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.


Chris pounded down the stairs, the speech he was about to deliver haphazardly stuffed into his short-term memory. A last-minute script. No rehearsals. Lines on autocue when the actors were in a place to see them, or hurriedly memorized when they were not, like now. Jesus, what a mickey-mouse operation this was turning into. He was doing the right thing by getting out.

"Gentlemen!" he bawled with his best Rimmer pomposity. He belted out the speech smoothly until he decided to appoint himself Morale Officer. His short-term memory had a catastrophic failure, and he stood openmouthed, no lines coming out. He paused for a moment, hoping that the speech would return in time to save it, but only the poly-dri-doc-ahedron speech was in his grasp - as it had taken to doing when he was trying to recall something that he actually needed. He wondered if he would ever be free of that blasted speech, and as he wondered, the time in which he could salvage the scene came and went. With that, there was only one thing left to do; play up the flub and amuse the audience. He started to twist his flexible face into as many absurd contortions as it would go, as if attempting to write the missing line in the furrow on his brow, then grinned madly at the camera. The audience laughed, of course - but he could not help noticing, out of the corner of his eye, Craig's lips twitch upward. Well. Chris took a moment to ponder this as he wetted his dry lips. He could not remember the last time he had made Craig laugh. The scouser might chuckle privately at the lines in the script at the first read-through, but by the time they got to the rehearsals, he would react to Chris's lines with a dour, almost bored expression on his face. It worked well enough for Lister, typically, and so it had stayed. The worst was that Craig had been able to make him lose it and laugh, a time or two, just by being so... outrageously disgusting. But although Craig might giggle at a flub of Robert's, or grin at a Cat gag, for this series, he had been an emotional plank of wood where Chris was concerned. That wood seemed suddenly to have cracked, however.

Andy blandly told Chris to take it from there, and he stuffed the rest of the scene firmly into his brain - along with one new goal. He was going to make Craig laugh. He was going to make Craig laugh to make up for the rest of the series; not just grin, not just giggle, but lose it completely on set, on film, in front of the audience. Chris was a professional, was he not? This was his bloody job!

He did have one significant advantage. Craig had not seen the script - hell, it had only just existed. He had no idea that the "whatever's your poison" line was coming, and Chris made it a special delivery, right to his ear, complete with a full-nostril-flare smug grin. He was rewarded with a twitch of the lips that Craig concealed with a pretend sip from his empty coffee cup. Hook, line, and absurdly feathery fishing lure, Chris thought. He segued into the first week's meeting with every iota of smarm that he could drag out, only letting it go at the last second to spit "...want to puke," right out into Craig's lap. And indeed, Craig lost it, grinning broadly. He turned the grin front as Chris walked behind him, but Chris did not need to see Craig's face; he could see the other man's shoulders shaking with silent laughter as Chris bulldozed the rest of his way through what he hated about Lister. Danny and Robert managed to look properly offended, but Craig still had not smothered his grin when Chris delivered his last "Marvelous!" and ran back up the stairs.

And oddly enough, he did feel much better.


No more games, Craig had told himself after that night in the pub, for which he could not find an adequately descriptive adjective. Cringe-worthy, certainly. Shameful, yes; god yes. But more than that; so much more. At any rate, it made him decide - no more games. No more adolescent mind games, no more emotional roller-coasters, no more sniping and baiting. He was done with all that.

Sort of.

He couldn't not try to make Chris laugh. He'd tried to be laid back, keep his distance; give Chris some space. He'd tried not to react to anything the man did, ignoring him like he was so much air except when doing so would be impolite. That hadn't lasted long, though. It was just so tempting; Craig was good at making people laugh. Chris was, too, but in a different way. Off-set, Chris was clever, subtle, ironic. On set, all bets were off. Chris could make you laugh without you noticing what had happened. Craig took pride in making you laugh even if you didn't want to, though. He wasn't subtle or refined, but he was stubborn and insistent, and just so damned cheeky that you couldn't help yourself. Nor, if approached the right way, could the usually highly controlled Chris. And Craig knew this.

As games went, it wasn't that bad, really. For lack of anything else, he could at least have a shared laugh; a few moments where they forgot they were supposed to hate one another's guts. A few moments where he could almost remember what it had been like, way back when. Making Chris's rigid mask of control shatter and break away, being allowed, for a few fleeting moments to see the man inside... Well, brought back memories, that did. Not that they'd talked much during those fumbling moments on kitchen floors and couches, but there had been times when Chris had looked up (or down) at Craig, and there'd been this look there, just this look... Ah well, no use dwelling on the past.

