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.

It was a rare thing for Craig to wake up before noon feeling anything other than drained, sluggish, and miserable. So when he awoke with none of those feelings, he was not about to complain about it. No, he was not tired. He was gloriously, wonderfully untired, if there were such a word. If there weren't, he mused, there should be. Truth be told, he felt energized. For someone who had never been a morning person, it was an odd thing indeed!

Yawning, he took care to stretch his legs and arms out properly, as if to prolong this surprisingly good state of being. He tried to search his mind for what he had done the day before that might have caused the unusual contentedness, but it was still far too busy working on starting up his systems for the day. Information retrieval would have to wait for a moment. He did have vague memories of a particularly long and tedious rehearsal, but there was nothing unusual about that, sadly. They were shooting today, he remembered now, as he slowly turned over on his side, unwilling to leave the warm, soft confines of the bed just yet.

Oh, right.

The sight of Chris's face, so familiar, so close, made contentedness shiver and morph gently into bliss. Their schedule being what it was, this was the first time he'd been able to convince Chris to sleep over, but any plans for doing anything other than sleeping had quickly faded once they'd hit the bed. Oh, they'd tried, for a while, but the kisses that had driven them to fall down on the mattress in the first place became sloppier and less frequent as the softness of the sheets slowly seduced them, and soon, Chris was making slurred excuses and heading for the shower while Craig promptly lost consciousness then and there. Someone must have undressed him while he was asleep, he mused, because he was just in his boxers now. Perhaps...

And then he suddenly noticed, with an awareness that started somewhere in the pit of his stomach, that Chris's eyes were open.

Chris let himself wake, slowly. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He had woken before the alarm. He did that, most days; Craig had never been an early riser, though, so he would have a small chunk of time to take a shower and get dressed. A slight movement caught his eye, and he looked over to see Craig looking at him, awake, a faint smile touching his features.

Chris's voice was slightly sleep-slurred. "You're awake," he said in mild surprise.

"Yeah." Craig smiled more widely, a little startled to find his own voice so gentle. Chris could do that to him. One of the many things he could do to him, in fact. "Fancy that, eh?"

Chris turned on his side, propping his head up on the lower arm. "One for the books! You never wake up before I do..." Of all of the days to do it, one when they had been too tired even to have sex the night before, and had fallen asleep quite late, was not the one Chris would have guessed.

Craig shrugged slightly, just a tiny motion of his shoulders. "I feel good." All the better for seeing Chris, and even more the better for the slow realization of what their mutual state of awake-ness might lead to...

Chris reached one hand out and put it on Craig's stomach. He did feel good. Warm, soft, and with that trail of hair leading down to the crotch as if to say, "This way!" Chris rubbed gently, relishing the sensation of flesh and muscle under his hand. Hell, relishing that he could do it at all. He had not seen Craig - well, seen him - in... no, it didn't bear thinking about.

Curious and eager to see what Chris might possibly have in mind, Craig followed the movement of Chris's hand with his eyes. Of course, he knew the answer all to well, and craved it just as much as the other man, but sometimes he found the anticipation, the discovery and surprise (even a false one) to be just as sweet as the act itself. But even so, when Chris started to rub, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply, inching closer. He needed this.

Chris used that movement closer as an excuse to move his hand to Craig's far hip. Yes, it had been far too long. Thank god they had woken up early; he did not think he could just up and go to work without some of this. Kissing, fondling, hands on members, maybe a little sucking, if time allowed. Yes.

Reaching out, as though he were picking out a particularly tasty bottle of something delicious from a supermarket shelf, Craig snaked the hand that lay underneath him over and underneath Chris, to reach the back of his neck. They were face to face now, as they never were when standing up, and the part of Craig that was forever childish thrilled and cheered at this. He let it. Why not? You should indulge yourself from time to time.

Chris pulled on Craig's hip. "It has been far too long..." Yes, that was one for the no-shit department, he decided, seeing something shining in Craig's eyes. His fairly predictable morning erection, now given a reason to exist, became very, very hard, indeed.

Craig didn't need to be pulled, but he followed anyway, putting his free hand on Chris's waist and urging it closer; wanting all of him closer. "Goh, yesh... Know," he slurred, feeling drunk. He hadn't been drinking last night, had he? No, they'd come straight back here, collapsing before... Oh, but they could make up for that now.

Chris lifted himself off of the bed, letting the pulling move Craig underneath him. He gently feathered Craig's lips with his own. Morning breath was not the most erotic thing about, after all. But at this, Craig seemed to break from some sort of spell, lunging into the kiss. That certainly addressed the pressing concern. Chris pulled on Craig's hip, closing his eyes and kissing him deeply. He have to taste like something far worse than stale cigarette butts to slow him down now. He shifted to be directly above Craig, running his hand from the man's hip to his buttock, running his fingers along the crease.

And there it was again, Craig thought, that particular wildness only Chris could induce in him; what would have kept him coming back even if it wasn't for the love that coursed through him as naturally as blood or breath. He moaned into Chris's mouth, cursing that he needed to come up for air; waiting, waiting until his lungs were crying out louder than his groin and heart. "Hell..." So beautiful. It wasn't a word he'd thought he'd ever use about a man, but there was nothing else for it. Chris was beautiful, and this, them doing this was impossible... He paused, as something nudged the edge of his consciousness. Yes, impossibly good and all that, but there was something else, something he'd forgotten, something not good at all... Chris lay above him, eager, wanting, waiting, and he gave a mental shrug. Ah, it would come to him. Sadly, as he was about to close in again, it did, and his eyes flew wide. Hell, indeed!

"Mmm..." Hell, yes, this was so very necessary. Chris kept his eyes closed and leaned in to lick Craig's chin.

Craig pushed back slightly, his frown deepening as he pushed back fully, and sat up, panting, while Chris opened his eyes and frowned in turn. "What time is it?" Craig said, wildly. It couldn't be. Please don't let it be true.

Chris's frown deepened as he pulled back to his side of the bed. "The alarm hasn't gone off yet..." Petulance was building up inside of him. Who cares if we have twenty minutes or ten - I need this, Craig!

No, it hadn't, Craig thought; that's the trouble. He waited a second or two, hoping for the churning feeling in his stomach to subside, hoping he would be more right if he postponed it - but eventually he had to give in and scramble for the bedside table. There was no clock there. He swore, then looked at the floor, where a sad plastic box lay upside down, a silver minute-hand half an inch or so further away, confirming his worst fears. "Aw, hell... it's broken."

Chris looked at Craig as this percolated with icy horror. He unfroze and scrabbled on the table for his watch. "Oh... shit. We're late." They were ten minutes late already. They'd be lucky to get to the studio half an hour late - if they left right fecking then.

Craig straightened. Just being in a room with Chris could make him want to - well - do the things they now had not a chance in hell of getting to do. And when they came back later (if Chris would even want to come back with him - he didn't always, and although there was always a perfectly good reason for it, it still rubbed Craig the wrong way), yes, if they came back later, they'd just fall asleep again, wouldn't they? All kinds of desperation shone in his eyes as he turned to Chris, wishing, not for the first time, that everything was different.

You and me both, Chris thought irately. He scratched his head, grimacing. "Shitshitshit. We have to go."

