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

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


The set bustled with action. Lighting and camera folk bustled about, giving Craig and Danny dirty looks for getting in the way. The two friends took their role as pains in the butts very seriously, poking around to see what was going on instead of sitting somewhere out-of-the-way and practicing their lines.

"So what; we have a scene in... two hours or so?" Danny tossed over his shoulder to Craig.

The shorter man was smoking, leaning against the wall, and looking very, very bored. "Yeah..."

Bored was a challenge to Danny. "Once Chris is done jumping up and down..." He stifled a guffaw.

Craig shook his head. "Glad I don't have to be doin' tha'."

Danny grinned and turned to face Craig. "Hey, I'm glad you don't have to be looking like that! What, does the costumer fancy him or something?"

Craig raised his eyebrows. This was not what he was expecting to hear come out of Danny's mouth. "Whacha mean?"

Danny waved his hand towards the scene currently in progress - which involved Chris being Rimmer on one side of the room until Ed was satisfied, then turning and doing the same thing on the other. "Hugh Hefner package, man! Bouncing around like jelly, I'm telling ya, mate!"

Craig swallowed, startled, and almost choked on his cigarette. "Wha? What were you lookin' at, man?" What kind of a joke was this? There had to be some sort of angle. What was he leading up to?

Danny shook his head. "Ain't no way you could miss it. Almost can't see his head over that!" Craig looked straight ahead, trying to ignore him. Danny needled him further. "C'mon, when you was asking where you'd get two babies from, you went looking straight at it, din't ya!"

The cigarette burned out in Craig's hand; he winced, shook his hand, and dropped the sad, wrinkled butt.

"Pregnant pause, eh?" Danny snickered.

Craig snorted, shook his hand, and cursed vaguely at the small burn between his fingers. "Yer not right in the head, man!"

Danny sighed. "Hiring requirement for the BBC that, mate."

"Heh, too right."

"If you're right in the head, you don't work here!" Danny wandered over to look in on the scene in progress again. He stifled a laugh "Hey, now, look at him there, being upstaged by his own..."

"Are you still on this?" Craig interrupted, incredulously.

"I'm bored, aren't I!" Danny whinged. "Got twelve bloody lines in this ep! Knew them a week ago!" Craig put his foot down, looking in pockets for another cigarette, and sighing when they came out as empty as they went in. "Hey, man, I knew them before you did!" He grinned.

"Photographic fecking memory, I'm telling ya," Danny groused. "You get here late, drinking every night, and you still know your lines, man." He put his back to the wall and slid to the ground.

Craig shrugged. Between the odd images Danny was putting into his mind and his lack of cigarettes, he was getting jittery and restless. He snapped his fingers, pacing a little, walking back and forwards across the little space in which they'd set themselves down.

Danny checked his costume in an unconsciously Cat-like gesture. "Catchy beat," he said, nodding at Craig's snapping fingers.

"Wish I hadn't forgotten my smokes, man," Craig groused.

"Everyone else is glad you forgot 'em! Human chimney." Danny shook his head, still smiling.

"That was my last one, and look what you made me do with it!" His fingers still hurt from the burn, but that was hardly the point. It wasn't so much that he needed a new one already, but rather the anticipation that he would soon, that got him on edge.

"I made?" Danny asked, pretending to be mortally wounded.

"Yeah, with that talk of yers, making me jump like that!"

Danny snorted. "I'm not the one bouncing with my lunch jangling up and down all over the stage!"

Craig groaned and started pacing faster, gesturing animatedly, trying to shake his thoughts off "There you go again!"

Danny grinned, enjoying Craig's visible discomfort. "Yes, sir!" He cackled, loudly. A girl doing lighting hissed at him to be quiet. Danny settled for a quiet giggle.

"He's not still at it, is he?" Craig asked.

Danny checked. "Nope. You know, we might actually act today."

Craig leaned against the wall again, biting his nails. He felt unusually on edge. Pictures of Chris naked swam uninvited into his mind. He swatted at them, mentally, looking in the direction of the Rimmer bedroom set, and put one foot against the wall again, lost in thought.

Danny sighed and stretched. "I have decided," he declared with mock gravity, "that split screens are the tool of Satan. 'You crossed the line!'" He made a face.

Craig groaned. "Tell me about it! I'm afraid to move!"

"You in that theater, leaning at forty-five degrees, looking like you was gonna fall." Danny grinned, slapping at Craig's legs.

Craig faked a smile. "Yeah, thanks, that was just peachy, doing that one."

"I was just waiting for you to hiccup and cross..."

"I'm not sure I didn't!" Craig cried, then slapped his hand over his mouth, looking at the crew.

"They didn't make us redo it again," Danny sighed. "Either you got it right, or they just don't care anymore."

"That's what I'm thinking, you know. It's nerve-wrackin', that's what it is. Bad enough when I do have my smokes." Craig tapped his feet, bored. He must be bored, otherwise, what could this odd feeling of restlessness be?

"Hey, Mister Memory..." Danny asked. "What's up next?"

"Wha, in the script? I think they said they was gonna do a bunk scene next. Probably your one, you know, where you do that funny bit."

"No, I don't know. I get a joke?"