Oh, but it was so hard not to. All Chris had to do was lift a coffee cup with those perfect, slender hands, moving so deliberately, and Craig was lost. Totally gone. At least, now that they were talking, he could sit down next to those hands and watch them move slowly up and down between the table and Chris's mouth, and remember what they used to feel like on his body. And that was better than nothing. It was rather nice, truth be told.

Even so, as this feeling of almost-comfortableness settled between them, Craig found himself growing more and more discontent, as the filming of the final episode grew ever nearer. Even if there was to be a new series, and chances were, there wouldn't be, Chris had made it very clear he would not be in it. He was tired, over-worked, and in his darker moods, Craig had to admit to himself that the bitterness and sniping between the two of them on set could not have helped matters much.

When he found himself, all too soon, nursing a drink slightly off to himself in the somewhat subdued mood of the wrap party, all he could do was look in Chris's direction, imagining the man walking out that door just over there, and never coming back. Seeing him on TV the odd time (though he'd likely avoid it), or staring at him, suddenly, from a supermarket tabloid. But not seeing him again, not really. Not ever.

And he couldn't handle it. He just couldn't. Not when things were like this.


Chris stood with his back to a wall, feeling less like he was at a party and more like he was performing penance. He did his best to be polite, but did not feel in the least bit gregarious. He avoided alcohol. It would be a bad idea, in his current mood. He chatted meaninglessly with a crew member about motorbikes, wondering how long he would have to stay to satisfy politeness. He did not want to talk to anyone.

Craig was not avoiding alcohol. It wasn't that he'd set out to get himself drunk, but he was nevertheless pleased to have ended up inebriated in a morose sort of way. He looked into his drink and tried not to steal glances in Chris's direction. He was generally failing. The man was a magnet to his eyes, like he had been in those early years on the set. Nowadays the tension between them kept that to a minimum, so Craig rarely found himself spending half a scene following Chris's ass around the room. And all things considered, that was probably for the best. But tonight...

Chris was feeling somewhat – well, defensive was perhaps too strong a word, but he was well aware of who was watching him. He could not help noticing that Craig was looking - and drinking, and sulking, somewhat. Chris tried to catch his eye in a genial manner. He knew that this was likely the last time he would ever see Craig, and he felt a desire to make a polite farewell, but that would only be possible if Craig were in a mood to accept it. The mood he was exuding was not a pleased one. Was he angry, upset, sad? Chris could not read him.

Now Chris was looking at him. This wasn't working out. Craig had decided to avoid the man for as long as he could, but how was he going to do that with him looking his way all the time? He tried to look away whenever it happened, trying to pretend he was busy doing – well, nothing at all. The stress made him drink too quickly, and he realized he would need a new one soon. But how to do that without having to pass Chris on his way to the bar? He sighed in frustration.

Chris failed utterly to meet Craig’s eye. He made an effort to conversationally work his way into closer proximity, opening the body language of the conversation to Craig if he were so inclined. He nodded politely at Craig.

Once Craig’s eyes were on Chris, he could not look away. He finally managed to do so by looking deeply into his drink. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, Chris would get bored and move away, forgetting him. For the rest of his life. He sighed again.

Chris’s conversational partner went to the bar for another drink. Chris took this interlude as an opportunity to walk over to Craig. "Enthralling, isn't it?" he asked, nodding at the unusually subdued wrap party.

The familiar voice startled Craig, who had been trying to block out all sensory input. "Huh? Yeah..." His eyes flickered. He wanted to look into Chris’s eyes, but how could he? Chris, by all rights, was done with him, and mournful, loving looks would irritate him at best, and anger him at worst. Maybe he should have worn shades, he thought irrationally.

Chris licked his lips and looked around. Easygoing small talk would be unforgivably banal in this atmosphere. "You don't exactly look like you're having a blast, I have to admit."

"Heh. Well..." Craig shrugged.

Chris frowned at Craig’s taciturn response. He felt like he was pulling teeth that did not need pulling. Say your goodbye and just leave, he told himself.

Oh well, maybe it was better to just get it over with. They had to say goodbye some time. Craig smiled a little, trying not to sigh too loudly. He indicated the seat next to him with slight motion of his head. "Sit yerself down, why don't ya?"