"I know!" Craig said, panic rising. He didn't want to be late. He'd made a horrible reputation for himself of always being late; but he was different now, wasn't he, and he needed for people to understand that. People like Ed. Which they wouldn't, if he kept coming in late.

Chris scrambled out of bed, his highly-unsatisfied erection bobbing. "We're never going to hear the end of this..." The two of them showing up, together, equally late. The worst part - they didn't actually get to do what all and sundry of the dirtier mindset would no doubt assume they had. He stumbled into the bathroom, where he had left his clothes after showering. No time for a shower now, damn it.

Dragged by different forces in opposite directions, Craig found himself standing eerily still, his legs trembling slightly, as though trying to figure out which way they wanted to go. Chris leaving seemed to trigger something, and he leapt into action, running his fingers through hair, rummaging through piles of clothes on his side of the bed, torturing himself all the while by imagining what people were going to say and think when they saw them. "Dan is gonna have a field day," he grumbled.

Exhibit A in the Dirtier Mindset category. Sometimes, back in those strange days of drunken pub nights, Chris would look back as he staggered out the door with Craig, only to see Danny giving him a meaningful look. He never said anything explicitly, but the comments he made, endlessly.... Chris groaned quietly, looking at his erection. That would not help things one bit. He willed it to subside, but it only grudgingly half-complied. "Hell," he muttered, dressing hurriedly anyway. He splashed some water on his face and called himself washed.

Craig emerged out of the bedroom after a while, wearing something more or less presentable. He was only half-aware of what it was; it fit, at any rate, and smelled clean. He looked at Chris uncomfortably, his mouth open. Thoughts came slowly, for which he was quite grateful. He didn't really know what to do with them.

That mouth. Craig just loved to suck on things - pens, fingers, cigarettes, and something that it would be very bad to think about, given the circumstances. Chris put his hand over that mouth. "Don't do that."

"Mmmpfh." Craig looked at Chris as the man smiled lopsidedly.

Chris sighed and removed his hand. Frustration or not, they had to leave. Pretty bloody quickly, too.

Craig kissed the hand as it was removed, and grinned. Chris sighed at that. Well, you might well sigh, Craig thought, and did so deeply in response. A younger, more irresponsible version of himself would have thrown Chris to the floor and damned the consequences, but he was determined to not be that person anymore. Instead, he spent the repressed sexual energy on grinning.

"Go, go!" Chris turned and suited action to word.

"Yeah, yeah..." Because he had to, Craig followed. And because he had to, he let his eyes trail down Chris's back, towards the rounding of his very firm buttocks. And kept them there.


Chris resisted the urge to scratch at his bald cap. It was hot and itchy, and he could feel sweat slowly soaking his hair underneath it, but it would likely come off if he did scratch. He was already in the doghouse for the day for showing up so late, and he was in no mood to exacerbate that. Worse yet, Danny had giggled. Chris sighed, and glanced over at Craig, who seemed to be somewhere between ill-at-ease and nervous.

As if the morning had not been frustrating enough, it had just happened to come on the day he was doing a fecking nude scene. With Craig naked, as well. Chris's mind fretted at everything that had gone wrong with the day and everything that could potentially continue to go wrong, as he undressed with unnecessary neatness. He folded every garment impeccably and laid it on the table next to the mirror, giving his hands something to do. Chris could not help but feel Craig staring at him, and looked to see amusement battling for control of the man's face. "What?"

More than a little amused and flattered by the attention he knew he was getting, Craig undressed with overdone nonchalant-ness. "Nothing, nothing." He grinned as Chris snorted, feeling not a little superior. Some people could control their sexual urges.

"Good timing, this," Chris grumbled. He could not stop glancing at Craig as the scouser's kit began to come off. Bad idea, his rationality told him. He didn't listen.

Craig looked away as he lifted his shirt off. 'Shirt lifter,' he thought, stifling a giggle, and tossing it aside.

Chris kept his eyes on Craig's shoulders and back. He paused in his own strip, down to his underwear.

Craig looked at him, hands on hips, for a moment, then winked and started unbuttoning his jeans. He knew Chris liked it when he did that, and he couldn't help teasing him just a little bit more. He went slow, pretending that he couldn't quite come to grips with the buttons.

No, that would not be good to watch. Chris turned away slightly, picking up the posing pouch he had been given as his 'costume.' Fairly small, and not all that substantial. He rubbed his bum self-consciously.

Craig looked over Chris's shoulder, still unbuttoning. The man was refusing to watch - no fair! "What's that, then?"

"The 'costume,'" Chris replied, holding the floppy thing up with a frown, as if it were a strange type of insect.

"Wha, that thing?" Craig asked in disgust. He was not about to put one of those things on.

"Be glad we have that much!" Chris said, wiggling it. He was supposed to stuff himself into that? It was going to be a long scene.

"Right, right..." Craig said, sliding his jeans off.

Chris watched the jeans coming off, then sighed. Silly to put this off like he was some silly schoolboy. He closed his eyes and pictured, as vividly as he could, Ed Bye in women's underwear. His penis remained safely flaccid as he removed his underwear, folded it, and put it atop the pile. He turned slightly, to prevent Craig from having the full-on view of his lunch.

Craig stepped out of his jeans and his socks in one motion, and stood in his boxers, enjoying the view he did have. "Looking good," he said with a face-splitting grin. He felt rather perky.

"Oh, stop it!" Chris fumed, exasperated. He thought it was fairly well established by now that he was highly frustrated, and just did not need any additional teasing.

Craig could not help but giggle. "Hey, I'm not doing so good meself, ye know!" Oh, but he was. Yeah, he wanted Chris; sure, but he always wanted Chris. No change there. But he could control it, no problem. This was just fun.

"I feel so much better..." Chris said with a sigh that indicated he did not, at all. Craig shook his head and started removing his boxers.

Chris started trying to put on his 'costume.' No matter how he arranged it, it was uncomfortable. It pinched, it tugged, or it left things far too loose. "Damn thing..." he muttered.

Craig frowned at this as he completed undressing. "Yeah, I think you're right. We don't need it."

Chris stopped fiddling with it to turn and raise his eyebrows at Craig. "Just wander out there wearing our hands?"

Craig shrugged. "Why not?" He pointed at the highly silly pouch that was half-covering Chris's crotch. A travesty! He wanted to give whoever was responsible for suggesting these a stern talking to. After he'd given said person a fat lip so he couldn't answer back. "What - like that thing would make it any better?"

Chris snorted. "You're just going to try to get me to drop my hands. Tickle me, or the like."

Craig gave a cheeky smile. "Ach, you know me too well, man."

Yes, he did, and that was the problem, wasn't it? Knew too well what he tasted and felt like. Chris quirked his lip.

"I know I'm not wearing that thing, though," Craig snorted. "You were right. It's silly!"

Chris sighed and shifted his package. "I didn't say it was silly, I said it was a damn thing."

"Yeah, that, too." Craig looked on innocently as Chris shifted himself a little more. He cupped his genitals with his hands as if he had been born to do it.

"I swear, it's too small," Chris muttered, doing a little hop while shifting. Things were not settling comfortably.

