eyes.

"Yes, funny..." Chris trailed off, looking at his feet, and thought about acting. The unexpected success of the current job. What an odd one it had turned out to be, on so many levels.

"Heh..." Craig was beginning to feel unsettled again; not quite uncomfortable; just not quite content with where they were. There was an indefinable want somewhere inside him, and it was growing rather insistent.

Chris did a little alcohol-assisted pondering, which meant he was thinking too much about something that did not merit that much thought. "I wonder what's next."

"Next?" Craig had made the mistake of looking at Chris's face. He was stuck, now.

"Well, this can't last forever."

Craig shrugged, noticing the way the other man's mouth and nose moved when he spoke. "Well... we'll see how far it goes."

"We were lucky to get a second season," Chris muttered, thinking more. A third? Beyond? How long could this be milked?

"'s a good series though, this one." It was a lame thing to say, but he was desperate to keep the conversation going.

Chris looked up, and was surprised to see Craig looking at him. Not just looking. Staring. Intently. "Yes, it's..." with Craig staring at him like that, adjectives did not come to Chris's mind. He fished, and only came up with brown, shining, and deep, none of which applied to the show. "...good...?"

Dammit, Chris had caught him. He'd screwed this up! Would he be thrown out now? "Erm... So yeah."

"Yeah. Good." Chris felt like an idiot.

"Series."

"Yes."

Seeing as how he hadn't been thrown out yet, Craig relaxed a little, leaning back. He couldn't look away though, and coughed as though to try to cover up this fact.

Chris swallowed, trying to restart the conversation about the show. "If it keeps getting better, I might be parting my hair on the left for another ten years."

Impulsive as always, Craig broke out with sudden, unguarded honesty. "God, you shouldn't, it looks awful on ya." He realized what he just said, and grabbed his throat, too late.

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Thanks!" he replied with fake heartiness. Yes, he knew it was true, but - well. Yes, it was true.

What to do about it, how to fix this odd mood, get back to the almost comfortable friendliness? Craig tried to laugh the awkwardness away and failed.

"You look lovely in braids, though." Chris chortled. They were so silly! Those five - or three, depending on how the costumers felt that day - rasta plaits. They set Craig off, somehow, making him look even younger. Almost adorable.

Craig snorted. "Shit, I hate those fecking things. Get in the way all the time." Lovely, though? Something about that word touched him in ways he didn't quite comprehend.

"In the way of what?" How could dangly braids get in the way of anything?

"Everything, man!" He didn't understand how girls could manage with long hair. Hats didn't fit right; they were always in your face when you didn't want them there; he'd gotten a mouth-full of braids when trying to speak more than once.

"Peeing?" Chris snorted.

Craig giggled drunkenly, trying to imagine a possible scenario where braids could get in the way of peeing.

"All of the snogging of lovely ladies the show gives you the chance at?" He had heard Craig grouse about what the use was of being a TV star if he did not get to snog lovely ladies in the episodes.

Assuming a generous helping of fake bravado, Craig preened. "Well, I'm telling ya, it's no secret; the ladies love me! Can't help it."

Chris laughed, feeling an almost big-brotherly need to bat down Craig's bravado. "The old ones on the park bench, feeding the birds, sitting with their legs open? Pat you on the head and give you a lolly?" Chris giggled at the mental image.

Craig didn't appreciate being laughed at, especially by Chris. He moved closer in what was almost annoyance. "You implying anything?" Had he been slightly drunker, and had this been someone else sitting across from him on the couch... But then again, who would have he been sitting with like this but Chris? Tilting his head, he narrowed his eyes at the other man, and saw the face of someone laughing in the way slightly drunk people do when they think something is funny, with excessive snorting. Chris gave Craig a broad grin, and Craig shook his head, letting it go.

"Naaaaah..." Chris said, the grin not slipping.

Not moving back; not moving from that place so close to Chris, Craig asked, in no particular tone of voice; "And the ladies flock to you then, is that it?"

"Like birds to a..." Chris paused, trying to think of an appropriate metaphor. He couldn't. But the one he had just used struck him as funny, which was almost as good. "...row of old women on a park bench!"

"Find side-partings and sock-suspenders irresistible, do they?" Craig was teasing now, finding jibes easier than anything else, almost falling into character as Lister. Rimmer and Lister, that was easy. Easier than Craig and Chris.

"Absolutely!" Chris laughed, rolling with it. "The H stands for horny, you know!"

"Right, and you bring 'em home with ya, do ya?" Home. Here. Where they were sitting. Those lips moving, those hands, gesturing now, touching.

Chris stopped chortling, suddenly. He swallowed and looked down. He did not, actually. Why not?

"Oh, come on, you've bound to have done it! Good looking man like yerself?" Good looking. So easy to say. Lips. Hands. Moving. God, he was horny.

Yes, he was, he was told. So why didn't he? Why did he try to drag his co-worker home when he wanted company? "Er, yeah," he said, in a talk-about-something-else voice.

Riding on a high of drunken machismo, Craig rambled on, thinking of those things, that man. "Good pad for bringing the ladies back to, this."

Chris leaned back, not sure what Craig meant. "Is it?"

Caught up in his own argument now, Craig grinned and almost danced in his seat. "Yeeeeeaaaah! Perfect, right? I mean, If I was..." Craig suddenly realized the verbal mess he had gotten himself into. He promptly shut up.

Chris tried to kill the discomfort in bravado. "Yes, lovely. Couch and bed, take your pick." He cringed as he listened to the words emerge from his mouth. Totally wrong. Craig had indeed taken his pick of the couch or the bed, many nights, and was this not what they were supposed to not be doing, now? Such an easy, simple thing to stop or start, so why was this coming up so awkwardly?

Craig laughed nervously again, for want of anything more sensible to do.

Chris grasped at conversational straws. "Yours?" They were turning out to be the hopeless bendy conversational straws.

"Um... Mine?" Craig was lost.

"Do you bring... oh, never mind." Chris drummed his fingers on his thighs, looking at his feet.

This was his chance to turn it around; say something manly and impressive, Craig thought. He opened his mouth, but what wanted to come out hardly fit the bill. He fumbled for something else. "Not that I don't like women. I mean..." he tasted foot in his mouth, feeling almost sick.

Chris snickered. If he liked women, why did he come to Chris's place so eagerly for...

Sound came out of Craig's mouth. "Hahaha.. ha." Not so much laugher as the words meant to represent them, hollow and patently false as could be.

Chris sucked his lower lip in. If he liked women, why did he drag Craig to his place so eagerly for...

At this point Craig realized that the shifting he had been doing on the couch had brought him rather close to Chris. He coughed, nervously, trying not to think of the fact that he could touch him if he just lowered his hand a little from the back of the couch. Just a little. His eyes darted from the hand to Chris and back, his mouth half-open.

Chris realized this too, and stood, abruptly. He needed to take a deep breath. Think things through. Reconnoiter. Find a good way to conclude the conversation and send Craig home. "Want a glass of water?"

"Oh. Er. Yes?" Craig replied, confusedly.

Chris turned on his toe, the action a bit much for the alcohol in his system, and had to steady himself before he walked into the kitchen. "Right, just a mo."

Craig watched him walk. He sat for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. He should probably leave. That would be the Right Thing, as far as he could figure out. It certainly would. Then again... He couldn't leave without saying goodbye, could he? People were always calling him on being rude, and he wouldn't want Chris to do the same. Certainly not now.

Chris pulled a glass out of the cabinet and stood for a moment, just holding it in his hand as it sat on the counter. What was wrong with him? He felt confused. Shivering cold. Too warm. Horny.

I should leave, Craig though. Definitely. Yes. His body stubbornly remained seated.

Chris started to fill the glass, slowly. He watched the water level rise.

Yes, he was certainly going to leave. He was just going into the kitchen, just for a short while, just to say goodbye. Craig walked with uneasy steps, his libido raging. He looked in the door.

Chris glanced up as he heard footsteps. Seeing Craig in the doorway, he shut off the water with a twitch.

The figure of Chris stood before him by the sink, glass in hand, looking... looking... Craig froze to the spot, forgetting why he was there.

Chris felt a strange, uncomfortable unrest. He needed to do something with hands. His mouth was dry. One action would solve both problems, he decided; he drank the water. The action turned out to be awkward, because he could not look away from Craig, the easy way he stood in the door contrasting oddly with the brightness in his eyes.

Chris's throat working as water glided down it. Chris's hand tilting the glass; god, those hands. Craig took a tentative step forward, his mouth half-open, his eyes on these wonders, drinking them in.

Chris's hand shook as he started to put the glass down. It slipped from his sweaty fingers, dropping into the sink with a clang. "Shit," he grated, not looking at it. He could not take his eyes from Craig. I'm not that drunk, he thought desperately. I should be able to think clearly. But lust and desire, oddly distinct, swirled in his mind, confusing his thoughts.

Craig started at the sound, but did not look away. He took a few more steps towards Chris, and bit his own lip. He should leave. That's what he came in to say. That's what he should. Should, should, should...

Chris gripped the faucet, its cold metal a welcome anchor as his thoughts whirled. Craig was walking up to him. Keeping those bright, big brown eyes on him. They had decided not to do this. A perfectly reasonable decision. Just mates. Yes. "Shit," he repeated, more quietly.

"I..." Craig swallowed. "I should..."

"Yes." You should turn and go. You should grin and make a silly joke. You should kiss me. You should pull my clothes off.

Craig's hand moved of its own accord, hovering between them, trying to reach towards Chris's torso. This was wrong. He wanted to do this right, but Chris was giving off mixed signals. What was right? He needed some sort of guidance.