Chris dithered for a moment. Saying he would love to, but had to go, and then going, was most definitely the most rational course. He had a kind gesture from Craig; what more could he expect? Unfortunately, the back of his mind teased him with hopeless potential answers, and he accepted the seat. In deference to their chilly relationship, he pulled the seat away from Craig slightly. He sat down and crossed his legs ankle-on-knee, facing Craig slightly. He swirled his soda-on-ice that merely looked like a drink and sipped it.

Craig coughed. "So, this is it for you then?" I'll never see you again. He started to feel a tightness in his chest.

Chris nodded. He had made no secret of that, at all. "It's just a pain in the arse, doing two at once. And this one - takes, retakes, retakes." He frowned. "And then you start shooting..."

Craig smiled. "Won't be the same without you." Oh God, what kind of a thing to say was that? Well, maybe not so bad. It could be taken innocently enough. He paused, trying to find an acceptable angle. "That's if there will be any more at all. Series, I mean."

Chris repeated Craig's words, twisting the meaning slightly with his inflection. "It 'won't be the same without me.'" He grinned. "That can be taken any number of ways."

Well, there was truth in that too. Craig snorted. "Take it any way ya like; you won't be far off any which way." He allowed himself a slightly wider grin.

It was difficult to ignore the influence of the smile, when it was not directly following an insult or slight. Chris smiled more broadly in response to it, and then showed his teeth slightly in a grin. "Well, my life won't be same without you, either, Craig," he said, repeating his previous inflection.

Craig froze for a moment, as his heart skipped a beat. Somehow he managed to keep smiling. He knew it didn't mean what he wanted it to mean, but nevertheless... "That right?"

"Oh, indeed." Chris made no effort to put any snark in his voice. Some gentle irony seeped through, as it had to. Lord, the layers of meaning in that short sentence would rival a wedding cake.

This wasn't so bad, was it? Awkward, perhaps, but that was a given. Craig fidgeted with his drink nervously, eyes flickering every which way. It was good though, too, sitting here with Chris, talking. He probably looked restless, but he felt oddly content. "It's been a fair few years, at that."

Chris’s smile slipped slightly. "It's been interesting, yes." His life had come to be defined by this blasted show, and although it had its advantages – any fame is good, after all – it had some significant drawbacks. Craig was staring at him intently, and he could not help noticing that his smile slipped in parallel with Chris’s. Chris swallowed. "I wouldn't have thought, when it all began..."

Remember to breathe, Craig told himself, interrupting. "No." How could they have known anything? How had they come from that to this?

Chris frowned at the odd interruption, but finished his thought. "...that strangers would be calling me 'oi, smeghead' on train platforms."

Relieved, Craig laughed, a little too heartily, perhaps. Had Chris noticed?

"What do they call you?" Chris asked.

"Eh, people seem to think I am Lister, you know?" He fidgeted with his drink again. "It's not what they call me, it's how they expect me to act."

"How is that?" It was odd, different, to hear Craig chatting so easily with him, and he discovered that he wanted to keep it moving as long as possible. A comfortable, friendly conversation – that would not be a bad last memory of the man. Considering how cocked up things had been between them, it was more than he had expected.

"Like I'm some sort of beer-swilling, curry-eating slob." Craig grinned and looked at Chris with his head tilted. "I'm not like that."

Chris winked at him. "Yes, you swill beer rather neatly."

Insults were familiar territory, to the point where they almost felt like friendly banter. Craig snorted. "Yeah, thanks."

Chris smiled and looked down. Craig was actually fairly natty, despite how easily he fit the character of Lister. "I know. I haven't..." he trailed off, any number of inappropriate endings to that sentence springing to mind. He cast about desperately for something, anything that would be an acceptable way of getting to the end of the sentence. This conversation had been going so well, too. "...worked with you this long without noticing," he finished, lamely.

With that familiar face so close, Craig couldn't help but study it. It didn't really look older, just... Different. Nicely different. Yeah, well, you had your chance, and you blew it, Craig. Now make nice with the man, and don't get any ideas. You'll be lucky if you can get him to stop hating your guts.

Chris looked back up and saw Craig looking at him with an almost frightening intensity. He did not know what to make of it. He found himself wondering the same thing he had wondered before he started this conversation – was Craig angry, upset, sad? He leaned back slightly, watching Craig watch him, ruffling his hair uneasily with one hand.