It was far too easy, and so, predictably, Craig raised his eyebrow. "Not what I'd say, luv."

Chris gave a long sigh, looking at Craig with resignation. He could not be more certain that he was being set up, somehow, but Craig was looking at him with the expression of sweet innocence that he had perfected over the years, and that fit his face so well that Chris strongly doubted he could say no to anything it asked. He pulled off the pouch and dropped it on the table, and covered his genitals with his hands, thinking of every type of disaster that could potentially happen. Well, then again, what was the worst that could happen? He'd flash a large number of people. It wasn't like getting hit by a bus.

A certifiably not-innocent grin broke through Craig's innocent mask. "Yeeees, there ya go!" It was a silly little thing to be happy about, but nonetheless, he was.

"I don't believe this."

"Wha?" Craig asked, stupidly, childishly happy. He could only think of one thing, in fact, that could possibly make him happier, and he was fairly certain he was going to get that later on. So all in all, what was there not to be happy about?

That happiness was infectious, and Chris could not help grinning at Craig's enthusiasm. "You look far too happy about this." He waddled uneasily over to Craig, hands firmly in his crotch. He found it easier if he splayed his legs slightly. Craig shifted a little, glancing, from time to time at Chris, who moved his head around Craig's, almost sniffing. The other man's wiry hair had given the bald cap a distinct texture. "Your head is bumpy," Chris snorted.

There was something almost domestic about this, Craig thought, as Chris examined his head. The two of them, so comfortable, in the world they always, truth be told, felt most comfortable in. In a way, being naked was almost appropriate; it wouldn't be wrong to walk around naked in your own home, would it? "Ya ready then?"

"Just one thing." Chris pulled back to look directly at Craig. "Very. Few. Takes." Slipping and flashing the audience was one thing, but giving up in frustration and tossing his fellow actor over the set desk with him on top would take a very long time to live down.

Craig snorted and tried to look serious. Yeah, he was a bastard, but not an unreasonable bastard - he wasn't going to prolong Chris's agony, even if he did find it amusing that... Chris was staring at him, he realized, looking up to meet that gaze. That smoldering, near-desperate, lustful gaze. "Erm... yeah," he stuttered, suddenly not so cocky. Or rather, he was, just not, well... He couldn't even think straight. Domestic? Yes, but people had sex in their homes, didn't they? He was pretty certain they did. "On we go, then," he said with fake bravado, not looking at Chris - not looking at anything. Few takes. Yes, he was on board with that.


It was not difficult to keep an irate Rimmer look on his face. Certainly, Craig had all of his lines memorized, delivered them impeccably, and kept admirably in character. He was not doing a thing to prolong the scene; the audience ate it up, laughing very hard, and the takes went swiftly and well. But Craig kept making the smallest of touches - rubbing an arm slightly against Chris's, or a hip, just generally gravitating towards him until skin contacted skin, dwelling for a moment, and pulling away. The feather-light touches of the man that Chris had been horny for already only made him more and more frustrated, until he was ready to eat the sheet of the paper covering his groin. Annoyance was useful, as it kept him from getting rather embarrassingly erect, but by the time the scene was done, he was not quite sure if he wanted to kiss Craig or yell at him.

Chris turned in said paper backstage like a good actor returning props, putting his hands back over his package for the walk back to the dressing room. Someone would probably have tossed a robe in his direction if he had waited, but he was in no mood to wait.

His papers were gone, Craig registered through his bemusement. That was probably why he was now reduced to covering his package with his hands again. He kept having to remind himself not to fondle what was in his grip, but it was bloody hard. In rather a lot of ways, actually. His mouth kept popping open, followed by him closing it self-consciously. He watched Chris walk back to the dressing room, not looking back, and his mouth popped open again; he wanted to swear. Instead, he followed.

Chris opened the door, his other hand on his lunch; he had a fairly good idea of where he would land on the subject of kiss-or-yell. Once inside, he held the door open for Craig, like some kind of blasted gay butler. As soon as Craig had cleared the doorway, moving as though on auto-pilot, Chris made one motion of grabbing the man's hip, closing the door, and pushing Craig up against it. He turned the lock as he started to kiss him, feverishly. He was immediately, achingly erect.

Not a disagreeable way to be snapped back to reality, this, Craig thought, as he gasped and kissed Chris back, whimpering. His mental shut-down had been able to keep horniness at bay, but he hadn't been able to keep from brushing against Chris whenever possible. Now, everything that had built up inside him welled out in a flood of impossible to contain raw desire. He could eat Chris alive.

As Chris was still annoyed, he managed to force out between kisses, "You... are such... a bastard." That taken care of, he returned to the much more important - no, absolutely necessary - task of rubbing Craig's hips and running his tongue along the man's teeth and the roof of his mouth.

Craig gasped incoherencies, having exhausted his supply of words. Finally, in a very small voice, he managed, "Yes." Bastard, yes; true, accepted, moving on; more skin, more tongue, please, please don't stop!

Chris kissed Craig hard, rubbing up against him, and pulled one hand off of Craig's hip to run it up his cheek. The tips caught in Craig's bald cap; Chris started to pick it off. His own was hot and itchy, and Craig's would not be any better.

Craig's head didn't feel quite as hot anymore when Chris managed to work the cap off, and Craig felt thought returning for a moment or two. Only one idea stuck in his mind though, as he saw Chris's hands and arms around his head, helping him, caressing him. "Naked..."

"You know," Chris said, laughing slightly through the kisses as he tossed the cap aside, "I saw you undressing me with your eyes."

"Yeah..." Craig said, breathlessly. He had no idea what he was saying. All that mattered was being as close to Chris as possible, and so he concentrated on rubbing up against him and breathing. Just those two. Nothing else.

Chris picked off his own cap, running his other hand around to Craig's buttocks, thrilling at the man grinding into him. Damn, he hoped Craig needed this as much as he did. He felt ready to explode, in every good way.

Craig's head fell back, slamming against the door fairly hard as he gritted his teeth. That should have hurt, some part of him registered, but there was no time for pain now. He grabbed Chris's buttocks, wildly, pressing the other man even closer, praying the door could withstand this sort of punishment, thankful that he was rather slim these days, then forgetting all else again as Chris began to suck at his neck.

Chris winced slightly at the sound of head hitting door. That sounded slightly painful. Unfortunately, someone else heard, as well; Craig's panting "Crazy... drive me..." was interrupted by an honest, worried voice that could only belong to Bobby, sounding from outside.

"Hey, are you fellows all right in there?"

Chris took a deep breath, laying his head down on Craig's chest. He forced his voice as close to normalcy as he could, given the circumstances. "Fine, man, fine." He could not stop rubbing his erection against Craig's stomach, though, and that seemed to raise the pitch. "Just... dropped something."

Flat against the door, Craig wondered how Chris was even able to speak without sounding like the voiceover to a poorly made German porn film; Craig certainly wasn't. It seemed to have done the trick; Robert sounded cheerily unconcerned. "Righto! See you later!" he exclaimed, as Craig tried to keep breathing.

Chris listened anxiously to Bobby's footsteps as they faded in the distance. As soon as they sounded a decent way away, he started sucking at Craig's neck again. But that would leave some interesting-to-explain and very visible marks, he chided himself, and so he tore himself away to trail his tongue down Craig's chest. He was seized with an urge to taste the man.