Craig shot him an uncomprehending look. It was in the script. Why wouldn't Danny know?

"Miracles never cease." Danny paused, then mentally grabbed his script. "Hell, I need me rollerskates, don't I?"

"Yeah, I'd wager you do," Craig replied, still puzzled - "I thought you knew?"

"They tell me where to go, I go..." Danny groused. He hurried off to find the effing skates.

Craig leaned back against the wall, listening to the noises of the crew. Just another day. Another fecking day, ain't that right? He checked his pockets for cigarettes again, then sighed as he remembered that he had already been looking in there.


"Souper."

He knew the line, of course. He'd known the entire script by heart for ages. It didn't always go like that, but sometimes, he just absorbed it, like it was a glass of water he'd just drunk. That, or a fecking drink, of which he could use a pint or five of, incidentally. A pint of vodka, preferably. The higher the alcohol content, the better.

Chris looked at him through Rimmer's eyes, stoic and supremely offended, doing that thing with his nostrils that just looked absurd. The man looked absurd, Craig thought. Absurdly funny! That was fine though; he could handle funny. There'd been enough of that, and he was getting pretty good at pretending it was serious as hell. He did so now, hands crossed over his chest, smiling his best mischievous smile, waiting for the scene to be over. He was perfectly fine until he made the fatal mistake of looking into Chris's eyes. Something dwelt there; something revealing the humor of the man behind the gittish mask, and he realized he was in deep trouble. Chris could hold it in, the smug bastard. Craig, barely dry behind the ears as far as acting was concerned, couldn't. He didn't have a chance in hell.

Somehow, when he thought about it later, much later, that seemed very appropriate.

As he burst out laughing, giving in, and not giving a damn, he hardly realized he'd thrown himself around the neck of the other man, hugging him happily, burying his face in his neck. There was a smell of make-up; loose powder getting into his nose and making him want to sneeze, and the faintest touch of some after-shave or other. It was Chris's stiffness that made him sit up, mentally, and let go. There was no reaction from the other man; he was still in character, even as his body struggled to keep from breaking out of it. Oh well. What had he expected; a sign of life from the man who couldn't even let himself relax the odd time he came out with them to the pubs? Shaking his head, he looked into those eyes again, and saw...

...something.


Wrap parties were a bit of a special occasion - nothing to get dolled up in a tux for, but there was a certain jubilation associated with them, and Chris would take the opportunity as a rare excuse to go beyond decently buzzed and get himself fairly tanked. He sat at a wooden table in the cheerfully soft-lit pub, drinking beer and occasionally interjecting a short anecdote or an imitation of Paul or Ed into the conversation to make Danny and Norm laugh. Not Craig, however, and it puzzled Chris. He knew he was entertaining in a social setting - it wasn't egotism, it was his job. But Craig was sitting with his pint in a way Chris would almost describe as sulky. He didn't know the man well enough to guess. He was hard to categorize; impossibly young for this work, in Chris's eyes, and too fond of his booze and long nights out. Even when Chris had a hangover, he'd still drag himself in on time; if he looked like death, the makeup session would just be a bit longer. Craig staggered into work at breathtakingly late hours, to the point where he must have a working knowledge of Paul Jackson's tonsils from the up-close chewings-out. But even then, he would have his - and everyone else's - lines completely memorized. He had manic energy, when he wasn't sleeping on the set, and a knack for a good delivery. He was, in other words, intriguing. His body language was more vocal than Chris's, who tended to shy from physical contact, and at the last recording, he certainly seemed - well, almost affectionate, in a matey sort of way. But now, he seemed to be broadcasting 'piss off' in some sort of universal body language.

Craig was smoking more than usual, which is saying a lot. This inevitably led to him running out sooner than expected, but found himself unwilling to go out for more. A cigarette machine stared glassily from the back of the pub, but Craig did not see it. He rapidly became jittery from the lack of a cigarette in his hand. He felt almost naked without it.

Chris noticed Craig's fumbling for cigarettes, and as an icebreaker, put on a near-perfect imitation of the scouser, asking "Oi - where the 'ell have me cigs gone?"

A worse note could not have been struck. Fine. Grand. Here Craig was thinking maybe the bastard was a decent guy after all, and off he goes with his better-than-you stupid jibing. He twisted his lip at Chris and turned back to his drink, downing it and the one after rather quickly.

Chris was more than a little taken aback over Craig's reaction, and hurried on to someone else to let the moment pass. He was going to be working with this man for at least another year - he did not want to stir up rancor. In fact, he decided, it would be good to square up one-on-one with him, but Danny, sitting next to him, had started to regale him with private jokes, keeping the man in stitches.

Despite himself, Craig could not keep his eyes off of Chris. He watched him over the top of his drink, laughing at whatever Danny was passing off as joke. It might have been the weather report. He was starting to get rather drunk at this point; he could still sit up and talk coherently, however, and that was not Too Much in his book.

Chris was reaching about the level of loopiness he allowed himself at this kind of event. This did, however, result in him being quite a bit more earnest than he would be otherwise; he tried, actively, to catch Craig's eye.