Craig smiled weakly. It was time. "You know... I was just thinking. You walk out that door, or I do; we both do, and we'll never see each other again." He swallowed.

Chris frowned, licking his lips. He had not wanted this to come up. He wanted to part on good terms, with that ease of a temporary parting, and then – just fade. He hated goodbyes. "Maybe," he replied, after a pause.

"And I'm not sure I know what to think about that." Craig paused, trying to find a way to phrase this. "I don't think I like it. Not when..." He ran his fingers through his hair, not wanting to say too much.

"Yes," Chris said, hurriedly, not wanting Craig to finish that thought. "I can't say I... altogether... like it, either."

"Look, I don't want us to part with this.." he gestured back-and-forth with his hand "...between us."

Chris’s eyebrows came together slightly, and he coughed. "Yes, this." No, damn it. Do not talk about this. This, the only this that he could be referring to – that needed to be kicked into a corner to die of neglect. It did not need to be resurrected at their last meeting. Chris did not want to rehash all of his old mistakes, stupid actions that he could not undo. He looked down at the shoe that was crossed on his knee, tapping one hand on it.

Not knowing what to do, only half-aware of how his body was behaving, Craig put one hand down on the adjacent table. It fell dangerously close to Chris, as though it were trying to reach where Craig wouldn't, couldn't. Chris looked at it, trying very hard not to think. Craig looked down at it, and saw Chris looking. He wanted to reach out and touch Chris's hand, hold it, caress it; all sorts of things. Dammit, if his face betrayed him now, if that hand twitched, he'd have to fecking run away. As seconds that felt like hours passed, however, he managed to remove it in what he hoped was a nonchalant way. Fer Christ's sakes, it was just a hand! He was over-reacting.

Chris held the drink-that-was-not very, very firmly. He tried not to think about that hand, about the things it had done, about the things he very much wished it would do again. It never would. It was not a hand he would touch again, even to shake. He looked away from it.

All appendages safely tucked away, Craig looked out over the tepid party. "I did wrong by ya." Might as well get it all out.

"I did wrong by you, as well." The opening had been given, and it would be wrong of Chris to ignore it. He owed Craig that much.

This was unexpected. Craig turned, looking into Chris’s eyes. Dammit, the man was so hard to read!

Chris sighed. This was more than he had been intending to say, and he was opening the door quite wide for Craig to throw his drink in Chris’s face and storm out. "I know it's pretty – vapid, but I'm sorry." For everything. For taking you home when we were drunk. For shrinking away when we were sober. For the endless fighting, the mean-spirited pranks, the cruel words. For leading you on, and pushing you away. God, Chris thought, I screwed that one up about as thoroughly as a human can.

Look at what you threw away, you shit-head, Craig’s heart told him, beating faster. Look at what you could have had, if you'd only trusted him; given him time. Why do you always have to rush things; thinking there's something wrong if you can't get exactly what you want the minute you want it? This, man! You could have had this! He opened his mouth, not sure what to say. "I'm really..." he smiled, shook his head, and closed his eyes. "I'm... You don't know how sorry."

Chris smiled, weakly. "Maybe I can guess." He sighed, quietly. "Well, perhaps I learned something." He nodded. Yes, he had learned it far too late for it to do any good.

Something inside of Craig broke. "I... " Oh, there were many things he could say that began with that word, and none of them would help this situation any. He searched around for alternatives; any alternatives. "I wish things had been different." He smiled again, remembering. "Been a long time."

Chris stared down at his drink-that-wasn’t. "A long time?" A long time since we started on this show? Since we... slept together? Since I ruined this? Since we spoke politely?

Craig smiled calmly "Yeah. Since we started all this." Since all of it. Since kitchen floors and couches; since hands on eager erections; since ill-advised showers; since cruel games in seedy alleys. He spoke as calmly as he could, trying to spell all those meanings out.

Chris frowned, still looking down. "Yes. A very long time. It feels like a lifetime." Every single one of those possible interpretations felt like a lifetime. He felt very, very old.

"But you know, all in all, I prefer it when we're able to talk and that, like this." Craig gave a warm smile to the top of Chris’s head. It was the best he could do at the moment. "And not try to kill each other with bickering."

Chris raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Rarely enough, unfortunately."

"And ain't that a shame, though?"