Chris's lips tightened. Don't just hover, Craig. You're a big boy. Make your decision. Leave or... Chris grabbed Craig's hip. He did not pull; he just grabbed it, tightly. He could not make Craig do anything. He held the hip firmly in one hand, and the faucet in the other. Anchors, each one, of a very different sort.

Touch. A touch. OK, so touching was OK. Craig let his hand reach out and grab Chris's waist. He breathed heavily. Neither of them had done anything. They could still stop this, if that was what was expected, what was done in these situations. He could still leave.

Chris looked at Craig intently, his lips very tight, trying to read the man. What was this? What did Craig want? What did the man think he was, to Chris? Was he even thinking? Chris took short, shallow breaths through his nose, trying to stay still. His friend. He needed to do the right thing. For his friend. He squeezed Craig's hip and the faucet very hard.

Craig looked up, almost hurting from his lust. They'd agreed! Well, not in so many words, but in hints, allusions. Dammit Chris, he thought, just give me a hint! He noticed the hand gripping the faucet, frowning slightly. It looked painful. Trying to move it away, he put his own hand on top of Chris's, with a light smile.

Chris held on even tighter, hard enough to leave red marks, not budging. He still stared intently at Craig's face. What was this? A fallback? A change? Was Craig just drunk and horny? Would he hate this tomorrow? Would Chris? He could feel that he himself wasn't that drunk... but if he wasn't that drunk, why was he even contemplating this? Let alone aching with such deep-seated need? He breathed even faster, very shallow breaths. He felt dizzy.

The resistance worried Craig, but desire was taking over his thought processes. He opened his mouth to speak again, looking up, trying to read that almost-blank face. He tilted his head, just in case.

Chris opened his mouth to make a response, to spit out some of these thoughts that were whirling in his head. Only a croak came out. He licked his lips and started to move his hand on Craig's hip, feeling the warm, soft solidity of it.

Craig forgot what he was about to say. He groaned as his hip was kneaded, closing his eyes. He leaned against Chris, unconsciously. If Chris didn't want this, he'd better fucking say so soon, because a few seconds more of this, and Craig would decide for him.

Chris was panting, now, leaning his head downwards as if being pulled by someone else. He could feel what he wanted, and he was out of resistance. He could not do the right thing. He could not even figure out what the right thing was. He could only feel need and want, coursing through his body, their path lubricated slightly with alcohol.

The slight movement was all Craig needed now, and he lunged into the kiss hungrily. He'd have settled for far less, delirious with desire as he was.

Craig's lips on Chris's tore away what self-control he had left, the remnants that were moving him slowly. He gasped in what was almost pain, pushing his tongue into Craig's mouth. He felt his decision course through his body in a wave of sheer lust and sexual desire as he licked the inside of Craig's mouth, tasting mixed drinks and cigarettes and brash young man.

Craig's hands were all over Chris, fumbling to open his shirt, caressing every part of him, trying to do everything at once. He panted and groaned, feeling like an idiot, but that was no matter. Very little mattered beyond Chris's mouth, hands and body right now.

Chris was still holding Craig's hip and the faucet, sure he would fall if he let go. He kissed Craig with massive earnestness. Whatever this matey camaraderie was, he needed it, like food and drink and air. "God... oh god..." he moaned into Craig's mouth.

Actual words were impossible now, as Craig pushed against Chris, finally managing to get Chris's shirt open.

"Jesus, Craig..." The words spilled out almost independently of him, muffled by desperate kissing. He trembled with want, all else falling away from the lusty need that was burning a hot fire in his belly.

Craig pulled away to breathe, feeling a slight sting of shame. All he could think was that'd he'd failed some sort of test. They'd agreed!

Chris stepped forward to push his groin against Craig's stomach, not letting go of the hip or the faucet. Craig gasped, and Chris muttered, very quietly, "shit." He had screwed this one up, he was sure. They had agreed, and he wanted too much from his friend. But if he had screwed it up already, he might as well finish the job. He let go of the faucet and grabbed the back of Craig's head, rubbing his hand through the coarse hair as his lips hovered over Craig's, wanting to taste, panting, not sure if the earth would spin slightly differently and fling them off if he tried to kiss Craig without the bracing of his grip on the faucet.

Craig yelped at this and swallowed. He linked his hands behind Chris's back, sticking his tongue out in desperation, all want now.

Chris continued to knead Craig's hip with his other hand. He held the back of Craig's head firmly, solidly, breathing on Craig's outstretched tongue, needing it with a ferocity that he could not categorize.

Craig licked across Chris's lips, over his cheek, moving as far as Chris's grip would allow to lick the other man more. God, more! He wanted a never-ending ocean of more. He moved towards Chris's ear, pressing against him, in a lovely state of non-thinking.

Chris gasped incoherent profanities. Why did it feel like this? It was a tongue. He had felt tongues at various stages of drunkenness, lots of times. Some combination here was more intense than he had experienced before. He leaned forward to allow it better access.

Chris's ear-lobe closed in on Craig's eager mouth, or was it the other way around? Regardless, he grabbed it in his teeth, sampling it like a connoisseur.

"God..." Chris gasped, the sensation feeding the hot burn in his gut. "Oh god..."

Leaning forwards, Craig took a breather, and a hot, wet gasp of breath hit a spot just behind Chris's ear.

Chris's world shattered. This spot was somehow hot-wired to his groin, and it exploded in eager want at the touch of hot breath just there. "Oh god!" he spat out in a strangled voice. He trembled, grabbing Craig's hip more tightly, afraid he would lose his balance and fall, for years.

Craig couldn't help but notice this reaction, and frowned through the haze of lust he was in. He tried breathing on that spot again, experimentally, the anticipation of what might result turning him on further.

The sensation was renewed, and Chris's head spun. He clung tightly to Craig, panting hoarsely. "Ohsh... god.." he gasped, feeling one step away from an orgasm.

Thrilling at this new-found trick, Craig moved his hand to the front of Chris's trousers, and licked that magic spot, slowly and deliberately.

"Gh..." Chris groaned, lights dancing behind his eyes. He felt, more than saw, Craig's earlobe nearby, and bit it, changing his firm grip on Craig's head to a firm stroking. God, if he had a chance at making Craig feel half of what he was feeling now, it was only fair.

The bite was sharp, certainly painful, but Craig didn't care. He did yelp though, and moved away from the spot. Naughty Chris, he thought, no more fun for you... for a while. He cupped Chris's erection through his trousers and moved his hand a little, not enough to be a proper stroking. He was enjoying himself entirely too much to want this to end too quickly.

"Cr..." Chris gasped. He moved the hand that was holding Craig's hip around to the buttock. He tightened it, kneading the resilient flesh.

"Chris..." Craig mumbled, licking the underside of his chin, grazing stubble.

Chris moved his head back into position for a kiss. He felt want strangling him, filling him, leaving his body ready to explode. He had his tongue out and his lips spread before their lips even met. As Craig's lips touched his, he opened his mouth wider and wider, licking Craig's teeth, the inside of his cheek - want and need were one, now, sex and friendship and laughing jocularity outmoded concepts in the face of this tidal wave of everything.

Grunting, wanting to get at the insides, Craig tried to undo Chris's belt with one hand. Chris groaned in frustration, his mouth still open in the kiss. He ripped his own belt off, popping one beltloop in the process.

Craig's tongue caressed the insides of Chris's mouth. He laughed hoarsely at the undignified flight of Chris's belt, but welcomed the access it gave him.

Chris reached for Craig's pants, yanking. He was not laughing. Humor? Obsolete. No emotions were needed, now, except for the ones that raged in him with desire for this man.

Impatient, craving, Craig opened his own trousers, gasping.

Chris pulled his hand away as Craig opened his own trousers, and reached in after to grab Craig's erection. He held it tightly, such a solid and warm thing, a physical embodiment of the lust that was tearing at his insides.

The sought-after touch now finally on him felt so good that Craig lost his balance, starting to sway. He wanted to lie down; lie down on this kitchen floor and - yes, that was it, the words came unbidden, unanalyzed - make love to Chris forever.

Chris felt the sway and pulled with his hand at the back of Craig's head, staggering back into the counter. Anchor. They needed an anchor.

Craig moved closer to Chris, reaching into his now-open fly, stroking his erection through his underpants, enjoying the feel of cloth grinding against what was underneath.

Chris groaned into Craig's mouth. He loosened his grip, starting to push Craig's trousers and boxers down, still kissing the other man fiercely.

Nothing left within him now but incoherent noises, Craig’s knees grew weak. Floor, now. Chris on the floor, now. Making love. Those words should alarm him, part of him insisted, but he wasn't paying attention.

Chris felt his knees start to give, and he slid down the front of the counter towards the floor, not trusting himself to stand. He pushed Craig's pants to his knees as he slid down along with Chris.

Craig stuck his hand inside of Chris's underpants - not stroking, just keeping it there. Even this simple act turned him further on, impossibly. He felt like he was being fondled himself.

Chris slid to the ground, Craig on top. The linoleum felt startlingly cold against his back, even through his shirt. Either someone had sprayed his kitchen down with liquid nitrogen, or he was feverishly hot. He started to kick Craig's trousers off the rest of the way.

His trousers were coming off, Craig noted. Good. They'd just get in the way. And he was on the floor now, probably. Also good. He panted, very disoriented, his hand still inside Chris's underwear.

Chris bucked against Craig's motionless hand, unable to stand the tantalizing sensation, needing movement. "Fruchk..." he gasped into the kiss.

As Chris's penis began to move, Craig realized he should probably do something. Frankly, there were a lot of things he would like to do to that cock, but they were all blurry and vaguely defined in his mind. He settled for stroking, moving the foreskin up and down experimentally.

Chris gasped, twitching. This was what he needed, right then. Whatever this was. He grabbed Craig's erection, tightly, and moved his hand slightly, up and down, gently pinching the head between his thumb and forefinger. He continued to kiss Craig as deeply as humanly possible, trying to suck the other man into himself. This was too much for one person to take; he needed to be two.