A very particular thrill always gripped Craig when Chris did what Craig hoped he was about to do right now. It was the one thing he'd never dreamed of experiencing, not even if they'd somehow get back together, even if there was mutual love and lust between them as there was now. That incident in the shower back in ancient history and everything connected with it had marked Craig's soul in a way he probably would never be able to shake. Chris would never know, could never understand, how much his sucking Craig, wanting to suck Craig, meant. He moved his hands to Chris's shoulders, grabbing them and squeezing, holding on. This was a gift, one he was never entirely sure he deserved.

Chris dropped to his knees and started to suck at Craig's head, pushing the foreskin back with his lips. The faintly musky taste was, at that point, the most delicious thing that Chris could conceive of. It was more necessary than food; probably on par with air and sunlight. He grabbed the shaft with one hand, frustrated at his lack of Craig's ability to just suck the thing all of the way in. His own erection demanded attention, and he grasped it firmly in one hand. He let saliva spill out of his mouth, lubricating Craig's erection so that he could get a bit more of it in his mouth.

The feeling of Chris's mouth on him came as such a relief that he nearly wanted to cry, which annoyed him somewhat; there was no need to get so emotional over something like this. They'd done it often enough, though yes, god, not nearly as much as he would have liked. There would never be enough of this, never, never, never! His breathing sounded odd as he tried to keep control of it, and from time to time the odd high-pitched moan would escape him, as he slowly melted into another, wonderful, state of being.

It was too fast and not fast enough. Chris wanted relief immediately, and he wanted this to last for hours. He moaned over Craig's head as he stroked the shaft firmly. He played with himself just enough to keep himself erect; no, he did not want to come so soon. His hand was dry, in any case, and caught at his skin unappealingly.

Pressing hard against the door, Craig reached out to Chris's face, caressing it. He didn't deserve this. Chris didn't know; he couldn't know who he really was. If he did, he wouldn't be here, wouldn't do this, give him this joy. "Hell... good. So... good."

As if this hadn't been sultry and stimulating enough already, Craig saying that in a breathy voice, the rumbling of the chest echoed slightly in a gentle movement of his cock... hell, Chris was losing his reason very quickly. He opened his mouth over Craig's erection to moan into it, "Oh god..." He closed his mouth over it again, sucking, getting enough into his mouth to allow his hand to fiddle with Craig's testicles as well as with his shaft.

He didn't know what Chris was doing, but it didn't matter; no one else could bring him to the state he was in now. Craig strained not to shout out loud, because he'd scream Chris's name, he was sure of it, scream it loud enough to echo down the corridors. The effort nearly made him bang his head again.

Chris kept his hand more or less still on his own erection, working his fingers on Craig's shaft, stroking the soft skin of his balls. God, Craig was so emotive; feeling him experience pleasure was halfway to Chris experiencing it himself. It was strangely magnificent.

Hell no, he didn't deserve this. Craig gasped deeply, paused a few seconds, then tried to pull Chris up. He had to give something back, had to make up the balance. He felt so helpless, too open, too exposed. He felt like Chris could see his soul, and he wasn't sure he liked it. If he drove Chris away, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. Well, no, he corrected grimly; he would know all too well.

"No," Chris said, almost plaintively. He did not want to take his mouth off, to lose this magnificent feeling of connection.

"No fair you should... have... all the..." Craig paused to breathe, "fun." Like it wasn't fun to be stroked and sucked with such abandon. He knew he wasn't being believable, but what else could he do? This wasn't fair, by any standards. He watched Chris pull back slightly with a sad look on his face, a stray trail of saliva arcing between his lower lip and the head of Craig's erection, and Craig's heart broke. Hell, he was screwing up no matter what, wasn't he?

Chris watched the desperation in Craig's eyes. Couldn't the man just enjoy himself, let Chris do this? He did not take his hand off of either cock. As Craig stood there, just breathing, looking down, he started to stroke Craig hard. He could not just kneel there and wait. He was far, far too horny.

Those eyes, those hands (on his cock, his mind sang, stroking you, loving you; you don't deserve it) - Craig was hypnotized at the sight. As Chris unconsciously licked his lips, displacing that arc, Craig bit his lip. "OK... I..." he whimpered and tried again. "Regret I said that!" He really was a weak, pathetic bastard, wasn't he?

Chris could not help smiling. Craig could be so bloody headstrong - sometimes, Chris felt that he disagreed just to disagree, to assert himself. Assent isn't always weakness, he tried to think in Craig's direction as he licked the man's foreskin farther down.

Not big on self-control at the best of times, Craig forgot where he was and wailed quite loudly, biting down hard on his lips as if to compensate. And in some small way, the pain did help. Not for long though.

Chris felt the tension building in Craig. "Need to taste you," he mumbled around the head. He sucked at as much of the erection as he could, stroking hard at the rest. Craig moved as if he wanted to thrust, but was holding himself back. Chris sucked a little more in, still stroking; he could not take more, or he'd gag and spit when Craig came, and it seemed so... inconsiderate to do so.

"Gonna..." Craig did not finish the sentence before his hands clenched on Chris's shoulders more tightly, and he came. And nothing mattered anymore; nothing but him and Chris, and this miracle of blessed, uncomplicated joy that had somehow been given to him. He hadn't realized just how much he had needed that. No complications. Just pleasure. Just love. He tried to sigh, but ended up with a coughing sort of choke. Chris. Chris.

It was damn near as thrilling as coming himself, feeling Craig shiver, feeling the cock in his mouth pulse; Chris sucked harder, swallowing what came into his mouth, then licked the cock up the sides. He felt astonishingly horny, but somehow, less frantic, as if Craig's orgasm had sated an immediate need. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against Craig's hip, moaning slightly.

Craig let out a long exhale, shuddering. "God, Chris..." he said, softly. "Beautiful... yer... " Beyond description, even if he did have his wits about him. Somewhere in the mess that was his desk at home, there were half a dozen failed attempts at such a description. He hadn't as much as looked at them in years. Futile. Such wonderful futility.

The words were electrifying. Chris moved his hand slightly on his own cock; it was terribly hard, and precome was steadily leaking out of the tip in a sticky puddle. "Oh, hell, I needed that," he sighed.

Craig tried to pull him up again. This time, he put up no resistance. "Needed you... always need you," Craig mumbled, kissing Chris as soon as he was of a height to do so. And Chris kissed him back, rubbing his erection's sticky head on Craig's stomach. That felt far better than it had any right to. "So much... Love you..." Craig gasped.

"I love you far too much," Chris said into Craig's mouth, running his free hand up and down the man's side. He wanted this to last much longer than it would - he was going to come as soon as Craig did - well, hell, anything at all to him. Hands, mouth, anything.

Craig gave a short, happy laugh, and moved his hand to Chris's cock, feeling Chris drop his hand away from it as he moved to grasp Craig's hip, sighing with almost a whine into his mouth. "Mmm..." Craig started to slowly stroke, by ways of a stopgap measure. What could he do, what could he possibly do, to reciprocate what had just been given to him? Well, there was one thing...