"I think I was to blame for much of that."

It was Craig’s turn to raise his eyebrows. "How come?" Yes, he'd thought Chris had acted like an idiot at the time, but Craig had been the one that put the final nail in the coffin.

Chris looked up at Craig. This defied a quick explanation. "Well." He leaned back and looked around the room, trying to summarize it nonetheless. "I was a bit immature. Young and stupid, you know." He pondered for a moment. "Old and stupid doesn't feel much better, I have to admit."

Craig giggled a little. "Hey, so was I! Young and crazy and stupid, we were."

Chris nodded. "Maybe it's not too late to sane up a bit." He leaned back in his chair again, regarding Craig. The man seemed sincere. But when had Chris ever been able to accurately read him? All he knew was that he owed it to the man to be sincere, himself. And he would never see Craig again, after all; he had nothing to lose. Except for a polite goodbye. His throat felt suddenly dry, and he sipped his soda again. Could they possibly be friends, after all that had passed between? Stop at the pub for a pint now and again, and a polite chat? The idea seemed ludicrously alluring.

Friendship? He hadn't dared consider it. Being mates; going 'round the pub, visiting for Sunday lunch with wives and girlfriends? It seemed surreal. But friends, though... Friends touched. Friends laughed together, spent time together. Friends could see one another when they liked, talk on the phone, keep in touch. Craig swallowed. He had not leaned forward or backward; he seemed to be frozen to the spot, afraid to move. "You think?"

"I hope." He certainly did.

Craig’s voice was carefully devoid of emotion. "I... That's good then. That's good. I'd want that." Want! What a stupidly inadequate word.

Chris smiled, tentatively, judging Craig’s reaction. "I suppose - I'd hate to never see you again." Oh, bloody hell. That came out wrong. "You know – around," he hastened to add.

There was just something about his lips; Craig’s eyes couldn't help but be drawn to them when Chris spoke. He licked his own, unconsciously. "Yeah!" he replied, eagerly. "Like I said, it wouldn't be the same. You know, not having you around."

Chris was surprised to feel an honest laugh bubble out. "Not the same. As you said. Any way I should take that one?"

Don't ruin this, man, Craig admonished himself. Why was Chris laughing? Had he said something wrong? Wasn't this all just a little silly? "So... er... yeah." He had no idea how to approach this in a way that wouldn't seem like he was put for something more.

Chris shrugged. "Where are you going from here?" He considered this, found it too ambiguous, and hastened to add, "I mean, the next project."

Craig shrugged, too, unconsciously echoing Chris’s movement. "Dunno yet."

Chris found himself becoming uncomfortable, and shifted in his chair, recrossing his legs at the knee. "Just surfing the tidal wave?" He could not imagine that Craig had not attracted the attention of a few muckity-mucks with projects during his stint on Red Dwarf.

Craig gave a nod-shrug combination. "Yeah, you know..." He didn't want to talk about this. What did that matter?

A pathetic opening, a teenage-level opening. Chris was heartily ashamed to take it. "Well - at the very least, I can't see the last of you without knowing what you're doing next." He smiled.

He couldn't help it; maybe it was the alcohol, maybe Chris's proximity, maybe the multi-layered statements; maybe everything. Completely unsubtly and way too fast, Craig leaned across to Chris, entering his personal space, a pleading look in his eyes. "I don't know what I'd do if this was it, man." As he realized what he had just said, he leaned back, looking away. You arsehole. Buggered that up now, didn't you? Why couldn't he have managed to keep himself under control for just a few precious minutes? Was he 100% libido? There was no saving this now. All he could do was leave as fast as he could, and save them both as much embarrassment as possible. "Sorry!" He started to get up.

"No..." Chris stood. This was going on far too long. Craig was drinking and getting overly sentimental, and would only resent this later. They needed to shake hands and smile and part amicably now, and pretend they would see each other again to take the sting away. Enough. "I was just..." He motioned towards the door.

What did Chris want now? Craig was standing now, swaying from the drinks he'd had, but mostly from the conversation. "I mean, I was... That was..." Craig bit his lip. "Sorry."

"Well." Chris swallowed. "You know where..." he stopped. This was not the proper way of phrasing it. He waved his hand. "I mean, you know how to... er..." God, what drivel was he spouting? A polite goodbye. Leave. Now, before he said something too stupid to recover from.