Craig gritted his teeth every time Chris pulled back slightly for a breath, whining from between them. Chris prodded at the teeth with his tongue every time he completed a short, gasping breath, needing to be back in there. He bucked into Craig's hand, stroking the other man faster.

He was already at the brink, Craig noted to his dismay. He wanted to last longer, explore this wonderfulness as far as he could. There might not be more nights like this, not ever. And this was beyond amazing, much better than when they were blind drunk. He broke from the kiss, breathing into Chris's ear, close to that... interesting place. He wanted more, not knowing what. Chris would know though. "Just do whatever with me... Man. I..." The rest of that thought was lost in a moan.

This was too much, far too much. Chris felt like he was turned on past the ability to climax. He was certainly past the ability to speak. "God damn... agh," emerged from his throat. He threw his head back, registering vaguely that it had hit the linoleum with what should have been a painful thump. But everyday sensations were too weak to intrude on this intensity.

Hoping Chris had got the message, Craig kissed that spot for good measure, then moved away, pumping Chris's erection slowly, waiting for other possible instructions, wanting to last. He tried to think about algebra, which he had never fully understood.

Chris made strangled noises, bucking very hard. No, god, no teasing or playing now; he would explode. "Fuck, Craig, don't stop," he gasped, head rolling from side to side.

"All... right. Just..." Craig pumped harder, with a little bit of dismay. "I..." He tried to communicate desire for something more. Did he have to spell it out? He couldn't; he didn't know what he wanted in the first place. When there was no response from Chris other than to what Craig was doing to him physically, he knew he'd failed, and gave up.

Chris circled Craig's penis head with his forefinger, rubbing the precome over the head. He pulled the foreskin farther down and pumped, hard and fast, just as he so needed Craig to do to him right now, to end this sensual agony. His other hand slipped down from Craig's head, ending at the small of his back, under his shirt.

So, algebra. That was... How did you even spell algebra? Did it have an 'a' in it? What was an 'a'? He nearly cried; he was so close, now. His movements on Chris's erection became erratic, clumsy, but he kept at it, feeling a desperate desire to please.

"Don't... keep going..."

Craig managed a nod. "Just... Hard... Yer..." he breathed. "Driving me insane..."

Insane? Chris could not see his sanity from where he lay. He wondered if he would ever reclaim it. He desperately condensed his worldview to Craig's cock, doing to it what he needed, desperately, done to him, or he would - what? Pass out? Die? He moved his thumb over the tip, still spreading precome, while the rest of his hand pumped.

Craig came, suddenly, violently; he spasmed, grabbing Chris's erection as he did so. He held it, unmoving, his muscles no longer reacting to his commands. Presumably his brain was too preoccupied with the explosion of pleasure and joy surging through his being right now.

Chris still pumped Craig's erection, hard, like he wanted - needed - to be. As Craig stopped shivering, he let go, grabbing Craig's hand in his own sticky come-covered one, over the top of Chris's own erection. He tightened his grip so that Craig was holding his erection tightly, and started to move his hand.

"Chris... God..." Craig gasped. He tried to pump up and down, weakly, knowing he was doing this wrong, failing. But he was completely spent, there was hardly any energy left in him.

Chris finally felt that his orgasm was coming. He gasped, raising his head. Craig was blurry. Everything was blurry. He prodded what he hoped was Craig's mouth with his tongue, trying to kiss. He held Craig's hand tight around his own erection, moving it faster and faster.

Craig grabbed Chris's buttocks with his free hand, determined to see this through. He kissed Chris fiercely, moaning into his mouth. He felt like he was still riding an orgasm. Maybe it was Chris's orgasm, but that shouldn't be possible. Then again, what they were doing shouldn't be happening, should it?

Chris came, and all sensation other than orgasm disappeared for a moment; the cool linoleum under him, the warm man atop him, the warm stickiness in his palm, the heady nicotine mouth around his tongue. He shuddered and bucked, gasping hoarse, almost painful pants. Sensation returned with a crash, and he squeezed Craig desperately with the hand that was on his back.

The aftershock of Craig's own orgasm shivered along with Chris's. He gave a strangled gasp, Chris's face the only thing on his mind - "So beautiful."

Chris's head slipped back onto the floor as he panted like a nearly-drowned man. His eyes were shut. He was riding the tail-end of a good minute of absolute, mind-pummeling ecstasy. "Oh h..." he gasped. He let his trembling hand relax, and both Craig's hand and his own now-limp penis slid out as it fell to the floor.

The orgasmic joy gone now, Craig felt fear and shame seep into him. He wondered uncertainly if he should apologize. He'd forced this through, after all; Chris had resisted, tried to stop it. He concentrated on breathing, instead. His hand was messy, feeling numb, and he regarded it, not knowing what to make of it. He looked at Chris; beautiful, gorgeous Chris! He wanted to touch that sweaty face, but knew, somehow, that it would be wrong to do so. It dawned on him for the first time that what he felt for the other man might not be what Chris felt for him. Oh God, was he some sort of sick pervert? Here they were, just doing normal guy things, and Craig was getting it all wrong. He wasn't supposed to feel this way, he was sure of it!

Chris gasped a little more slowly as he rejoined reality. He opened his eyes and blinked; the world came back into focus. The situation came back into focus. He was lying on his kitchen floor, his trousers bunched around his knees, his best mate atop him. He patted Craig awkwardly on the leg with his clean hand, and for lack of anything else to do with it, let it fall to the ground.

The touch felt warm and comforting; it relaxed Craig somewhat. He caressed Chris's shoulder and back - but then moved his hand away, self-consciously. Still too sappy. Chris wouldn't like that.

"God, we're a mess," Chris sighed. He felt sweat and come congealing on him, sticking between him and Craig.

Yes, a mess. That could refer to a lot of things. "Yuh..." He tried to get up, but his whole body was shaking.

Chris held up his slimy hand, looking at it for a moment. He wiped it on his own shirt, leaving wet streaks of both of their come.

Something indefinable happened in Craig's chest as he saw this. Those odd feelings again. He pulled his legs to him. Wanting comfort, wanting to be told that what he felt was OK; that what they’d done was OK. Some sort of support; anything.

The shirt-wipe had not removed the sticky residue in the small webbing at the base of Chris's fingers, and he unconsciously sucked at it, as one does with trickily placed food grease. At the salty taste, he realized what he was doing, and wiped his hand on his shirt again. Jesus, what was this? He tried to get up.

Craig tried to get up again without leaning on Chris. He was fairly sure that would be wrong too. His heart was breaking - he did not know why. He really needed a hug, he thought, finding the thought absurd.

Chris paused halfway up, not sure if he should pull his pants all of the way down or pull them back up. Both options felt wrong. One, too cold, the other, too crass. But they certainly could not stay bunched around his knees like that.

Facing away from Chris, not trusting his face, Craig pulled his boxers and trousers on. He leaned one hand on the counter, straightening his back to look his tallest. The idea of Chris's extra inches were not helpful to his self-esteem at this point.

Chris watched that action, so hard on the heels of his own dithering, and shivered. He touched Craig's calf, wanting to bridge the cold between them... no. Silly teenage-level sentimentality. He let his hand drop.

Craig started when something touched his leg, but relaxed when he realized it had to be Chris. Oh right. He looked down and offered Chris his hand, doing his best to make the gesture seem friendly and inoffensive.

Chris's lip quirked at the absurd gratitude he felt for the gesture. He grabbed his trousers in one hand, Craig's hand in the other. He did a simultaneous rise and re-trousering that might have been halfway graceful if he had been sober. As it was, it was a staggering fiasco that almost resulted in both him and the trousers falling again. Miraculously, both stayed up.

Craig's chest hurt as he watched this display. Maybe he was coming down with something.

Chris's eyes kept flicking between Craig's lips and eyes as he refastened his trousers. Cold, those eyes; such a far cry from the brilliance they had shown before they... ended up on the floor. His trousers ended up rather sloppily refastened; his belt was undone and his shirt hung out over the top, untucked.

Why was Chris watching his face? What was he looking for; what was missing? Overcome by a sense of loss, Craig's lips began to quiver. He'd messed up; he knew it, but he didn't know how to fix this. Would he be thrown out? Never get to feel this again? God, how he wanted to feel like that again; he could learn, he'd do whatever Chris said, just for one more night. Just one!

Chris noticed the quivering, and was startled at how protective he felt. "You... ok?" he asked, hoarsely. He sounded like he had been eating glass. He wanted to hurt whoever had made that brilliance disappear from Craig's eyes, whoever had made his lips quiver like that. Only - it was him, wasn't it?

"I'm... fine." Concise. To the point. He didn't trust himself to show emotion, it would probably be the wrong one.

"Yes..."

"Fine," Craig repeated, more quietly, taking in the blank face, the almost sober eyes, the subdued body-language. It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown at him, and he did his best to emulate them.

Chris nodded. He knew how vapid words like 'fine' and 'good' were. They are words one uses when things were not right, and you just did not want to talk about it. "Good," he replied.

"I'll..." the lost look was still on his face, but hope was wrestling with it, "leave, then." Maybe he hadn't been as bad as all that. Maybe he'd get to stay.

It would be unconscionably rude for Chris to toss him out, even if it hadn't been for - what had been. This, at least, he was certain about. "You can..." Chris waved. He did not want it to sound like a come-on. "Er, I mean, it's late..."

Craig nodded. He wanted to sleep next to Chris, in a bed, holding him. But he could not ask for that outright, he'd learned that much. Certainly, the first thing Chris would do when he woke up after a night like this was to slip out of bed when he thought Craig was still asleep, and get into the shower as soon as possible. Sleeping together was something to be tolerated, not enjoyed. But Craig did enjoy it, and he needed it. Had he earned it tonight?