Craig could not help but notice. He was getting more and more confused about the odd feelings stirring in him; he was no Freudian shrink, to analyze this stuff. He was usually a man to follow his gut feeling, but he was just not sure what it was, in that unusual situation.

Danny finally excused himself to head to the loo, and Chris took this opportunity to move to their table, sitting next to Craig. In his lubricated earnestness, he went almost like a shot.

Craig was somewhat startled to find the person he'd been more or less stalking with his eyes all night suddenly sitting down next to him.

"Hey!" Chris said, in an overly hearty voice.

"Hiya..." Craig replied to his near-empty drink.

"Look, er, I'm sorry if I got you riled a bit," Chris continued. "It was all in good fun, you know. I do it to everyone." His voice had just the touch of slur that Craig remembered from the drunk scene they had just concluded. Works from life, this one, he decided.

"Yeah, whatever, man," Craig mumbled. He re-thought that response. No reason to be rude. "'s all right," he added, grudgingly.

"Yes, you know, it's just that we're going to be working another year, at least, and I do like you, and didn't want to start this on the wrong foot..." Chris was rambling now, his voice still slightly sloshy in its earnestness.

You like me, Craig thought, nonplussed. First sign I've seen of it. "Yeah, I get ya." Craig looked at the table, his drink, the other patrons, the lights; anywhere but at Chris, except in stolen sidelong glances.

Chris noticed that the other man was actively avoiding eye contact, and it made him even more nervously hearty. "Great, great." He wondered just where Craig was; he didn't seem quite all with him.

Danny walked back, and noted that his seat was taken; he took another seat at a nearby table with a decent vantage point, raising his eyebrows.

Chris's drink was empty, Craig noticed, with some relief. This, at last, was something he could deal with. "Erm... Can I get you another?" He quickly downed his own drink.

"Oh..." Chris dithered for a moment. He had indeed had enough, but he wanted to be amiable. "Yes, certainly, thanks..."

"Same again then?" Craig got up, slightly woozy, but keeping his balance nicely.

"Oh, yes, thanks..." Chris made a mental note to not actually drink what came back. He misplaced his mental notepaper a minute and a half after Craig left the table, which was shortly before he returned with two pint mugs.

"There we are, then," he said, slamming them on the table so that the heads splashed onto the wood surface. He didn't really like beer much, but it was cheap, and it went down easily. Besides, right now he was beyond the point of caring about the actual choice of alcoholic beverage, so long as it was, indeed, alcoholic.

"Oh, thanks," Chris said, turning the glass around in his hands.

Craig did the same, stopping as he realized that they had both started doing the same motion at the same time.

Chris looked at Craig's hands and frowned. He then laughed a moment, and asked, "Didn't you have a ring?" Craig glanced down. "Lose it?" Chris asked.

"Wha? Oh..." Craig suddenly realized that he had no idea where it had got to. He quickly derailed that train of thought. No good would come from following it down those tracks. "Yeah, something like tha'."

Chris snickered. "Your wife's going to kill you."

Craig muttered something non-commitally. This conversation was not exactly going where he wanted it to. Wherever that was, he mused.

Chris floundered again. He felt incapable of starting a conversation, which was completely new territory to him.

"Where's yours, then?" Craig asked.

"My what?" Chris frowned. His brain cells were definitely not on full blast.

Craig poked at Chris's ring-finger with his own index finger, still twirling the glass in his hands. "You know..."

Chris looked down at his hands. "Oh. Home. Thought it would be a little tacky to keep wearing it."

"Mhm." Craig was trying for friendly, but was not sure if he was succeeding. His social skills seemed to be on their hols.

He certainly was not succeeding in Chris's universe. The other man took a drink and looked around. "Er, I think I took Danny's seat."

Craig said, hurriedly, "Erm, no, I'm sorry, man - stay. I'm just feeling a bit off tonight, yeah?" He tried for winning smile, knowing that he did them well.

"Why?"

Craig bit his lip, showing his teeth. "I'm not sure, really." He wasn't, at that. This was all a bit stupid, wasn't it? He shook his head at himself, mentally. "But hey, it's not going to get better talking about it! Aww... Let's start again, eh?" He flashed another winning smile.

This one did win Chris over, somewhat. "Righto," he replied. He stuck out his hand. "Chris."

Craig laughed. As Chris had noted while working on the set, he laughed with his entire face, no muscle wasted in communicating merriment. He answered, in a somewhat giggly voice, "Craig. You look awfully familiar, ya know!"

"Yes, I think I met someone just like you once. I never forget a face... er..?" Chris shook an index finger in mock perplexity.

Craig laughed even harder, unthinkingly leaning onto Chris's shoulder. This made the world rotate dizzyingly; he put his hand on Chris' thigh to raise himself up, removing it once it was more or less upright. It just felt natural.

I am definitely more sloshed than usual, Chris noted. Under the normal course of things, he would not throw his arm over someone he just worked with, but he now grabbed Craig's shoulder in camaraderie. "You're the oddest person..." he said, grinning.

Craig did not like the sound of this, but was feeling too good to allow him to get annoyed. "Am I, now?"