I must be overstimulated, Chris thought. It was the only way to explain the fact that he didn't come as soon as Craig stroked. He moaned into Craig's mouth, licking the man's lips. Full lips. Very tempting.

Craig pulled away slightly to lick his free hand, quite slowly, making sure that Chris saw. Chris looked at the display open-mouthed, licking gamely at Craig's cheek. He sighed as Craig moved the wet hand down and switched hands, putting the wet one on Chris's cock. Chris moaned quietly. Yes, overstimulated. Hell, he felt like he should have come at the sight of Craig's long, pink tongue running up his hand, leaving a glistening trail behind. He took a deep breath as Craig slid his wet hand up and down, kissing him gently. "Yes," he breathed.

So Chris liked that? Good. But not good enough. Determined, stubborn as he'd ever been, Craig leaned even further in to whisper into Chris's ear. "You know, you can have me... however you want. Always. You know that, yeah?" He stroked slowly.

Chris took a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh..." he breathed in the exhale, grabbing Craig's hips. He bucked slightly into Craig's hands. Of course he had thought about doing... that. When you lust hopelessly after someone for years, you think of all kinds of things, late at night in bed, and that had certainly made an appearance, a time or two. But there was so much tied in with that act - implications of dominance, the possibility of real physical harm. Chris rested his forehead on Craig's. But hell, hell, he wanted to. "I can't... ask that."

Craig smiled lovingly and kissed Chris's nose. "Nothing to ask." Chris needed this; Craig had known for quite some time that this was what he wanted. You could tell, sometimes, when they (all too infrequently) made love; there was a look in his eyes, certain movements, hesitations... Yes, Craig knew. He also knew Chris would never ask unless Craig offered. And so, he tipped his head to kiss Chris's mouth, moving the other man's face with one hand to look into his eyes. "I'm yours."

It was hard to see Craig, even at this distance; a morass of emotions, lust and want chief among them, made the man's face blurry. He grabbed Craig's hips, hard.

So far gone, and yet hesitating, damn the man! Craig's smile quirked and became lopsided, and his body shivered. He was nervous as hell; there were too many bad things connected with this act in his mind for him to just shake off. You couldn't grow up a working class black kid in Liverpool in the sixties without bringing some homophobic baggage along. Craig recognized it as such, vaguely, but he couldn't shake it. But for Chris? For Chris, he'd do anything. Even if it hurt him. Even if it disgusted him. Chris couldn't know that, though, or the stupid man wouldn't go through with it, out of some fecking misplaced sense of chivalry. Which left it up to Craig to act. Literally. "Aw man..." he groaned, as though he was gagging for it, "don't make me beg, eh?"

If Craig had asked him run outside and do naked flipflops in the green room, Chris did not think he could have said no. Begging - for this? There was no thought of the possibility of saying no. Chris grinned ruefully. But if he was going to do this, he was going to do it as well as he could for a fuck in the dressing room over the noon break. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, gathering himself. He stepped back from the door, pulling Craig, who followed like they were one person. Chris fumbled on the dressing-table, knocking over random bottles and miscellany, grabbing for the bottle of hand lotion. Not ideal, but it would do - if they used rather a lot of it.

Pleased with himself, Craig planted soft kisses on Chris's face when he could, smiling oddly. Part of him did want this, in the sense that he wanted anything Chris wanted; anything that made Chris happy. And there was the anticipation, the thrill of trying something new, even if that thing was something that, had anyone asked him about it even three years ago, he would have decked them for just bringing it up.

Chris opened his eyes and dropped the lotion on the floor. He grabbed for his folded shirt and put it to the small of Craig's back, pushing him down to the floor, kissing him deeply. He both felt and heard Craig gasp slightly breathlessly. The man's eyes were shining as he returned the kiss with as much fervor as he could manage. Chris pulled back, feeling a mixture of regret for breaking the heady kiss and excitement at what was to come. He pushed Craig's legs apart, settling back between them on his knees. He picked up the bottle of lotion, looking at the mass of hair that thinned out as it reached his destination.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Craig closed his eyes for a second, breathing only out of his mouth, which was constantly open, kissing or not. He needed air for this, to get through this. He knew precious little about the mechanics of it all, except that it was bound to hurt, wasn't it? He'd never understood how men to could do this or why, until he'd met... His eyes opened, and found Chris. Yes. He understood, now.

Chris waited for his eyes to open, then did not break eye contact as he poured a sloppy handful of lotion out. He slipped one slick finger inside, looking anxiously at Craig. He had done this with women, yes, but oddly, it had never felt like such a responsibility, like keeping the activity firmly pleasurable was a heavy weight on his shoulders.

Craig had braced himself, expecting to feel a penis, sharp pain and discomfort, not... fingers? His eyes widened in surprise, but a calm surprise. This wasn't so bad. It was strange and unexpected, but not bad at all. He smiled. Chris moved the finger back and forth, adding a second finger as he saw Craig's calmness. And astonishingly, that wasn't too bad either, Craig found. It was actually sort of... He gasped, suddenly, as Chris's fingers touched somewhere, and a flash of pleasure surged through him. No, hang on; how could that be?

God, the sight of the man, lying back like that, legs open, face open - Chris was not sure he could go through with this as thoroughly as he should. He'd come from just watching the preparation. But no, he could not live with himself if this were painful. He paused, panting.

"Don't stop," Craig said, hurriedly.

Chris needed no more encouragement. He pushed the fingers in and out. "Just tell me... tell me when it's not... all right."

Looks of surprise and pleasure fought for domination of Craig's face. "Yuh..." God, this actually felt good! He didn't understand how that was possible, but he wasn't complaining. Hell no, far from it!

Impossible. Just impossible. It was almost unbearable before, but with that look on Craig's face! Chris tried to think of something, anything, to distract him, but he could only think of Craig and pleasure and tight. He added a third finger, using the three to gently stretch as he moved them in and out. He was rapidly running out of self-control; the room was cool, but sweat was trickling down his face and collecting at his jawline. The itch of it was just the distraction he was hunting for, and he was grateful for it. Craig winced a little at points, but the look of pleasure always returned. That was completely unfair. The look of delight on Craig's face was irresistible. Chris poured even more lotion over his cock and between his legs, until it stopped soaking in and formed a slick coat. "You are so beautiful," he muttered, just to state the completely obvious.

Though pain was interspersed with the pleasure, it was nothing more than he could handle. Craig whimpered, hanging on to the pleasure, eyes closed. Hearing Chris's words, he opened them again, and looked up, smiling.

The need to do this with care and consideration butted up against the need to just take the man and end the agony of want. Chris took his cock in his hand, holding it firmly, and pushed; the head slipped in, and god, it was so tight, so magnificent, that he had to hold his erection tightly, wheezing, not to push in farther. He let out a gasping whine.

Pain - sharp, debilitating pain shot through him, as though it was mocking him for having let his guard down. Craig gritted his teeth, took a short, sharp breath, and banged one fist on the floor. He shouldn't have let himself relax like that, but it was so bloody hard not to! Nothing for it now but hang on for the ride until it was over, which hopefully would not take too long.