"I wouldn't be much of a friend if I," Chris swallowed, "didn't offer you a place to stay." He held his trousers up with one hand, not sure if they'd stay up by themselves in their current state.

Craig nodded again, hugging himself. "I'm a little..." his eyes flickered around the room. "Cold."

That protective instinct bubbled up from inside Chris again. He whipped his shirt off and put it around Craig's shoulders, cringing somewhat and hoping Craig wouldn’t notice the sticky come trails on one side of the chest.

The gesture warmed Craig far more than the cloth. "Thanks man," he said with a grin that was too sweet for Chris to take right now. He nodded, bit his lip, and looked away.

Too tired to figure out the right way to ask permission to sleep in the bed right now, Craig hobbled towards the couch. Chris would stop him if he didn't like it, he supposed.

Chris swallowed again as he watched Craig walk away, knowing he had sweat and saliva and come on his belly and hand and... who knows where else. "Take a shower, why don't you..." He waved towards the shower in his bedroom, leaning against the door to the kitchen.

Craig looked around, a little scared. "Oh... Right." He simply followed the command; this was probably the way it was supposed to be then. Fair enough. He felt fine. Really. Fine.

Chris watched Craig go, rubbing his still-messy hands together.

The door seemed to be stubborn both in getting open and closing correctly, but Craig finally managed it. Things seemed to be slightly out of focus, and his throat was hurting in odd ways.

As soon as the door closed, Chris walked back to the sink, washing his face and hands. He felt very crusty and sticky. He looked at the floor and shivered. The impact of what had happened was percolating through him. Such a small, meaningless thing between them - so why had he folded? So hard? And dear lord, what had Craig done to him? Even the memory of what his breath and tongue had done was making Chris shudder with a vague, horny ache.

Craig started the shower running, thinking of nothing. The tiles were green, he noted. Green tiles. He tested the water, thinking of nothing but water and temperature, and the sensations on his skin. Only when he got under the stream, feeling the water on his face, did he start to cry, uncontrollably.

Chris slipped into the bedroom. He undressed, folded his clothes neatly, and put them into the hamper. He lay in bed, wide awake, listening to water, trying not to imagine Craig wet and naked under the stream, because the thought of your best mate showering shouldn't turn you on, should it?

There were no thoughts, only undefined hurt in Craig's mind as he hugged himself under the stream, trying to make as little noise as possible. He washed as best he could, quickly, trying to gain control. He sniffled a little as he turned off the water.

Chris tensed slightly as he heard the water stop. He closed his eyes, not sure what to do when Craig emerged.

Feeling wet, sad and cold, Craig looked around for a towel, having no idea what was expected of him. He finally noticed a towel labeled 'guests' hanging folded on a rack, and grabbed it, drying off as best he could, then wrapping it around himself. He opened the door, tentatively. If Chris was waiting to slap him in the face, he wouldn't have been surprised. On the other hand, he wouldn't have been surprised if he waited outside with a kiss, either. It was frustrating, and not a little tiring.

Chris opened his eyes and saw Craig standing there, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of city light that filtered through the window. He wanted Craig to just come join him, but it would be wrong to pat the bed coquettishly, as he did for the ladies who emerged uncertainly from his bathroom after a shower. It would be rude to just lie there and not offer, though.

The bed look soft and inviting, but Chris didn't. Craig wanted to join him, he really did, but instead he just stood there. He hated being so indecisive; it wasn't who he normally was at all. He resented that Chris could reduce him to this state, and yet he couldn't get enough of the man.

Chris settled for shifting to the side of the bed from the center, hoping that would communicate well enough.

Craig found something strong inside himself, and leapt while he still had a hold on it. "Chris..."

Chris raised his eyebrows, looking up at Craig's unreadable face. He couldn't tell what was coming. A yell, a fight, a comment on the weather or on next week's script.

"Can I..." Craig moved towards the bed, unable to be more articulate or precise. Fuck it, the man made him feel about twelve years old.

Chris nodded, relief choking his throat.

Into the hamper went the towel, because he'd thrown a shirt on the floor once and still remembered the look of dismay on Chris's face. He realized too late that it left him naked, but no matter. Needing sleep almost as badly as he'd needed Chris earlier, he clambered quickly into the bed.

Chris relaxed slightly as soon as Craig was in bed, lying quietly. All was stable, now, and reasonably content. He put off thinking about earlier in the evening until later. This was now, and it was - good. He drifted off to sleep.

Craig waited until he was sure Chris was asleep, then snuggled up next to him. He did not want to fall asleep; he just felt Chris's breathing, and tried not to think. That lasted for about three minutes, though. This felt so good; so right. Why couldn't it be like this, always? Granted, Craig wasn't an expert on... whatever it was that was going on between them, but something that felt this good couldn't be bad. It's not like they were gay. Craig loved women with a passion, and he'd never been attracted to men, so he knew he wasn't gay. He didn't think Chris was, either; he'd been married, after all. You couldn't be gay if you were married!

So they weren't gay, but there was this between them. Why did they have to hide it, then? Why didn't Chris just ask Craig to come home with him without making up all this pretense of needing to be walked home from the pub? They certainly hadn't been that drunk tonight. Craig felt very strongly that Chris knew what he was doing, but right now another feeling was waking in him, a voice telling him to consider what was happening, and look at it in a different light. He thought it might be his self-respect. Why does he act so cold after sex, it asked him. Why does he try to hide this, deny it exists? If he has feelings for you, if he respects you, why doesn't he show it, except when he's got his hands down your pants? Craig shoved the thoughts away angrily, and buried his face in the pillow, smelling Chris's shampoo, the now messy hair close enough to tickle his nose. Go away, he willed, this feels good; I'm feeling good; go away.

But the anger lingered.


Oroborus

Chris woke at some indeterminate hour. It smelled very early in the morning, and it was still dark outside. He tried to swallow, and immediately knew what had woken him up. No saliva came out to swallow; his mouth was very dry, and there was an almost agonizingly bitter taste on his tongue. Well, he thought ruefully, he never had gone to sleep with come in his mouth before, after all. He looked down; he had turned over, in the night, and now lay on his side, a dark arm draped over his chest. He tried to turn his head without moving his body, but could not turn it far enough to see the man behind him. Delightful though this was, he thought as he tried to swallow again and failed, there were definitely some logistics to be worked out. He raised the hand that was draped over him, gently, and slid out from under it, putting it carefully back on the bed to avoid waking Craig. His face was relaxed to expressionlessness in repose, and looked somewhat silly. Chris was seized with an absurdly strong desire to kiss it, but doubted Craig would appreciate being woken up that early in the morning. He felt his way out of the bedroom and headed to the kitchen.

It was almost eerie, how easily Chris made it to the kitchen and shuffled through the cabinets for a glass. He had never been here before, after all. But as he felt his way through the dishes and found a tumbler that would do, he realized why the place felt so oddly familiar. It was a soulless, cookie-cutter flat, and was identical in layout to the soulless, cookie-cutter flat he himself had lived in back in the early days of the series. Back in the days when they had first started with their manic fumblings and manic misunderstandings. Chris turned on the tap and sighed as he watched the water level rise in the dim city light that filtered through the windows, thinking of all of the magnificently stupid and heartless things he had said and done back then. He felt an odd clashing of shame and lust - after all, those had been rather magnificent fumbling sessions, for what they were, and it was during just one such - in the cookie-cutter kitchen, actually - when Craig had found he had a physical on switch. Chris shivered with the memory as he shut off the tap.


The bedroom was still unfamiliar, but the scent surrounding him like a blanket of safety and warmth was not, and Craig smiled in his state of half-sleep. He reached out to draw the warm body he knew would be next to him into an embrace, but his fumbling hand found nothing but air. He opened his eyes, frowning. Empty. It was far too early for his brain to be functioning properly, but some thoughts came straight from the heart. Gone, it told him. Chris is gone. He closed his eyes again and lay back, the memories of far, far too many early mornings like this flooding, unwelcome, into his mind.

Chris was gone.

Pressing his head back against the pillows, Craig tried to will himself into stopping this destructive train of thought. He tried to remember last night - the closeness between them, conflicts resolved, finally being together, really together - but that safe, warm feeling he had woken up to was gone. There had just been too many times like these, filled with uncertainty, confusion and vague shame, for that one happy moment to balance it out. Still, it was stupid and melodramatic, and he hated the fact that he felt this way almost as much as he resented the gushing relief that flooded him when he heard faint noises in the kitchen.

When did his moods become so utterly dependent on this man? Could he remember ever feeling otherwise? Sighing, he pushed the covers aside, and felt his way to the kitchen in the near-darkness.


Chris heard a shuffling noise after he shut off the tap. He looked up and saw Craig standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at him. Almost as if pondering the past will bring it back to life, Chris thought, thinking of a night almost a decade ago, eerily similar to this one.

And there it was; a tableau straight from ancient memory, which now presented itself in his mind as easily as would a script or the lyrics to a well-loved song. Then, as now, Craig was frozen to the spot, but unlike then, Chris was smiling at him, gently. Strange, Craig pondered, that such a small thing could matter so much. He returned the smile, love and sadness mixing equally in his face. He sauntered closer, hesitantly. This was downright odd.

Chris wanted to say - something. Something affectionate, something kind, something apropos to the sight of someone he loved silhouetted in a doorframe. His throat was not working, the bitterness and drought unchanged from when he woke up. He drank the water in his hand, an odd sense settling over him - not deja-vu, the sense of a recurring event that that cannot be changed, but almost - a redemption. A chance to relive the past with lessons learned, and get it right. Or at least less wrong.