Chris chortled. "Yes!" he said, effusively. "You're always late and hung over, and you always know your lines. I dunno how you do it." He was startled to note that he was halfway through the drink he had decided was one too many.

Craig turned around, looking into Chris's eyes, not really hearing what the other man was saying. He laughed, because it seemed to be expected, then looked away.

Chris shook his head, still grinning, and looked down at drink. Something seemed off in its half-drunk-ness, so he finished it off. Craig, liking that idea, finished his drink, too. The room started to spin slightly.

Chris shook his head. This turned out to be a bigger production than he had anticipated; he swayed a little, grabbing Craig's shoulder a little harder to keep his balance.

Craig was suddenly very aware of Chris' arm. He was not shocked to register that he rather liked the feeling of it there; he merely made a note of it, and moved on.

"I think I've had way too much." Chris giggled - a very odd sound to come from him.

Craig giggled at the sound of Chris' giggle. A giggle was much more expected from him. "You all right?" he asked.

The co-giggle tickled something in Chris, and he laughed out loud. "Eh?" he asked, grinning as he caught his breath. Craig's grinning face set him off again, and he lost his grip on the other man and fell forward onto the table, laughing even harder at the fact that he was laughing.

Craig threw his arms around Chris and collapsed, laughing only a little less excessively, on top of him.

The warm weight of Craig on his back was pleasing, but a distinct oddity, and it just made Chris lose it entirely. He laughed until tears ran from his eyes.

"I think we might be drunk," Craig told Chris's back.

"You think?" Chris asked the table.

Craig giggled and snorted, inhaling Chris's after-shave. The smell triggered something in him. He could not identify what, but it raced around inside.

Chris's laughing fit finally trickled off, and he tried to sit up. "There's a Craig on me," he told the table.

"Oh, righ'." Craig put his hand on Chris's thigh again to get up, still unthinkingly. He again removed it once upright, but this time, he took his time doing so. There was a nice, solid feel to the leg, which he decided he quite liked. He leaned back against the wall, feeling the room spin.

Chris took note of the hand, but his current excessively mate-ly attitude took it as a delightful thing. He has forgotten what was originally funny at this point, but he continued to chortle, nevertheless.

Craig tried to down the rest of drink, despite his drunkenness. Only a trickle of liquid came out. Oh, yes, he had already done that.

"I think... I'm done," Chris muttered with a sigh as his laughter finally ebbed.

Craig felt rather refreshed from the still-cold drink. He shook his head and looked at Chris. "How's it going?"

Chris looked back, blankly. "How's what?"

Craig gave a half-giggle, half-snort. "Are you OK? You holding up all right?"

Chris shook his head. "I don't think I can hold anything up, no..."

Craig belted out another snort laugh. "Heh. Me neither, come to that; me neither."

"Then I won't ask you to hold me up." Chris looks towards the pub door with trepidation.

"I think I might slightly more steady than you, tho'," Craig decided. He tried to stand up. No, that was a baaad idea. He slid back into his chair.

"Wouln' take much..." Chris muttered. Craig slumped against Chris, and Chris rested his head on the wooly pillow this allowed him access to.

"I might just fall asleep here," Craig muttered. "That would be... bad. I think."

Chris raised his head. "Mmmph." He tried to stand, but had not included the fact that Craig was still resting on him in his calculations. "Oops," he muttered, and slid back down.

Craig threw an arm around Chris' shoulder, trying to steady him. "Maybe if we try it together?"

"On three," Chris stated with martial determination. He pulled in a breath, then caught it. "Wait..."

"Wha?"

"I don't think I can count that high," A snicker, clearly a drunken one, followed that statement.

Craig giggled uncontrollably, his head sliding off of Chris' shoulder, moving slightly down the other man's chest.

"Wrong way..." Chris chided with a chortle.

"Oh, righ'." Craig stayed there for a moment while he marshaled his resources. He swayed back with another giggle, fairly upright again.

"What about on one?" Chris suggested.

"Yeah, OK!" Craig responded, with unnecessary enthusiasm.

"OK!" Chris geared himself up and grabbed Craig's arm. "One!"

Craig, caught completely off guard, banged one knee slightly against the table as they staggered upright, but was too pissed to notice. "Whoa..." he commented, swaying slightly, hanging on to Chris. But he was cheered to be on his feet, finally. "Things are looking up, eh?"

"Yeah, but you can't leave until I get home, or I'll fall over." Chris snorted a bit of laughter while clinging to Craig.

"Heh, all right, man. Let's get you home then..." Craig felt in absolutely no condition to be helping anyone stay upright, but the unfailing logic of alcohol told him to never mind that. Together the two of them balanced unsteadily towards the door.


Chris's flat was quiet, neat, and dark. A rectangle of light sprang into being, jittering as two men fumbled with the door.

"No... No... You have to twist it to the right, is what I said!" Craig said, earnestly.

"This is my flat..." Chris bumped Craig's shoulder as they tried to walk through the door two abreast. "Hell. I didn't get a wide enough door."

Craig laughed, squeezing past Chris as the other man fumbled the light switch to On. "Yer door is too small!"

"It's not the size of the door..." Chris muttered, trying to wrestle it closed.

Craig snorted. "No, but..." He suddenly realized that he had no end for the sentence.