Stop. Hurt. Shit. Chris dropped one hand to Craig's side; he kept the other on his own cock, keeping it from going in farther, which is what it desperately wanted to do. "Hell.... you ok...?"

"Fine..." Craig said, through his teeth, his eyes closed, willing Chris not to ask him again, because he might just scream. No amount of fake protestations would make Chris go on then, he knew.

Chris nodded, biting his lip. He could feel Craig's tension, but the other man had said he was OK, and Chris's aching cock so wanted to believe him. His hand slipped, and his cock, almost on its own, slid in as more of it was available to do so. So warm, so tight, so slick, so Craig - Chris leaned forward and started to lick at Craig's neck, tasting salty sweat.

If he concentrated on breathing, Craig thought, he might be able to trick himself into ignoring the pain. No such luck. He felt himself grow more and more tense, trying to keep in control, and failing. He'd felt worse, probably, but you didn't remember pain, did you? He wished Chris would get a bloody move on, because he couldn't stand this for very long!

Feeling that tension still, that bloody tension that would only make all of this hurt, Chris held his cock very hard to keep it still, and licked almost desperately at Craig's neck. He wanted to move, he wanted to pummel, he wanted to feel that lovely, lovely tightness all over his cock, and damn it, he wanted, he needed to come. He panted, holding still, sweat running down his face to drip from his chin onto Craig's chest. "You... sure..." And if the man said no, he'd have to pull out, and could he even physically do that? He'd have to, he'd have to.

Craig slowly gained control of his breathing, and nodded. "Yes..." he said, his voice gravelly. The pain had subsided to a dull, background ache. He could do this.

Yes. That word made it impossible to hold still any longer. Chris's shaking, sweaty hand slipped off of his cock, and it slid all of the way in. There it was; he was surrounded, completely, by warm, tight Craig, almost too tight, holding him so hard!

Craig's eyes flew open as Chris slid in, and now he did cry out. The pain was back, yes, but so was a dull sort of pleasure; one he was certain he would have enjoyed more had he not been spent before they'd started this. Pleasure and pain started to melt together in his mind, and wondered, idly, how this all must look to Chris.

Shithell, he hurt Craig again. Chris held still, quivering; he moved his unsteady, slick hand up to stroke Craig's cheek. Still, hold still, let him get used to this, don't move in and out of this unbearably tight slick lovely man...

Pain or no, Craig needed more of this; more of this closeness. He leaned into the touch, pressing his body against Chris, trying to draw more of him inside himself. This wasn't shameful; it hurt, yes, but it wasn't shameful. It was wonderful. He clung to the man above him, wanting to absorb him into himself.

"Oh, god." The press of Craig's body made Chris lose something - his self-control, his reason, a very large chunk of his brain - and he started to move, slowly, feeling a rubbing so tight it was almost pain. He dropped the lotion bottle on its side, gathering a gloppy handful to smear between them, thanking all that was holy that some of it got on his cock. Craig was still tense, but suddenly, as Chris moved inwards, he gasped again, clearly in pleasure. Chris smiled at that. Pleasure. Yes, Craig needed to feel pleasure, or this was - pointless. He tried to move slowly, so slowly, too slowly, still sweating. He stroked Craig's cheek as he eased back and forth, closing his eyes.

"Aah..." Craig gasped, in joy and surprise. Pleasure was gaining control of his senses, making him slowly relax. He pressed up against Chris, leaning his chin against Chris's hand. God, this felt good! No wonder people did it! He felt like an idiot for thinking otherwise, and laughed. Bloody fool you are, Craig, bloody fool.

Chris felt Craig relax, and felt his laughter shake his body, and yes, that was it; still so tight, but not too tight, and Craig's delight almost his own, and yes and yes as he dropped his hands to either side of Craig, the man he was in, who was tight and sweet and laughing with joy, and yes and yes... "Going to come," he gasped.

"Yes," Craig said, acknowledging that statement of fact.

The yes, echoing his own, was as good as permission. Chris started to move quickly, giving in, finally; just riding the pleasure, bottoming out so hard that his testicles slapped against Craig's buttocks, feeling the man gasp, and good god, had anything felt quite this good? After a few hard thrusts, a whine came through his teeth as orgasm gripped him; he grabbed Craig's hip and bottomed out as deeply as he could, shaking. The world was starting to vanish, gravity floating away; there was only Craig's hip and ass holding him in the universe as waves of pleasure threatened to tear him away, never to come back. His teeth unclenched and his mouth opened; the whine turned to drawn-out moan.

Not sure what he was feeling anymore, Craig just held on to Chris, pulling at him, choking. Something inside him kept insisting this was wrong, that he was shaming himself, but he slapped it around mentally. Go away, he willed, I'm feeling good. Sod off. Love Chris. Good. Geroff.

Chris felt himself falling, and held Craig's hip hard. The waves passed, and it was an ocean, a deep still body of pleasure, somehow just one part of this man underneath him, a man he could drown in, but he wanted to be closer, even closer. Chris made the smallest staccato pulses to try to push in farther, to be one, to somehow touch the source of this magnificence.

"Yes..." Craig said, into his ear. "Yes..." he repeated more softly, with a hint of tears.

The pleasure drained away, and Chris's whole body shuddered. His arms lost their ability to hold him up, and he fell on top of Craig, leaning his head onto the man's shoulder. The pleasure left behind a profound... peace. There was wetness on that shoulder - sweat, tears, who gave a damn. "Oh, Craig, Craig." So much from this one man, and how in hell had Chris ever deserved it?

Craig gave a slight 'oomph' as the weight of Chris dropped on him, then stroked his back. "Yeah," he replied, calmly, lovingly. He'd done good, hadn't he? Righted some sort of universal balance? Felt like it. He smiled and kissed Chris's ear, as it was fairly close. He whispered into it, "Like I said... yours, man. Always." Having survived this, and none the worse for wear, he'd gladly do it again, and again, if that's what Chris wanted. That, and anything else that was asked of him. Always.

Chris gave a deep, shuddering breath at that. "You know I've been yours... for years..." How imprisoning it had seemed at the time, to be tied to someone so permanently, to be unable to forget him, unable to not think of him, unable to not want him. But no, now that he had this - it was just a law of nature, part of the inexplicable delight of the world.

Craig stroked Chris's back gently. "Yes."

Practicality tapped Chris on the back and informed him that Craig would not enjoy having a cock just sitting up his ass post-sex. Chris got himself up slightly and backed out, his head catching with a too-tight yank. He gasped.

Craig coughed in surprise at the sudden pain, chiding himself for not hiding it better. Ah well, what's done was done. He felt quite content, despite the soreness in his rear, which only seemed to worsen as time passed.

Chris looked at Craig with concern, stroking his cheek as Craig smiled tiredly. He had hurt the man, that much was obvious, and he only hoped that the pleasure had been enough to make it worthwhile. "You OK - really?"

Craig giggled. He was, he mused. He really was. "Hey, you just try to hurt a scouser! Not gonna happen."

Chris gave a wry grin. Macho crap. Not a real answer, nothing that would address his aching guilt.

"I'm fine," Craig said, seriously. And if I'm not, he added, to himself, it's my fault, not yours, love. I'm a bastard, remember?