Craig kept his eyes on Chris's as he moved closer. "You were grabbing the faucet. I couldn't get your hand off it," he said, gently, the scene resolving in his mind like long-forgotten stage directions. "I remember it scared me a little."

"I couldn't," Chris replied, his voice still rough. He cleared his throat. "I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Dropped the glass." It felt not like an exposition, but a confessional.

And there the glass was now, Craig noted, still in his hand. Chris did not look at it, fumbling it to the counter, his eyes preoccupied entirely with Craig. He felt a ludicrous surge of triumph. Such a small thing to do right. But to do anything right in his sharings with Craig seemed a miracle.

"God, we was crazy in them days," Craig said, his voice still uncharacteristically gentle.

"Well, yes." Chris sighed. Absolutely nutters. Crazy to throw this away, and even crazier to have it come back. Like some ridiculous, divine boomerang. Craig licked his lips, and some playful warmth spread through Chris at that unconscious gesture. He smiled, broadly, and a line from their recent shoot sprang unbidden to mind. "Morning!" he chirped, in Rimmer's ludicrously nasal voice.

The sudden impact of Rimmer, here, in this place, this situation, grabbed Craig's mind and turned it upside down. He giggled and choked, bent over double, his shoulders shaking.

A bit of worry worked its way into Chris's playfulness. "You okay?" he asked, touching Craig on the shoulder.

Craig looked up, his eyes shining. Okay? He was well beyond "okay," and out the other side. "You are something else, man," he said, staring into Chris's multi-colored eyes, trying to pick out all the different shades, getting lost in them. Who else would do something like that? Say something like that? "Something else."

"I am what I am," Chris replied. He had not taken his hand off of Craig's shoulder. It felt so real, in this odd small-hours darkened kitchen, where the present and the past were swirling together almost sickeningly.

And thank god for that, Craig though, that feeling of warmth and safety slowly returning. Without thinking much about it, he brought a hand up to stroke Chris's cheek.

Chris closed his eyes and leaned into that hand. Such a small gesture, but one that implied trust, closeness, giving, and he accepted them all, eagerly. This, then, might finally be the anchor he had been searching for, all of those years ago. He breathed the sigh of a very large weight being removed from his shoulders.

"This isn't going to go away, is it?" Craig asked, only half in jest. He wasn't quite sure if the question was stupid or if he was.

"Your hand, the water, or the kitchen?" Chris murmured. "None, in the immediate future, I hope."

"This, man," Craig said, seriously, stroking Chris's cheek. It felt nonsensical to question it, after last night, but this wasn't about sense.

Chris opened his eyes and looked very steadily at Craig. No, this was not something he should be joking about. "I'm not going anywhere," he replied, and then reconsidered that answer. He did not deserve to take any of this for granted, at this point. "Unless you tell me to."

Now those were nonsensical words if ever Craig had heard them. He ran his hand down side of Chris's neck to his shoulder. "Now why would I do that, eh?"

Chris took Craig's hip in his hand, feeling the solidity of the other man "I don't know. I hope I never find out." He rubbed the hip, gently.

The pressure on Craig's hip made him look down, and he smiled a little. This, too, was familiar, giving rise to a certain emotional ambivalence. But Chris took the smile as a sign, and pulled on Craig's hip - again, gently. Not a command or an imperative. An invitation, easily resisted. The absurdity of it all, the closeness of Chris, the impact of recent memories, sensory input and long-ago blurring together, prodded Craig's brain, making him feel almost high. High and horny. He looked up at Chris's face, tilting his head, remembering what lurked behind the man's left ear; what would happen if he edged just a little bit closer, stuck out his tongue, and licked, slowly... There was just no way for him to even pretend to be serious any more. Laughter and mischievousness threatened to burst through his ears, mouth, nose, tear-ducts, even his pores. He went along with the pull, giddy with anticipation.

Chris closed his eyes, trying to enhance all of his other senses. He had looked at Craig enough. Too much. He had looked without touching for years. Touch and taste and smell demanded their fair share. He planted his lips very firmly on Craig's. He tried to project sincerity into that kiss, not sexuality. This was not about what he wanted, carnally, right then and there. This was about all he had not done, all he owed, all he wanted above and beyond.

Chris's lips touched his, and just like that, everything else stopped. Thoughts, memories, other sensations; they were all unimportant. Hardly existed at all. Craig felt like a stretch of particularly parched farmland where nothing had grown for years, suddenly drenched in sweet, healing rain. This was everything; everything he'd wanted, everything he'd longed for. And it was real; surrounding him, making him whole.

Chris pulled back slightly, not opening his eyes; he felt Craig's proximity, the subtle thrum of his heart, the warmth of his body, the huff of his breath, the smell of cigarettes and soap. "It's about... all of it," he murmured. "All of you. I want all of you."

Craig gave a laugh of relief - short, staccato. His eyes were becoming blurry. Probably because of the rain, he thought, incoherently.

"I don't want to screw you tonight and walk away tomorrow," Chris sighed. He did not know why he was spitting all of this out. But the words were sitting in his brain, tapping their feet impatiently, and he had to let them go.

"You don't know..." Craig choked. Oh, but to throw those words back in time to his stupid young self; make him see what Craig saw now. "All this time. That was all I wanted to know." And he did know now. Somehow, hearing the actual words was more powerful than anything Chris had done and would (more of this, yes god, more of this) do to him; even anything he could do to him. Knowing was essential. He hadn't known how much he'd needed this.

Chris leaned forward. He did not have to open his eyes to know where Craig was, to touch his forehead to the other man's. "Good..." he sighed. That had felt almost cathartic. He had worried that Craig would find it sappy, silly, unnecessary. That he had come out to screw and not talk. Then - it suddenly hit him. Craig had not known. Not until just now, when he had said it. He spun the past through his brain on fastwind. Had he truly been so dense? Had he actually never just - said that?

Craig made a sound that was half a sob, half a laugh. Chris let loose a burst of laughter that was devoid of amusement. The laughter that you give when the joke is on you, and the universe is the prankster. "You mean... that's all I had to say?" He gave a very heavy sigh.

Craig sniffed a little, feeling silly. "Yeah." He looked up. "Of course. I just needed to know you weren't just... just..." He sighed. No use dragging that up again.

Chris opened his eyes. "Bit stupid of me not to say it, then." Understatement of the fecking century, Chris, he thought. You truly were an idiot. He bit his bottom lip.

It doesn't matter, Craig thought. None of that matters now. He brushed his lips softly against Chris's. "Nah, man. I did some stupid things myself." He regretted the words the minute they left his mouth. Yeah, good going; remind him of the biggest fecking mistake of yer life. Point out to him that he has all the rights in the world to just slap your face and leave you here, and no one would think ill of him for it. Still, Chris had said he wanted all of him, and this was part of that. A test. It made his knees hurt.

Chris let go of his lip as Craig kissed it. "I still reserve the right to feel very stupid," he replied, almost officiously. This kindness, in the face of all he had done - and more importantly, all he had not done - was almost too much to take.

Craig shook his head as the kiss was broken. Forgiveness was a miracle, but it certainly didn't make sense. "I can't believe you still love me after what I did to ya." It was his turn to bite his lip, moving closer into Chris's embrace, relishing the fact that he was welcome there.

"Well, you had a certain amount of provocation," Chris confessed. He considered it more. He thought about the man standing so close to him, his face, his smile, his flip attitude, the boundless way he loved, the boundless way he hated. "But quite frankly, I don't think I can help it," Chris confessed. He slid his hip hand to the small of Craig's back and his shoulder hand to the back of Craig's neck, pulling the other man close enough to touch him all of the way down his body, front-to-front. Warm, solid, soft, divine. He started to rub that strong, stiff back.

Craig sighed. "I can't, either." He couldn't help the way he was, couldn't help loving Chris. Just facts.

Chris nuzzled Craig's wiry hair. "Good," he replied, his voice muffled from the hair. Craig spat out another short laugh, and kissed Chris's neck. It was faintly salty, making him want more, like a savory snack. Well, he was delicious.

Chris smiled at the feel of lips, and could not help thinking of another facet of that embarrassing, but deliriously heady, segment of their lives. "How did you know to do.. that... thing... there?"

Craig chuckled. Chris sounded so serious. "I didn't. Just happened, as these things do." How did Chris think he'd known; that he'd taken a class in the erogenous zones of Chris Barrie? Not that that wouldn't have been interesting. He looked up at Chris's ear, remembering how much fun that had been. If he could tie the man up and just play with that spot until he came, again and again, he would.

"Good. I was wondering if I had a sign there, or something." It was rather disturbing to think that he had such a vulnerability hanging out for all the world to use. But as long as the knowledge was confined to Craig - well, he could live with that. And rather enjoy it. He started to rub higher and lower, broadening his stroke to move from Craig's upper back to his buttocks.

I don't need a sign to find it now, Craig thought, licking his lips. Its co-ordinates were etched into his mind, and Craig didn't forget things easily. "Well, it does say 'warning, high explosives.'"

"Does it, now?" Chris asked with a small chuckle. "You usually play with high explosives?"

Craig kissed his neck, slightly higher up now, giggling as he felt the other man shiver.

"You're an," Chris gasped as he felt hot breaths moving up his neck, "...intrepid man." He grabbed Craig's buttock and started to knead it. It was only fair.

"I'd do anything to you," Craig groaned at the touch.

"Really..." Chris asked, as Craig continued to kiss higher and higher, "would you listen to a three-hour tirade on V-twins versus inline fours on motorbikes?" His blasé attitude would have worked better, he decided, if his voice had not been quavering with anticipation.

"Maybe..." Craig teased, knowing his breath would be welcome no matter what words accompanied it, in a very short while.

"Maybe?"

Craig licked where he kissed, skirting the edge of that magic area. "Yeah..." he mumbled.