Chris made a line for the couch, pulling the door closed after him. He was caught up short as the door closed, and stumbled halfway to his goal. Craig lost his footing as Chris moved, and stumbled into the flat just as the door almost slammed into his back. He fell to his knees and looked around, confused.

"Whoa.." Chris swayed, but stayed upright by grabbing Craig's shoulder.

Craig looked around the unfamiliar room. Catching Chris' eye, he slurred; "How did we get here? I don' remember getting here."

"We walked in the door, Craig." Chris gathered himself, aimed for the couch, and made it.

Craig got to his feet, slowly. "Yeah, but... Like, before that."

Chris was delighted to have made the couch. He flopped back with a laugh. "Don't knock it. We got here, didn't we?"

Craig furrowed his brow. "I think so..." He suddenly laughed.

Chris raised his head. "What?"

The couch seemed like a good idea. Craig stopped in front of it, unsure whether to sit down or not.

Chris shook his head. "Sit... it's making me ill to watch you sway..."

"I don't usually get this plastered."

"Yeah, sure."

"No, really..." Craig sat down next to Chris, very carefully. This wasn't usually how his evenings out drinking ended. He had a very weird feeling about all this.

"I've heard the stories..." Chris said with an evil look.

"Eh, you know what guys are like, telling stories..." Craig watched the room spin around him. Nifty, that. His right hand fell to Chris's thigh, like the most natural thing in the world. Chris looked down, bemused. Craig closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and breathed deeply. Once the exhale had fully completed, he opened his eyes again.

"Craig, y'kay?" Chris asked

"Yeah, I think I am." He felt OK. Hell, he felt great. He wondered why that was.

Chris raised his eyebrows. It made him dizzy, and he dropped them.

Craig finally noticed his hand. "Oh. Er..." He removed it somewhat absent-mindedly. "Sorry"

Chris frowned at Craig's disorientation. He waved his hand absently at the couch. "Stay here? You don't look sho good."

"Yeah, sounds a good idea, tha..." He stretched, feeling tired, and all kinds of other confusing things. The stretch put him off balance, and he slid down towards Chris's lap, stopping just in time.

Chris laughed.

"Heh, it's like I'm trying to come on to ya, man!" Craig joined in the laughter. He trailed off as he looked at Chris's eyes. He furrowed his brow. "Your eyes are a funny color."

Chris stopped laughing and frowned. "Funny - haha?"

"No, it's pretty."

Chris was taken aback. "They're what?"

Still looking into those strangely colored irises, Craig realized what he just said. "Erm... I mean, I've just never seen anything like them before. 's nice."

Chris shook his head. "Yes, I put them over the nose. I know, it's different..." He laughed. At this stage of drunk, just about everything was funny.

Were they green or brown, Craig wondered? It probably didn't matter, but it was oddly compelling to try to figure out. With some reluctance, he gave up. "All different colors, like," he compromised.

"Pink? They will be tomorrow..."

Craig snorted and giggled. "Noooo...." That wasn't what he was trying to say at all! Why was Chris being so difficult?

"Yeeeess! I haven't been this drunk in...." Chris spread his hand, counting on his fingers. "Days."

Craig looked at Chris's fingers, too. "Heh. Days." He had utterly no idea what he had just said.

"I think you're worse than I am..."

"In yer dreams, mate!" Craig tried to point at Chris and lost his balance again, falling face-first onto Chris' lap "Bloody..." he mumbled into it, extracting himself as the lap began to jiggle. Chris was laughing very hard.

"'s not funny!" But Craig started laughing, too.

Chris doubled over. "Just because you bought me a drink..."

Craig giggled, playing along. "Oh, here we go! It's always like that, innit?" he said, in mock resignation.

Chris sat up, primly, and imitated the Queen. "I'm not that kind of girl, young man!"

Craig went a few octaves deeper than his usual voice. "I'm thinking you are, my lovely!"

"I'm saving myself!"

Craig crawled over on his hands, putting one hand on either side of Chris's lap, and looked up into Chris's face with a wide, if slightly lop-sided grin. "Yeah, and I'm betting it's fer me!"

"You boys are all alike," Chris said in that regally feminine voice, flipping his wrist; "a drink and a compliment to my eyes, and you think you can just get right in my pants!"

Craig kept his deep voice going. "Oh yeah? What's in there, anything interesting?"

"Well..." Chris dropped back into his normal voice without a breath, "just the usual, I think."

Craig felt suddenly short of breath. He stopped about half an inch from Chris' face, looking into his eyes. Chris was still laughing, and Craig breathed in and out in half-giggles, fascinated with the man's face. Chris swayed from the laughter, and grabbed the straddling man's hips for balance.

Craig looked down at Chris's hands on his hips. He looked back up again, with the realization that he was really quite turned on. His cheeks flushed.

Chris dropped his voice into an even deeper range. "Why, you're blushing, Mister Charlzz..."

This voice seemed to send some signal straight to Craig's groin. "Eh... Yeh..." He did not break eye-contact.

"I didn't think anything could make you blush," Chris said with a grin. Craig looked away for a few seconds with a shy smile. Chris was right. Normally, few things did. This situation was far from normal, though.