Yes. Craig knew how to get in touch. That wasn't the problem. He took a step closer. Chris stopped talking. "I do, at that." He swallowed and looked at Chris’s face, breathing quickly, his mouth half-open.

Chris licked his lips, very, very quickly. He felt mesmerized. "Yes." He tore his eyes away from Craig's with a visible effort. "I should be..." he gestured that pointless gesture again, turning towards the door.

Turning his face ever so slightly, Craig saw the door, and something inside him broke. He had to act now. He had do something. He started speaking quickly. "Look, this might seem weird, but..." He stuck one hand out, hoping it would keep decently steady. An offered handshake. It would have to do. It looked sort of silly and alone; he felt like a storefront mannequin. "Mean a lot to me."

Chris looked down at Craig’s hand, briefly confused. He looked up at Craig, then back down at the hand. Lord, he had not even shaken Craig’s hand in... he grasped it abruptly and firmly. He held it for a moment, as if it were a reassurance of reality. He realized that his grasp was painfully tight, and loosened it.

The feel of skin on skin, the physicality of it made Craig gasp. He returned the pressure firmly, looking into Chris's eyes, keeping his look steady. His thumb, completely without his consent, made a vague motion that was not quite a caress across Chris's hand. When he caught this he wanted to let go, but how? If he let go, Chris would disappear. And he'd never see him again. Never.

Chris’s fingers were trembling slightly as he looked at Craig. God, polite physical contact with the man; this was far more of an end to the evening than he had been expecting. He gave a ghost of a smile. "Thanks, man."

All Craig could think of was keeping Chris here; keeping this contact, keeping it as long as he could. And then he stopped thinking at all, his emotions taking over his brain, and moved in for a desperate hug.

Chris froze, absolutely dumbstruck. He felt the other man’s body pressed to his, and desperately thought – friendly. A slightly drunken excessive friendliness. He just feels sad that we’ll never see each other again. Craig was not coming on to Chris, and would push the man away with an icy stare if Chris hinted that there was anything more than distant platonic affection in his heart. He laid his hands gently on Craig's back. He could not keep his head from bending down slightly to rest on Craig’s shoulder.

"Thank you," Craig muttered into his ear. "Thank you." He closed his eyes.

Chris’s lip quivered. The regret of everything he had done and not done had come crashing down on him with this simple gesture, and he did not trust himself to speak. He sighed in Craig's ear, hoping that it would not sound like anything more than a breath. His right hand tightened on Craig’s shoulder, and he forced it to relax. A simple hug. He wondered how long this could last, this press of body on body, and concentrated on filing a detailed report in his memory. He would need it.

The warmth of Chris's body, the all-too-familiar smell of the man, his heartbeat, his breathing; Craig couldn't imagine himself ever letting go. He sent a prayer to anyone that might be listening in thanks for letting him have this, for letting Chris allow it and not push him away. He had every right to, after all. Craig felt himself shivering. His lips were so close to Chris’s face; he had no idea how he could keep from kissing it. For a dangerous moment he almost convinced himself he should; after all, they'd never meet again anyway. And it was so tempting! The outrage, harsh words and possible physical violence that would follow would be a small price to pay for just one last... But no. With every once of control in his being, he started to slide slowly away, feeling as though he was abandoning part of himself.

Chris felt Craig sliding away. He made himself loosen his grip. This was it. The last touch. Take a picture, Chris, he told himself irately. He moved backwards very slowly and deliberately.

Because Craig's lips were open from the imagined kiss, they brushed ever-so-gently, with full deniability, on Chris’s cheek as he moved away. He couldn't help that. There were limits to self control.

Chris felt what he knew to be accidental contact of Craig’s lips on his cheek. It nonetheless sent a sexual thrill through his body, and he bit his lip to keep his composure. He stepped back, his lips still firmly in his teeth. Craig was – blurry.

Craig felt an almost-pain in abdomen as Chris stepped back, his eyes glassy.

Chris nodded and walks a few unsteady steps backwards.

Craig gained control of his voice. "So that's... That's..."

Yes, Craig, that’s as much as I can take, Chris thought. I know you’re being friendly, and lord knows it’s more kindness than I deserve, but I just can’t take it. Damn me, I still want you. He nodded more firmly, still holding his lip in his teeth. He turned abruptly and left, stopping outside to suck in a breath of cool night air. Done. It was over.

He felt oddly cold.