Chris was kneading the buttock in his hand a bit more firmly, now, as he rubbed the back of Craig's neck. "I don't know if I can quite go with 'maybe,' you know." The lust in his voice utterly belied his words.

Noticing the tone, Craig kept licking along the edges, enjoying himself far too much. "That so?"

Chris was horribly turned on, unconsciously rubbing his body up and down against Craig's. "No," he sighed, "definitely not."

Craig's tongue flicked in and out of that spot, quick as a flash, thrilling as he felt Chris shudder. "Really?"

"Definitely not," Chris panted.

Of course not, Craig chuckled to himself. That's why you just tried to tear my butt-cheek off. He leaned his face into the nape of Chris's neck and laughed out loud; he just could not seem to stop doing that. He leaned back, looking into Chris's eyes. He knew he looked like cheekiness on legs, and he relished it.

Chris sighed with want. Cheeky, brash, cheerful; everything he loved about this man, wrapped into one - oh god - naked package in front of him. He opened his mouth and leaned down.

Leaning up just a little, but not enough to meet Chris's lips, an idea started forming in Craig's mind, irresistibly. He could say this now; the wonder of it! "You know, there's something else I've always wanted."

Chris paused. "What?" Nervousness made its way through his horniness and coughed politely. This was not settled, by any means. There were still so many ways to screw it up.

Craig got his face as close as he could to Chris's without actually kissing, his tongue skirting his own lips flirtatiously. "For you to tell me what you want me to do to you," he said in a husky voice, dripping with... everything.

Chris breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into fast-paced panting. This was easy. He had dreamed about what he wanted Craig to do to him, over and over. He had fantasized about it in vivid detail while stroking himself in bed at night, for years. "I want you to kiss me until I can't think straight," he whispered. "I want you to do - whatever that thing is you do with my ear. I want you to rub my back while you're tonguing it."

"Mmm... yes!" If just hearing about it made him thrill like this, Craig mused, what would the actions themselves be like? He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, biting his lip. He murmured senseless sounds. This was turning him incredibly on, more than he'd like to admit to himself.

Next? Oh, yes, the discovery of last night merited a repeat. "I want you to let me suck you dry... Then, I want to..." Chris fumbled, there. He could not ask that. He had not even imagined it all that vividly, somehow wary of delving into the mechanics of it - he did not know why.

The hesitation was lost on Craig. He gasped out, "God, yes..." Unable to wait any longer, he grabbed the back of Chris's head, and pulled him into the most mind-blowing kiss he could manage, feeding the fire that was spreading through him, and somehow seemed to spill over into Chris too.

Chris opened his mouth wide, welcoming Craig's tongue, pulling Craig's body tightly to him. He kissed him ferociously, running the neck hand down to Craig's back, now, and moving the buttock hand to the other buttock, still kneading. They were impossibly close, but he needed to be closer.

Raising both hands to either side of Chris's face, Craig used his tongue to explore every part of his mouth. He broke the kiss for a moment, kissed Chris's lips, licked them, then delved in deeper, deeper, pulling Chris so close he was afraid of hurting him.

Chris mumbled "Craig.." into the other man's mouth. He ran his hands up and down Craig's back, feeling, kneading, rubbing.

Aware of nothing but the two of them, Craig whimpered, moaned into Chris's mouth, grinding his groin against whichever part of Chris was available. One hand moved from the back of Chris's head down his back, very slowly, following those irresistible instructions.

Chris felt like he was trying to pull Craig into himself. He opened his mouth wide, spread his legs slightly, and held Craig tightly, too tightly, but still feeling that it was not yet enough. He did not realize he needed to breathe until Craig broke the kiss, looking up as he did so, radiating love. Chris's head swam as he gasped for air. "I missed you," he panted. How banal that sounded. You missed buses and trains. You did not miss food and water and air and Craig.

Putting small kisses on Chris's lips, moving up his jawline, Craig mumbled "God, yes; you don't know how much," further kisses, closer still to that place of euphoria, "I missed you."

Chris's right hand moved to Craig's cheek, touching it gently as Craig kissed his way along Chris's face. Chris felt the skin, the muscles, the lines, wanting to remember this.

"Seeing you..." Craig sighed, flicking out a small lick. "Wanting you..." He took a deep breath, remembering, grimly. "Not doing anything..."

Chris gave a shuddering sigh. The words and the acts were sultry enough in and of themselves. Together - well, he was as erect as one can get and still have nominal blood for the rest of the body. "I was doing something," he gasped. "Thinking of you every night." He moved the hand that was on Craig's back down further, and put his head in the join of the other man's neck and shoulder, breathing in his sweaty scent. "Trying to bring back what you did to me. Never did." His words were muffled by Craig's skin. He tried to drive tedious nights punctuated by unsatisfying masturbation out of his head.

"You were always in my mind, always." Craig kissed his ear, then nibbled at his ear-lobe, delaying what was to come with glee.

Chris licked at the skin near his mouth, then nibbled and sucked its saltiness. He wanted to leave marks. He wanted to know this was not a dream.

Enough was enough, Craig decided. He began stroking Chris's back with strong, gentle motions, as he slowly moved his lips up to that spot and just breeeathed...

Chris shuddered, all else forgotten, and muffled a profanity into Craig's shoulder. As Craig kept breathing, blowing, rubbing, Chris had to work at drawing in shuddering breaths.

Craig stuck his tongue out and licked that spot, slowly, feeling like he was sampling some exotic, delicious dish. And oh, the reactions he got... Chris was rubbing very hard against him now, moaning in such a high-pitched tone that it was almost a wail, but Craig took his time, feeling in no particular rush. The more noise Chris made, the more he thrashed, the more agonizingly slowly and steadily Craig went.

Chris could not take much more. "Sh... Craig... you'll..." Breathe, he reminded himself desperately. "Be the death of me."

"Hah..." Craig replied, throatily. Not likely. Like he'd let Chris die now, after all this. He licked harder.

Chris took a large chunk of shoulder in his mouth and sucked on it, hoping to stay - sane, upright, on the same planet. This was too much to take standing up.

Overwhelmed by what he was able to do such simple motions, overcome by what this all meant, Craig rubbed his nose against the back of Chris's ear, pressing his face close to that spot. "You're gorgeous... delicious," he moaned, somewhat delirious.

Chris spat out the shoulder. "Bed," he gasped. "I have to..." He cut that sentence short. If he was going to have to stand there and explain what he was going to do to Craig, he would never get around to doing it. "Do you," he finished, desperate.

"God, yes," Craig whimpered. "Please."

Chris pulled back at that, and saw Craig - flushed, fevered, glassy-eyed, panting, erect. He was undone, and could only stand there, amazed, chest constricting, almost unable to breathe.

Lust - crazed, desperate lust - surged through Craig as cool air hit his cock. He'd been too preoccupied with pleasuring Chris to notice. Now, though, it was impossible to do anything but give in to it. He pulled Chris to him and kissed him again, pulling him backwards into the bedroom.

Chris tried not to trip or stumble or fall. It was not simple, as he was otherwise occupied licking the inside of Craig's cheeks and running his tongue along the edges of his teeth, savoring the taste and the feel. Yes. That took far too much attention.

"Please," Craig said around Chris's mouth, gasping for air, and something that would release him from this want which was almost pain.

Chris pushed Craig backwards onto the bed. Craig fell, unable to think, his legs dangling over the side. That would not do. Chris pushed him farther back, all of the way onto the bed. He got onto his hands and knees, straddling Craig, in an agony of indecision as to what to do first. Craig's throat was exposed, and a sheen of sweat covered it; Chris licked that off, tasting sweat and horniness. Craig threw his head back and moaned. Eager for more of that taste, more of that response, Chris bit and licked at Craig's chest, sucking at spots. God, this was a meal set before a man who had been starving for years, and Chris's self-control was abandoned somewhere off on the floor with his clothes of the night before. He could feel Craig shivering under him, and this fed a need in him he did not even know he had. He ran his hands down Craig's sides, stroking, almost tickling, as Craig gasped out, "Good..." But it was not enough. Chris grasped Craig's erection, still licking his chest.

No, this was too much; the human brain was not made for this, surely. Craig managed to find Chris's head and ran his hands through the other man's hair. Or, rather, tried to; he almost died as a strong, long-fingered hand grasped his erection and moved, so slightly, on it. It was amazing, but also slightly terrifying; like being strapped into a roller-coaster against your will.

Chris slid his hand down to cup the soft skin of Craig's testicles. He licked and sucked to the other man's stomach, the erection bumping his chin. He had tasted it for the first time just a few hours before, but he wanted to experience that sensation again - the flavor, the shape, the noises Craig made as he sucked it, the intensity of the orgasm that was almost his, as well. He played a little with the feeling of his licking jaw motion rubbing the erection with the underside of his chin.

He couldn't handle this, Craig thought, completely lost. He'd taken this too far; there was too much to feel, too much to sense. Pleasure was turning into pain, the line between them rubbing out in his confused mind. He felt tears swelling up in his eyes, a thickness in his throat.

Chris licked at the join Craig's hip and torso, rubbing the erection with his cheek. He looked up, his cheek pushing gently against the erection, and the breathless, sweaty face above almost broke his heart. "You are gorgeous," he gasped, breathily. It was a statement of fact. The sky was blue, gravity pulled things down, Craig was gorgeous.

Craig closed his eyes. He heard... something... but this was all too, too much! The hand that was not stroking Chris's hair wiped his own brow. He was definitely starting to cry.

Chris nuzzled Craig's erection with his lips, pushing on the foreskin to lap at the head. He pulled back slightly and licked it with long, slow strokes, gently rubbing the testicles, thrilling at the feel of his lover - lord, yes - shaking as he did that. He breathed heavily onto the head.