"I have a feeling..." Chris said, licking his lips. He did not miss the implication of Craig lingering so closely.

"Wha?" Craig asked, hoping the other man might have some rational explanation to offer for the confusion in his mind.

"...that we're going to feel very silly tomorrow," Chris concluded.

"I feel..." Craig swayed backwards and forwards. "Very silly now!"

Thoughts that would not normally take front seat when Chris was sober were starting to percolate. Not his thing, this, but the man was appealingly forthright, and had a fascinating smile. He was game. He squeezed Craig's hips experimentally. "Yes, you feel silly."

Craig could not help but groan, startled at the sounds coming from own mouth. "Hey..." he said, licking suddenly dry lips.

Chris found himself slightly breathless. "What?"

"I think... I think..." Craig shifted the smallest bit closer.

"What?"

"Please don't hit me." Craig moved one hand up to Chris's cheek, moving in for a kiss.

"That depends on how good it is..." Chris breathed. Yes, what would it be like to kiss another man?

Craig only groaned and mumbled in response, laying his lips drunkenly on Chris's. He'd stopped thinking a long time ago.

Chris tilted his head, awkwardly trying to figure out how to position his lips. Craig was incredibly turned on now; he opened his lips and licked along Chris's. Chris closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and stuck his tongue out halfheartedly.

Craig moved his hand from Chris's cheek to the back of his head, deepening the kiss almost violently. He fell against Chris's body as he gave in to something he had no idea had been there at all.

Chris was startled, but the kiss was exciting; in a drunk, horny burst, he moved his hands from Craig's hips. One went to the back of Craig's head, while the other moved over to the small of his back. He opened his mouth wider, licking the inside of Craig's mouth. He was not in the least surprised to taste a very strong flavor of cigarettes.

Craig steadied himself with the hand that was not around Chris's neck and tried to maneuver the other man beneath himself. He had to come up for air, taking it in in gasps and moans.

Chris pulled in a deep breath as their lips parted. He was rather startled to see a wild look in Craig's eyes, and some part of him became vaguely frightened. Maybe this experiment was not as interesting an idea as it had first seemed. "Craig..."

No. Dammit. He had no idea where this train was going, but he wasn't about to have it de-railed now. Not now, dammit. "Don't." The command came quietly, but forcefully. He swallowed "I have no idea what's happening, but.. God..." He closed his eyes and shuddered.

Chris could not give up his sarcasm, even in the middle of a rather hot make-out session. "No... I'm Chris. If you want God, you picked up the wrong bloke."

Picked up? Was that what he had done? God indeed... Craig mumbled, "Could've fooled me, man..."

Chris raised an eyebrow and started to ask if he had misheard, but Craig's hands fumbling at the front of his shirt proved an unexpectedly sexy distraction. He moved his hands to Craig's buttocks and squeezed.

Craig thrust involuntarily into Chris's thigh at the feel of his hands, and gasped. He was very, very hard. It didn't make sense. Chris was not his type. His type usually had breasts. He fell forward into the nape of Chris's neck, and started nuzzling and licking.

Chris sighed in delight at the tantalizing tickling, and ran his hands up and down Craig's back, slipping them under the other man's T-shirt. He started to stir involuntarily, wanting to grind against... some body part of Craig's. He gently bit Craig's ear.

Craig gasped at the feeling of hands on his bare skin, and licked harder. He put one hand on Chris's thigh, slowly feeling the muscle. He reached Chris's belt, and pulled his shirt out, sticking his hand underneath. He felt that incredibly taut, almost too-skinny torso, and ground his erection harder into Chris's thigh.

Chris made a noise that was almost a purr as he ran his hands up and down Craig's delightfully soft and supple skin. He slid his hands into Craig's pants, over the buttocks. Craig bit his lip, making a rather unmacho squeal anyway. His mind was gone. Both of his hands rushed to Chris' belt. Chris chortled with delight. Craig managed a grin - and barely that. He fumbled with Chris's belt buckle, then plucked at the buttons on his jeans.

Chris pulled Craig's shirt up and tried to ease it off. Craig eagerly struggled out of it, his fight with Chris' fly forgotten.

Chris tossed it away, then ran his fingers down Craig's smooth, warm, almost-hairless chest. Craig shivered at the feeling, sitting back a little.

Chris smiled, enjoying Craig's response. He slid his fingers down to Craig's pants, flipping open the button. With deliberate slowness, he eased down the zipper, letting go once it was down.

Craig breathed through his nose in frustration at this teasing slowness, but then his eyes fell to Chris's groin, and he moaned heavily. As Chris put his hands on Craig's hips, Craig was rendered completely useless. His brain has stopped working; he knew he wanted something very, very, badly, but he could not spare the thought processes to figure out what. Dizzy from the alcohol, he just stared at the view he had of Chris; reclining, flustered, his hair messy; his eyes narrowing.

Chris was too looped himself to really notice how dizzy Craig was. He pulled the other man's hips towards him. Craig woke as he started to fall downwards; he caught himself on the couch, then started to unbutton Chris's shirt. He was not desperate enough to rip it clean off, but he wanted the damn thing gone, and unbuttoned it with unseductive haste.