Chris nodded and fell back on knees. He felt like he had run a marathon without getting off of his knees. He took a very long breath, then let it out in a puff. He wondered if he could stand, or if he would be staggering jelly-legged through the afternoon shoot, like he had just gotten a shot of anesthetic. "Oh, god, we made such a mess," he groaned, looking at the lotion and sweat and come smeared on their bodies and on the floor. They'd have to wipe some of that up.

Using his elbows, Craig managed to hoist himself up enough to look down on himself. It was as bad as Chris had made it sound, but somehow it just all seemed funny. "Oh, man..." He looked back up, laughing. "Worth it though."

Chirs quirked an eyebrow. "Well, if you had set the alarm, we could have done it this morning, you know." Not bloody likely. They would have had a hurried snog and reciprocal hand jobs before a rush to the studio. Maybe the delay had been a good thing. But it would have turned into a very bad thing indeed if it had taken a minute longer.

Going for offended incredulity, Craig couldn't keep the humor out. "Oh, eh! Will ye listen to that! My fault now, is it!" He giggled.

Chris smiled, broadly, and retarded the cause of catching his breath again by laughing. "Yes. Yes, it is." He stroked Craig's leg. "And now... we have to have an afternoon shoot..." Chris groaned.

Well, yes, Craig thought. That's what we do. And you love it just as much as I do, so don't knock it. He frowned as his body refused to comply with the simple task of 'getting up.' He glanced towards Chris. "If you broke something, yer paying for it."

Chris lifted both eyebrows, seeing Craig's eyes glitter. "You're not insured? You should be. All of the celebs are doing it. An absolute must for anal sex on a dressing-room floor."

Through a series of heroic struggles, Craig managed to get to his feet, where wobbling and wincing and bad balance ensued. "Shit.." He exhaled deeply. He wasn't that old, was he? Thirty-three was no age to be feeling like you needed crutches - or a nice, steady wheelchair - after sex, was it?

Chris put his hands on his own thighs for a moment, then staggered to his own feet. The normal post-sex cock ache had spread to his general lower body. Dear god, that had been intense. He looked down forlornly at his wrinkled and sweat-stained shirt. He picked it up with two fingers.

His expression was so forlorn! Not thinking, just acting naturally, Craig leaned against Chris from behind, his head on the man's shoulder. He would buy the man one hundred shirts if it would make him happy. Hell, he'd even wash them!

Chris turned his head to look at Craig, his forehead furrowing. "Why do we never ruin your shirts?" This wasn't the first time, or even the fifth. It always seemed to be Chris's shirts that were used to pad or to hurriedly clean up. Why was that? he wondered.

Craig gave him a sideways look. "'Cause they know better than to let us get our hands on 'em." He gave a mock serious look. "All right, next time, I'll let you ruin my shirt." Although, hopefully, next time they'd be somewhere more comfortable and convenient.

Chris tossed the shirt over a chair, then turned and pecked Craig on the cheek. "Righto. Whenever that is." He could not keep a little petulance out of his voice. It was magnificent to have sex for the first time after a drought, but it was pretty bloody miserable to have the drought in the first place.

Craig caught his hand and squeezed it. "Hey. We'll make the time, yeah?"

No need for me to be a schmuck about it. Chris kissed Craig more kindly on the lips. "Yes."

"Mgmdd," Craig said through the kiss, smiling.

Chris laughed slightly, then rubbed his sweaty stomach. "Shower. Good god, shower." He tugged at Craig, who laughed.

"Oh, yes!"

"Come. Get my back." Chris noted that Craig was not walking with his customary devil-may-care swagger, and put both of his hands on the scouser's hips. He walked backwards, watching the walk with a slight frown. How much had he hurt the man?

Why did Chris have to keep hovering over him like a mother hen? It was disturbing, especially considering what they'd just done. Craig tried to look completely comfortable to get him to relax, and only just failed. Chris sighed, to Craig's considerable annoyance. "Well, this isn't awkward!" Craig muttered under his breath.

Chris rolled his eyes and dropped his hands. Hell, what could he do? He had hurt the man, but he was too stubborn and stiff-necked to admit it, to let Chris offer some comfort and an apology. He grabbed Craig's hand, turning so he didn't watch him walk, and walked into the shower.

The shower. Stopping dead, Craig noticed where he was. The smell of water. The walls; same, but different. A feeling started in his throat, and seeped into the rest of him, ending somewhere in his guts, weighing him down. He looked at Chris, who turned to face him at the pause, and somehow, that just made it worse. The memories of feelings long dealt with hit him in rapid succession, leaving him drained and confused. He stared blankly for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, then shook his head. "Sorry. Was somewhere else."

"What's wrong?" Chris asked, worried. He just could not read the man, sometimes. Ah, make that most of the time.

Craig gave a slight smile. "Just..." he looked around. Dressing room shower. Not a good place, everything inside him screamed. Not with Chris, naked. But that was stupid; they were fine, weren't they? He shrugged, then tried to smile reassuringly. "It's all good."

Hell, the man was upset at something, and it was something that Chris did not understand. Was it related to the sex? They had argued so much in dressing rooms in the past, hadn't they... maybe this had been a bad idea, after all. But it was done, and there was only one thing Chris could do. He pulled Craig close and backed into the shower. He fumbled the water on with one hand, feeling Craig sigh deeply. He fumbled the soap with the same hand and started to kiss Craig while running the soap up and down his back. He didn't know what was upsetting Craig, but he could offer comfort for it, anyway. Or try to.

What the hell was wrong with him? He was safe, he was with Chris, they'd just had great sex, what was this? Why did he feel like he was falling apart, like years of hurt was ganging up on him all at once? All he could do was hang onto Chris, which he did until he started to shake.

Chris felt that beginning of tears. Hell. He continued to rub Craig's back with soapy hands. "I. Love. You."

Yeah, Craig thought, he loves you - isn't that enough? What more do you need? But he just shook, kissing Chris's neck, where his own head was buried, haltingly, as the man wound his sudsy hands through Craig's hair and stroked his cheeks. Craig smiled, though his eyes were red; tears were impossible to detect with water everywhere. He sighed again as he slowly relaxed, this weird influx of feeling, whatever it was, starting to subside.

Chris rested his chin on hair, rubbing Craig's shoulders and back. He felt the man relax, and took a relieved breath. It was hard to know the right thing to do, sometimes. "Don't ever doubt that. I can be a complete and utter arse, but that doesn't change... that fact."

Craig's lip curved upwards at one corner. "That goes for me too." Stubborn as mules they were, the both of them, for better and worse.

Chris ran his hands down to Craig's buttocks. "I do love your complete and utter arse." Oh, yes, Craig could be nasty when he was mean, but the vivaciousness of it was delightful. The man was so alive, even when he was trying to make your own life a living hell. So vulnerable, underneath that sarcastic shell, as well.

Craig ran his hands through the soap on Chris's back, as though he suddenly realized it was there. That was somehow important. Soap. He started to say something, but faltered, and smiled instead. Smiled like he really meant it.

Chris could not see the smile, as his chin was atop Craig's head, but he could feel the rearrangement of muscles nonetheless, and smiled himself as Craig kissed his chest.