Craig didn't know what to do. His body was responding, but his mind was having trouble keeping up. He reached down, tilting Chris's head up, and raised himself halfway up on one elbow. "I think," he panted. "Just... wait... Too much..."

Chris dropped what he was holding and pulled back, frowning. Craig had tears in his eyes. That quivering, then, was not excitement, but - fear? Sadness? Pain? He felt very awkward. He could not trust his instinct in this, then.

"Can't..." Craig tried to pull Chris towards him. Can't think, can't feel, can't taste, can't sense! The world was a messy blur, spinning at sickening speed, and he needed to get off.

"What?" Chris asked, feeling - damndably awkward, distant, wrong. He followed the pull for lack of any other direction.

Craig could not process this. He pulled Chris up towards him, then close, close, into a hug. Chris. That was the only safe thing in this room, in this world. Chris.

Chris hugged him in return, more than a little bemused. "What's wrong?"

The world stopped spinning, slowly, as Craig held onto him like a lifeline, really crying now, but in relief.

Chris frowned at the crying. This was... this was not what he was expecting. This was like when one of his girlfriends would start crying for no reason, and he never understood it then, either. But he did feel a strange, almost overwhelming possessiveness, and he held Craig tightly, stroking his hair very gently.

"So long..." Craig tried to get the words out. "I've waited so long for you to do this; to want to do this." And now he was, and it was too much; it was taking him over. Too much for one person to take.

Chris could feel his horniness waning in the face of concern for Craig. He still did not understand. "I've wanted to do this for..." he frowned. Time that did not bear quantitating. Did Craig doubt that, for some reason? Why did he think Chris was here, if not?

"It's all right, it is..." Craig kissed Chris's neck, still holding onto him. Chris did not understand one bit. He thought it had been all right before, and now, a need to say it... he loosened his embrace, rubbing Craig's side while still stroking his hair. He was completely baffled. He felt like an idiot. "Sorry..." He kept rubbing, trying to be comforting. It was not his bag, especially when he was so bloody confused as to what to be comforting about.

"No, no," Craig sniffled. "I feel like an idiot. It's just..." He pulled back a little, looking into Chris's eyes, smiling a little. "I've loved you for so long," he whispered. So long, without touching, just wanting from afar and hurting. He'd tried to make up for all of it in one go, and that just wasn't possible. He'd kill himself with sensory overload. "You know."

No, Chris did not know. He held Craig's cheeks in both hands, stroking them with his thumbs. He felt his chest ache at Craig's words, but hesitated to do anything, fearful of doing something... wrong again. He closed his eyes as Craig leaned towards him.

Craig kissed him carefully, minimal brain activity slowly returning, as his senses stopped screaming at him. "So long." It was hard to breathe.

Behind his closed eyes, the image of Craig, panting and horny, would not leave Chris. "You're even more," he had to draw a shuddering breath, "beautiful now," please, let one more be enough to get the blasted sentence out, "than you were."

Craig shook his head. "Why do I always end up crying when I'm with you, eh? I thought we were done with that." And they were, of course, thank god. Almost calm now, his emotions had settled enough to allow such things as humor. "I hardly ever do, other times."

Chris took a long breath, not able to keep up with these emotional turns. He felt dizzy. "I don't know." There was nothing left but truth, now.

"Ah, at least I'm with you now." And what could merit a grin more than that? He caressed Chris's face, as his brain slowly allowed itself to feel lust again without short-circuiting.

Chris felt Craig's fingers trace his face. The aftermath of overwhelmed was trickling through him, leaving him cold and shaky. He could not stop a tremor as he dropped his hands from Craig's face to his shoulders.

Craig felt the shivering. "You cold?"

"Yes."

Wishing he could do more, knowing he'd upset Chris somehow, Craig pulled his blanket around his lover's shoulders, and remembered, suddenly. "You gave me your shirt, back then. Almost did me in, that." He kissed Chris's cheek.

Chris smiled, slightly, remembering his embarrassment at realizing he had dropped an ejaculate-smeared shirt on Craig's shoulders as a comforting gesture. "It was a bit gross."

"It was?" Craig asked, still smiling, caressing Chris's arms. He was feeling more or less like himself again, lust poking at him from every angle.

"Well, yes..." Chris opened his eyes, startled to see a grin on Craig's face. So, the emotional barometer had moved to humor? But Craig's smile was, as always, contagious, and Chris felt the ghost of one play around on his face, for no reason. "I had to wash it."

"Wash yer clothes, do ya!" Craig exclaimed in mock surprise. "Yer a strange man."

"Yes. I've been told that makes me gay."

This joke, which Craig would certainly had found funny, was interrupted by Craig's penis, which politely informed him it was rather impatient at this point, thank you very much; had he forgotten about it completely?

Chris sighed. He was completely lost. He had no idea what he should be doing. "So - what do you want me to do?" he asked. He covered his own impotence in bravado. "Impressions? Tango? I can't imagine you want me to sing." Yes, Craig's lovely voice put Chris's to shame.

Craig giggled. "Right now?" he asked. His penis had a way of making itself heard.

Chris snorted, feeling somewhat impatient. "No, next Saturday. Yes! Right now!"

What he wanted him to do? Everything! Everything, all at once! But that never worked out, so couldn't he just pick something? Quickly? "Whatever you need to do, man..." Craig said, hoarsely, sweating. "God, I just need you." This was more (or possibly less) than an understatement.

Chris licked the side of Craig's neck all the way up from the nape to behind his ear. But he was still confused, and pulled back as Craig closed his eyes and sighed. "You didn't seem to want what I was doing, though," Chris said, quietly.

Oh, so that was it! Craig wanted to laugh, but his brain was otherwise engaged. The result came out in odd, incomprehensible bursts. "Hah! Wa.. Hah..." He paused and gained control. "No, no. I was enjoying it too much! Couldn't take it..."

Chris had been bracing himself for a number of things, but not this. He grinned shyly and looked down. "What won't you enjoy too much?"

At this point? Probably nothing, Craig fretted. He gritted his teeth and tried to think, his body twisting and turning. Maybe... Maybe if he bought himself some more time? "Just... Go slow..." Yes. That could work. He'd have time to get his mind under control again.

Slow. Chris felt vaguely offended; he did not think he had ever been accused of being too fast in his life. Still, if Craig wanted slow, Chris would give him slow. He started to run his hand down the front of Craig's chest. "Slow," he purred.

"Y...u..h..." OK, so perhaps that didn't work out exactly as he'd imagined. Still, he could hardly complain.

Chris leaned in, kissing Craig very gently, open-mouthed, with no tongue. The other man whimpered. Chris took Craig's lower lip in his own, pulled gently, then let it slide back out again. Like a mantra, he murmured, "Slow..." He leaned in and kissed Craig again, licking very gently across his upper lip. He found that his own horniness was starting to return.

Craig moaned an almost inaudible "Yes..." He must have already died, because surely this must be what heaven was like.

Chris stroked Craig's cheek, leaning in for another kiss and licking Craig's tongue very carefully. "Slow," he murmured into that all-too-tempting mouth. He moved his other hand down to stroke Craig's chest.

Craig tried to say yes again, and failed utterly. He raised his hand to stroke Chris's side lightly.

Chris kissed him very slowly, lingeringly. He started to find this intoxicating, building up Craig's desire, and determined that Craig would be the first to crack. He would pull him out. He moved back slightly, and began to run his lips very slowly down Craig's chest, kissing it gently. "You promise," he murmured into it, "that you won't like this too much?"

Like? Craig was aching all over. In his groin. In his chest. He could not promise anything, but had no way of communicating that. All that came out when he tried to open his mouth was "guh..."

Guh was not enough. Chris had to pull out more. He kissed slow, deep, gentle kisses across Craig's chest and back again, rubbing his sides with deep, slow rubs.

Craig concentrated, needing to get this out. "Love... God, I love you." He moved his hand to Chris's head, stroking it gently.

Oh, this is not what Chris had expected to evoke, and found that it affected him - oddly. It raised an ache in his chest that rose and fell with his breathing, and seemed to suck the tease out of him like a Hoover. He sighed into his kisses, trying to keep at it. He moved to Craig's navel, having to stop and close his eyes for a moment, feeling moisture building up between his lashes and Craig's stomach. He rested the side of his head for a moment against Craig's skin, feeling it rise and fall.

"Yes," Craig sighed. He felt the lovely texture of curls twisting between his fingers.

Lowering his head to Craig's stomach had brought Chris's neck to rest on Craig's erection. He moved his head down to rub his own cheek against it, looking up at Craig to try to determine if that were acceptable. Craig had closed his eyes, although he kept stroking Chris's head lovingly. Chris continued to nod and rub, rubbing the backs of Craig's thighs with his hands.

"Mmm..." Craig leaned back against the pillow, all thoughts having blissfully vanished; but the wild chaos he'd experienced earlier was kept at bay.

In the absence of a 'yes,' that would have to do. Chris gently and slowly licked the inside of the thigh to his right, and waited for a yes or a no. Craig moaned, but kept slowly stroking Chris's head. He moved his other hand up to stroke what was available of Chris's face. Chris closed his eyes. The touch was so intimate, caring, loving; he paused to just experience it. For a moment. Only for a moment, however. He turned his head to lick the other thigh, rubbing the erection very slowly with his cheek again, provoking a gasp from Craig. He ran his hands up from the back of Craig's thighs to his buttocks and back again. He nuzzled Craig's erection, gently. It was at this point that his own erection rubbed against the coverlet, and he realized that he had become horny to the point of physical discomfort. He shifted slightly to raise it off of the bed, still hovering over Craig's erection. He breathed onto it, and muttered, now as much for himself as for Craig, "Slow..."