Chris discovered that he rather liked the attention. He stroked Craig's hips while Craig did... whatever it was he was going to do.

On some level Craig was somewhat disappointed with himself that he was driven so crazy by Chris merely watching him like that. He managed to unbutton the shirt completely, and unwrapped Chris's torso like a Christmas present. He bit his lip again at the sight of the body underneath.

Chris shifted forward and let go of Craig's hips to let him take it off. Craig slid the shirt off of Chris's shoulders and arms; quickly at first, then slower and slower, as he started to enjoy the feel of those incredibly taut arms underneath his hands. Chris closed his eyes and shivered at the feel of Craig's hands stroking him so slowly.

The word flew into his mind from some part of his subconscious, and Craig mumbled, almost inaudibly, "Adonis." For some reason, this struck Chris as very funny, and he started to laugh again. Craig was a little hurt by this, but wasted no time concentrating on that emotion when there were so many other, more interesting ones around.

Chris caught his breath from the laugh, then caught Craig's lower lip in his own lips. Craig felt like he was about to lose control; he pulled Chris close, stroking his back with one hand and running the other through his shaggy curls. He felt an almost absurd delight in mussing them up even more.

Chris ran his hands up and down Craig's spine, moving his lips over Craig's. Craig opened his mouth eagerly, sucking on Chris's tongue. Chris gasped, tugging Craig closer.

Craig rubbed his upper body against Chris's. But it was not enough. He thrust forward, frustratingly hitting air, and moved one hand to Chris' buttocks. He pulled the other man towards him.

Chris slid one hand to the back of Craig's neck and opened his mouth wide, pushing the kiss as deeply as he could.

Craig backed off after a moment for a breath of air. "How are you doing this to me..." he mumbled, before diving back in even more ferociously.

Chris's reply came out like "Mrmphle" with Craig's tongue in his mouth. Dear lord, what a long, agile tongue it was! Craig thrust it in and out of Chris's mouth, and Chris's groin started to ache with want. He slid his hand down and pulled Craig's groin tight into his own hipbone.

Craig yelped, and Chris let go, startled. "Oh, I..."

"No... Don't... For God's sake..." Craig gasped desperately, "don't stop!"

Chris was not a man to ignore a direct request, phrased so politely. He pulled Craig back in. Craig reached down between them, popping the rest of Chris's buttoned fly open. Chris sighed in delight at the release of his erection from its confines; he covered Craig's mouth with his own and turned the sigh into a moan.

Craig was slightly nervous at this; he had never been with another man before, after all. But he was on fire, and could not dwell on that. He reached down and cupped Chris's erection through the boxers, hoping he was doing this right. Still, how would Chris know? Or would he?

Chris began to grind into Craig's hand. Some corner of his mind assured him that he would have mixed feelings about this when sober, but he was drunk now, and did not care. He let himself enjoy the magnificent physical sensation, and the attention.

Craig reached in underneath the boxers, encouraged by the grinding. He caressed Chris's erection, not stroking yet, wondering if he dared to do it at all.

Chris closed his eyes, reaching his hand in to grasp Craig's own erection. He moved his hips against Craig's hand as the other man's hand closed, and he started stroking Chris's cock very, very slowly. Chris sighed and started to thrust in opposition to Craig's movements, to enhance the speed. He wrapped his own fingers around Craig's erection and started to stroke.

Stubbornly keeping to his own speed, Craig buckled over as he felt his own cock being stroked. He licked Chris's shoulder, hunching over the man below him.

Chris threw his head back and moaned, feeling an unexpected affection in the warm lapping at his shoulder. He quickened his speed on Craig's erection. Craig could feel that he was not going to last long, and quickened the speed of his strokes on Chris. His mind filled with incoherent images and words. God. Adonis. Chris gasped wordlessly and tightened his grip on Craig's cock, rubbing his fingers over the head and squeezing the man's buttock with his other hand.

Craig was on the verge of an orgasm, breathing more and more quickly, whimpering almost like he was in pain. He tried to copy what he felt Chris doing with his own lean hands, but it wasn't easy, when all he really wanted was to lie back and just let himself go. Chris moaned in time with Craig's strokes, his eyes squeezed shut and his head lolling back on the couch.

Craig muttered something that could have been "God" or could have been something else. He came, shuddering wildly, his mouth open in a silent scream, head spinning. He gripped Chris' erection hard as he came, holding on to it as though it was the only safe and solid thing in the world. Chris squeezed everything he could out of Craig, and started to pump his hips faster as Craig gripped harder. His own orgasm swelled in him as he felt Craig shudder in his buttock-squeezing hand.

There was no longer any difference between pleasure and pain. Craig tried to keep his hand on Chris's cock, but it was almost impossible; he was barely able to hold on to consciousness. He collapsed on Chris's chest, panting, mouth open and sweating. Chris felt Craig's grip loosening, but was so close that he feels himself coming anyway as Craig's weight fell on him. His hips kept pumping long after his orgasm had faded; his breath comes only in short bursts. He let go of Craig's no-longer erection, resting both of his hands on Craig's back.