"You look as amazing as you ever did, ya know," Craig told the chest. It felt good, too, and in the space that seemed intensified, like their voices echoing off the wet walls.

Chris chuckled. Love must indeed be blind. "Righto." He thought about how Craig used to be, back in the days of the confused fumblings at the old flat. He had looked like a teenager, impossibly young. "You look..." he couldn't hold back a snort, "over the age of consent." Hell, you would never guess the man was in his mid-thirties. The years did not touch him. He was fitter, but still delightfully cherubic. The man in question snorted, and Chris quickly added, "And lovely." He paused. "Not that you didn't look lovely before you... I mean..." He paused again. "That's not helping, is it?"

Craig leaned onto his chest and laughed. "Yes, I'm over eighteen now!" He moved away to look up. "Ya still want me?"

Ah, there was a time with this line of questioning would have made Chris distinctly uncomfortable, to the point of picking a fight with the questioner. He had gotten used to it. He loved Craig for all he was, and his youthful physicality was only a small part of that. Chris sneered slightly and swatted at Craig. "Oh, no, far too old for me!"

"I'm not even twenty-five, ya know," Craig giggled. "Over thirty even!"

"You still get carded, don't you." Chris shook his head. He kissed Craig's cheek, then started to lather his own hands again.

Droplets of water falling off Chris's chin. Craig watched them, fascinated. Giving into impulse and licking them off was more than easy, and he did so.

Chris smiled. As the front of Craig was now available, he started to soap it down. Craig smiled back, then looked on with interest. Chris washed the man's neck, shoulders and chest thoroughly, then ran his hands down Craig's arms and to his hips. Chris skirted the penis, knowing it would be a bit touchy, to wash Craig's legs, then straightened and soaped the penis very gently. Craig jumped a little as the organ, in a highly-sensitive state, was touched. And because it was what it was, it began to harden. Chris gently soaped Craig's testicles, his smile wry. Well, at least they were in the shower, so they would not have to wash up again.

"Steady on, mate!" Craig told his penis. Hadn't it had enough for a while? He wasn't one to say no to sex, when it was offered, but this soon? That was a bit much, yeah?

"Oh, he just wants attention." Chris stroked it gently with a soapy hand. "He's your penis, after all." His own penis hung down, spent for the moment and uninterested in the festivities. It had gotten a hell of a workout, after all, and Chris did not blame it one bit.

Trying for sarcasm, and ending up somewhere between that and lusty, Craig sniped, "Yeah, and yers hates that!"

"You've worn it out for now, I think..." Chris replied, stroking Craig's erection.

"Shame..." Craig mumbled.

"You want another go of that?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Danny is going to see you walking bowlegged..." Part of Chris's brain was enthusiastically cheering the thought of another go of that, despite his words.

Oh hell. Well, he'd brought it on himself, hadn't he? Craig could not help but wince for a second. "Erm, not just yet, I think..."

Chris smiled and stroked, rubbing the head with his soapy fingers. He thought of a way to satisfy both the enthusiastic part of his brain and the part that tartly informed him that they were having a shoot in - check your watch! "One afternoon shoot to go, then I am going to take you back to your flat..."

Craig's arm shot out to touch Chris's shoulder for balance. "Yes..." he murmured, a million scenarios parading before his inner eye.

"And bugger you until you won't walk." Chris stroked firmly and fast.

That had not been among the million. Craig yelped, losing his balance somewhat at the thought of more of that. "Mission accomplished already, I think!"

Chris grabbed Craig's hip with his free hand to steady him. "Oh, pity."

"Mngh!" Craig mumbled, affirmatively.

Chris pulled Craig close, pumping hard. A strange, almost frightening feeling of possessiveness was bubbling up in him. He bit Craig's ear. Craig winced, then thrust into Chris's hand. Chris licked the bite, still pumping. He breathed into Craig's ear, "Are you mine?"

Craig was breathless, confused by the way the water and soap and Chris's hands made him feel; good, but it was tinged by a sense of relief he couldn't place, yet somehow needed just as much as - no, more than - another orgasm. "Told you..." He lost the power of speech, partly. "...s..."

Chris slid the hand on Craig's hip to the small of back, drawing the man closer, realizing where that possessiveness had boiled up from. "I couldn't take it if you weren't." He stroked Craig's head with his forefinger, still pumping, wanting the man to feel pleasure, pleasure to offset the pain of sex a few minutes ago, isolation few months ago, misplaced hate and anger years and years ago.

"Yours!" Craig gasped, as the water fell around him, running down his face, and suddenly, he remembered... "Yours! Hell yes, yours!"

Chris panted into Craig's ear at that, feeling relief that made his knees weak. "Oh, god..."

God, Adonis, Chris, the shower, water, soap, anger, confusion, want, want, need! He pushed Chris against the wall, kissing him deeply, teetering on the edge, as everything washed over him, everything.

This sudden reversal seemed somehow right, and Chris kissed back, his mouth wide, moving his hand hard and fast on Craig's erection. He sucked at Craig's chin as the man choked, his eyes rolling back. The thrill of Craig's excitement was somehow spilling over, splattering over Chris in droplets of joy like water from the showerhead, and Craig choked out a final, "Yours," as he came, spasming. The orgasm, too, almost seemed his own, and Chris stroked Craig through it, gasping and whining as if he had come.

The world came into focus, clearing up, and even before Craig opened his eyes, he felt he saw more clearly than he had in ages. Then he did open them, and Chris was there. Balance, he thought. The two were somehow connected in his mind. "Don't... don't ever leave me. I don't know what I'd do if..." he stopped himself, feeling silly. These were not the words used by a man like him. Yet somehow, they were all there was.

Chris reached up to stroke Craig's wiry curls. "I won't. Never. No matter what."

Water dripped from Craig's nose as he nodded. "Good." He repeated it, more quietly. "Good."

Chris nodded in turn. He leaned back against the wall, extending his arms to keep them on Craig's hips. He felt utterly drained, physically and emotionally. "Shit, I do not want to work this afternoon."

Craig gave a sardonic smile. "It's what we do, man. Hard, innit, but we make do." This was their life, and it always would be. Given that, how could they not be right for one another? Good for one another? Who else could give them this? He gave a steady look in Chris's direction, wondering how he could ever communicate this. Saying it was out of the question, of course.

"Hard, yes." Chris smiled, not even up to the mild effort of punning. He patted Craig's hips. "Sorry, have to..." He pulled away and picked up the abandoned soap, starting to lather himself. The water alone had not done much to get the crud off of him. He sneered at the uncontrollably giggling Craig, without malice.

Feeling... sober, like never before, Craig stopped, watching Chris wash himself. Images and feeling erupted in his mind, and words came unbidden. He mumbled them, under his breath, as a smile slowly formed. "Young black scouser."

What an odd thing to say. Chris continued to wash himself, but looked upwards, as if thinking that over. "Yes... yes... and... yes." He looked back at Craig as if to say, "Well?"

Craig hesitated for only a moment, then moved in, slowly, taking the soap. And like the easiest thing in the world (because it was, after all, just soap and water, wasn't it?) started lathering Chris, pausing to kiss his shoulder, quickly but tenderly. And as he stood there, thinking of nothing much, it came to him that everything was all right with the world. It felt all right.