Slow was fine. Slow had worked, better than he'd feared at the onset, but now Craig was close to bursting, and he felt that, perhaps, slow had outlived its usefulness.

Chris put his lips on the head, and looked up at Craig to gauge his reaction. "Yuh..." Craig swallowed, "Y'cn... Go a little... faster now, if you..." he choked, "like..."

The small surge of triumph that Chris felt stabilized him; he felt he had been on the brink of doing something rash. He breathed onto the head that still sat between his lips. "May I?" he asked, raising himself slightly with a little smile.

"Yes!" Craig gasped, weakly.

Now, Chris would orally service a cock for the second time in his life, and he had to admit some nervousness. He licked the head and ran his tongue around the outside, taking his lips a little farther down as saliva started to lubricate the shaft. He latched his lips onto the outside and slid them down just a little. God, he did not want to be a tease anymore, but he did not want to choke, either.

Craig arched his back at the touch of Chris's mouth and tongue, still marveling at the fact that something like this could happen; that Chris was doing this!

Chris knew he had too much of a gag reflex to just swallow the thing. He let saliva run out from between his lips, lubricating the shaft, allowing him to take in just a bit more of the erection. He grunted and tried to keep his teeth away as Craig yanked his hair, painfully hard.

Craig was vaguely aware that the death grip he had on Chris's hair must hurt, but this was an idea he just couldn't cope with in his current state.

Chris was determined to see this through, to finish - right, for once. He grasped Craig's buttocks, pulling up to force just a little more of the erection into his mouth.

Craig felt like he could scream, but all that came out was a noiseless croak, unsatisfying to the point of frustration.

Chris was sucking, now, trying to remember what had been done to him in the past that had been enjoyable. He moved his tongue over what part of the erection was in his mouth, kneading Craig's buttocks, trying harder to pull more of the other man into himself. He wanted to swallow Craig whole, and was irked that his body would not let him.

There was some sort of miracle happening near his groin, and Craig thrashed backwards and forwards, trying his best not to disturb it. "Yes..."

Chris felt the thrashing, but held Craig's crotch steady with a firm grip on his buttocks. He did not trust himself not to bite or gag if Craig thrashed in his mouth. He continued to suck and knead.

There was no point in trying to hold on; Craig came with a startlingly loud yell; "Chris... yes... love..." A wave of delirious joy took him and washed him away, helplessly.

The words intensified the ache in Chris's chest, for some reason, and between that and the eruption of come in his mouth, he felt like he would never breathe again. He managed to choke a little less indelicately on the come than before, at least, and found that it effectively cleared the physical block to swallow most of it. As for the mental block... he tried to breathe, thinking of love and Craig. He did not want to stop now - stop sex, physicality, proximity. He leaned down and licked the stray drops and spatters of come and saliva that sat on Craig's cock and hips, noting Craig's whimpers and shudders as he did so.

But the ache of his own horniness intruded on Chris's reverie. He pulled himself forward, put his head on Craig's stomach, and reached down to grab his own cock. He gasped in near-pain at how hard he was. He could barely move his hand. He gave a whining moan into Craig's stomach.

Craig noticed something was going on, and looked down. All he could see was a head of hair. After several failed attempts, he managed to hoist himself up onto one elbow, taking the situation in. Chris with his hand on his own erection; after what he'd just done? There was no justice in the world if Craig let that happen, but his body was drained nearly as much as his mind, and there just wasn't enough energy in him.

Chris was panting into Craig's stomach, needing desperately, his hand shaking too much to stroke himself properly.

Watching this display made the pain in his chest return, and searched his inner reserves, rounding up enough energy to turn slightly, and put his own hand on Chris's.

"Hell," Chris gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. This was far too much sensation.

Craig whispered, hoarsely, "You deserve more." He tried to move Chris's hand away. Chris moaned and let him take it. Craig moved his hand back to the erection, momentarily, wanting to just feel it in his hand, assuring them both that he would take care of this.

Chris took deep breaths, reminding himself to take each one. He felt like a taut string, ready to be plucked.

With effort, Craig shifted to lie on his side, pulling Chris with him.

No resistance could be imagined, let alone put up. He was a string on an instrument, and Craig was the maestro; he would move as positioned, and whether he were just tuned or sounded - well, he would be grateful to be touched. "Iloveyou," he croaked, the words sounding as natural as breathing. More natural, now.

"Yes," Craig sighed. He needed to take it step by step. He moved to put Chris beneath him, and crawled downwards, feeling almost like he was in some sort of strange, wonderful dream. He only let go of Chris's erection to take over with his mouth.

Some part of Chris wanted very much to thrash and squirm, but he could not. He could not disrupt whatever Craig was doing. Craig was the one in control.

Without preamble, Craig swallowed the erection whole, hungrily. This was what he'd waited for, he realized, what he'd craved. The feeling of it in his mouth overshadowed the lingering exhilaration of his recent orgasm.

Chris jerked slightly, and almost in atonement for that sudden action, reached down to stroke Craig's ear. "Craig," he sighed, "feels sweet.." He shivered as Craig moved his head up and down, licking as he moved upwards.

Craig felt almost like a child with a new plaything. He laughed with the erection in his mouth, still licking and sucking, feeling deliriously happy. How could he have gone so long without doing this?

This sensation was far beyond what Chris thought he could bear, but he would go no farther. He could feel orgasm swelling in him. "Craig... coming..." he gasped.

Craig could not answer, but sucked harder, faster, with glee, taking it in deeper, sighing in frustration when there was no deeper to go, clenching Chris's buttocks.

Chris grasped Craig very hard at the nape of the neck and grabbed the blanket with his other hand. Both disappeared from his sensation as orgasm gripped him, pulling him away from such everyday sensations as blankets and skin and air. He floated on a wave of sheer delight, the delight of physical pleasure heightened by the utter release from the mind-boggling ache of frustration that had preceded it. He came back to himself, still spasming, grabbing Craig tightly between his legs.

God, Craig thought, this feels wonderful. It felt like it was him all over again, like they were just one connected organism.

Chris had no control over his body as hoarse cries gave way to strangled moans, and shudders slowly turned to limpness. As soon as he had the ability to, he relaxed his grip on Craig's neck and moved his hand upwards to stroke that miraculous, soft, stubbly cheek. His strength deserted him, and his hand fell.

Craig swallowed and put his head down, wondering how he would have the power to look up. His reserves were gone. The reserves of his reserves were gone. There was nothing left but love. Not that this was a bad thing.

"Took," Chris gasped, then breathed again. "Two years off of my life."

Surprised that he was able to, Craig opened his mouth and looked up, and was rewarded with the sight of Chris's radiant face looking back at him. He would, he realized, walk through fire for that face. He'd do anything to see it smile.

Chris took another breath as he realized he had not finished that thought. "Worth it." A verb was too much effort.

Craig could only laugh. "I hope not." The smile remained as the laugh bubbled away. "I do hope you think it was worth it though."

"Could be longer. Fine," Chris slurred. He felt a strange peace, somewhere deep inside of himself; something more profound than his typical post-coital lull.

Feeling like a zombie (though if he was, they had a much better time of it than he'd ever imagined) Craig crawled his way up to Chris's head on his elbows. He tried to kiss him on the lips, but missed and hit his cheek, and collapsed onto his side in giggles. Chris turned his head to look at Craig, and saw the other man was staring at him. "Wow," Craig murmured. Adjectives were swirling around in his head.

Chris's brow furrowed. 'Wow' hardly seemed appropriate. But, he had to confess, he did not have the creative energy to come up with whatever might be. Breath and sense were coming back, though, and with it the nagging knowledge of what had woken him up in the first place. He flopped his head to other side, catching a glimpse of the kitchen door. He made a heroic effort and staggered out of bed. "One mo," he grunted, fisting his back. He used the wall to help him out of the room.

Craig heard the faint sound of running water, stopping, starting, starting again. Finally, it stopped again, and Craig looked up, his mind not so much a blank as filled with white noise. Delightful white noise.

Chris staggered back into the room, precariously balancing a glass of water in hand that slopped over the rim and onto his arm. "Here..."

Craig looked at the glass, wondering if Chris realized the meaning of this gesture for him. He thought of that night again, so long ago. Just yesterday. A lifetime of difference.

"Your mouth is going to feel like death if you don't." Chris held out the glass, and Craig took it and drank, his eyes not leaving Chris. Chris felt that odd protective feeling again, but this time it assured him that he had indeed done the right thing and could rest. He got back into bed with a sigh of relief.

Chris ran his finger along Craig's thigh as he finished the glass. Craig put it on the floor, then turned back to face Chris, beaming, looking steadily into the other man's eyes. "Thank you." The layers of meaning in those two words could fill entire oceans.

Chris's smile felt like a mirror of Craig's. Craig was happy, he was. It followed as night followed day. "Welcome," he muttered, exhausted again.

It was still early, too early. Far too early for Craig's tastes. He lay down and sneaked an arm around Chris, but impending sleep brought unwelcome thoughts to mind. He knew he was safe, but still... "And when I wake up, if I go to sleep again, you'll still be here?"

If he had been a little more awake, Chris would have heard more than jest in that question. He rolled over to lean his head onto whatever part of Craig would be nearest that encircling arm. Craig's chest suited the purpose perfectly. "'less I'm inna loo," he mumbled.

It sounded like something he himself would say, and Craig giggled as Chris let out a snore-like wheeze. "Good. That's good."

Chris gave an unslight snore, then woke. "Wha?"

With Chris in his arms, Craig held on tight. "Good. Just good." Better than good. Wonderful. Finally, sleep came, untroubled. Easy.

"Mm." Chris closed his eyes again, finding the warm, firm pillow of Craig's chest irresistible. As he found the rest of the man. Irresistible. He gave a quiet snore.