Craig closed his eyes, overcome by - well - everything. He felt Chris's heartbeat. He suddenly realized he was still holding Chris's cock, and let it go, unsure of what to do with his hand now. The realization of what had happened struck him, and he began to worry about Chris's reaction. I have to work with this guy for at least another year, he thought, with desperation. Yeah, there was that... There was that... That must be why he worried like hell he'd be thrown out, laughed at, thrown aside. That must be why.

Chris, exhausted, dropped his hands from Craig's back. Craig stiffened a little as Chris raised his head and opened his eyes. He cleared his throat and gave a "Well..." that Craig, his head still against Chris's chest, felt as much as heard.

For once, Chris had no idea what to say. He shifted, realizing that Craig's warm weight was putting his legs to sleep. He felt tired and sated, and not the least bit sober.

Craig, however, felt disappointingly sober, and gave a weak "Yeah" to Chris's statement that his legs were asleep. He looked up, radiating confusion and guilt, dreading what he might see in Chris' eyes. All he saw was glassy sleepiness, and he relaxed a little. He suddenly felt very young.

"Shink I neezuh shleep," Chris muttered, barely opening his mouth.

"Yeah," Craig said again, feeling stupid for repeating himself, but having no idea what he should be doing.

"Shoul come uppn schleep," Chris added. Craig had no idea what that translated to in awake and sober English. "Er... Yeah. You should get some sleep."

Chris flopped his head on Craig's shoulder. He dozed and stared to slip off, waking a moment later with a start. Craig jumped a little as Chris started. A cramp sprang to life in Craig's shin, releasing a hell of pain that would have been a lot more noticeable had he not been half-drunk and riding a post-sex high.

Chris pushed Craig off of his sore legs. He tried to move off the couch, and completely failed, sliding down next to Craig. Craig ran his fingers through his own hair, turning and sitting forward on the couch to let Chris flop behind him. He felt very cold, all of a sudden. It was a green couch. He hadn't noticed before. He wondered, idly, why he did now.

"I donshink I can get up to bed..." Chris rumbled behind him, smiling a little. His limbs dangled off of every side of the too-short couch. He grimaced, unable to doze off.

"I could try to help ya..." Craig suggested.

Chris grinned, his eyes still closed. "Certainly got interesting last time.."

Craig laughed nervously. Laughing. Laughing was good. Maybe he could sneak out later, and they'd never talk about this again, and everything would be back to normal. Wouldn't that be grand. He turned to Chris and tried to help him up. Chris tried to help Craig help him up. He managed a seated position, which felt like a major achievement.

"Come on..." Craig said, trying to sound cheerful, but feeling like a teenager. Where was he? What was going on?

Chris sighed and made another effort. He stood up, staggering into Craig, and held on to the other man with both hands. Craig struggled to support Chris, just barely managing, but grateful for something practical to concentrate on rather than his own frazzled mind. Chris pointed to a door at the other end of the room. Adopting the voice of a maritime commander, he declared, "Onward!"

Craig surprised himself by giggling, and moved in the direction of the point. This was presumably the bedroom. He was going into Chris' bedroom after having... What? Had sex with him? Was that what they had done? Chris kept one arm over Craig and staggered towards the door. He tripped over his half-off pants, stepping on them to remove them and leave them on the floor.

"There we go..." Craig opened the door and helped Chris in. This was clearly the bedroom of an anal-retentive person who was in denial about it. Three pieces of clutter, carefully organized, lay on the dresser; a pair of pants were folded at the crease and slung over a chair. The bed was made tightly enough to bounce a quarter off of it. Towards that neatly made bed they stumbled, not sure who was really leading whom. Chris let go of Craig and staggered to the bed, hauling himself onto it. He moved to the far side and dropped his head onto the pillow, relishing the softness, more than ready for sleep. Only... he could feel Craig still standing awkwardly next to the bed. "Go teh schleep, Craig..." he forced out. Seeing the other man there, just standing - it seemed off.

"Yeah..." Craig wanted to go to sleep. He wanted to go to sleep really badly, just sleep for ages and not dream, and wake up without this knot in his guts. He felt inexperienced and awkward, and he hated it. He scratched his head, and moved towards the door. Chris was probably already asleep. He could sneak out now, get his arse home. The thought was not altogether inviting.

"Geein bed and go shcleep," Chris slurred, and started to snore quietly.

Craig turned. Get in bed. He tested the words in his head, looking for meaning. He looked at the scene in front of him, Chris spread out on top of the covers, mouth half-open, limbs everywhere, hair a parodic mess of how he was used to seeing it. How long did it get make-up to beat that tangle of curls into submission, Craig thought. Hesitantly, he moved to the empty near side of the bed and collapsed in it, clothes and all. Once in bed, he started stripping off his remaining clothes; he got far more than enough imposed slobbiness on-set, thank you very much!

Chris lay next to him, still snoring very gently; he was gone for the count. Craig threw his clothes on the floor in messy heap, and looked over at the sleeping form next to him. A faint, warm smile came to his lips. The knot was gone. He slowly moved closer, and wrapped his arm around the sleeping man, falling asleep himself almost instantly. He felt, finally, oddly satisfied.