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

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


"Situps? God, no! My stomach won't take it; it's too flabby!"

Craig watched that decidedly un-flabby stomach as Chris, as Rimmer, started on a fresh round of sit-ups, hoping he could pass the keen interest off as Lister schadenfreude. It seemed to be working so far. They'd done several takes already, and no one had told him off. He had come to know that stomach, and the body surrounding it, rather well over the last few months, but even so, it was nice to get to enjoy it without having to get Chris drunk first. It always went the same way; Chris would insist he absolutely, positively had to get home, and Craig would pester him to stay for another drink. Usually, he'd refuse flat out, and leave, but sometimes... Sometimes he would stay, eventually getting, or pretending to get, so drunk that Craig would have to follow him home. And when Craig did, well; Chris could hardly be blamed for what might happen then, could he? If they ended up, as they always did, half-delirious, in a tangled mess of one another's limbs and clothing, stroking one another to orgasm, it was just the kind of thing that happens between guys sometimes. It didn't mean anything. It just was.

And that was fine. Of course it was fine; it wasn't like Craig was in love with him or anything like that. Still, it bothered him somewhat that he seemed to be far more dependant on whatever it was they had together than the older man. It bothered him a little too much.

It was certainly a good day for Chris-watching. As he and Danny lay on all fours in the corridor set, trying their best to act as though they were cleaning, Craig couldn't help but glance at Chris-as-Rimmer running by, drenched in sweat by now, and not a little annoyed by the constant re-takes. Danny said nothing, but Craig could swear he saw a glimpse of something in the corners of his friend's eye as he turned back towards him. By the time they'd gotten to the final scene of the day, Chris looked ready to fall over with exhaustion; perspiration slicking his hair down and making his costume shirt stick closely to his very trim frame, belying the poor shape Rimmer was supposed to be in. The look of complete exhaustion on his face couldn't help but bring images of a very different kind of work-out to Craig's mind, and he found himself willing the scene to be over, so he could go somewhere and have a quiet sit-down until his rather impressive erection subsided. Thank god he was wearing tight underwear, or more than eyebrows would be raised among cast and crew alike. After what seemed like an eternity, the final 'cut' was called, and Craig stumbled his way out of the set.

Chris wanted a shower. Badly. He could feel the sweat congealing under his arms and down his back, mixing with the stage makeup into a firm, crunchy mask. As if the gel keeping his hair in the ludicrous part weren't enough. He saw Craig making a bee-line for the dressing rooms, and followed, bitching loudly enough for the other man to hear him.

"God, I thought that would never end. I need a shower like nothing else." He picked at his soaking-wet shirt.

The sound of the other man's voice startled Craig a little, and he slowed his pace to allow Chris to catch up. He shouldn't. He needed to get away as quickly as possible, yet he found himself turning around and facing Chris. "Yeah... I can see that," he said, eying the shirt Chris's fingers were nervously picking at. He started to breathe faster, trying not to stare.

Chris grinned at Craig’s grotty jumpsuit. "Blue suits you, though."

Compliments, even fake ones, was the last thing Craig needed to hear from Chris right then. "Um? Oh, heh, right. Classy, right?" He tried to grin and make light of it.

"I'd rather have that than these." Chris looked at his kit with disgust.

Craig's eyes were drawn again to Chris's sweaty clothes. He was dying to make a move, but he felt very clearly that he couldn't. This is why he needed to get away as soon as he started feeling like this on set. He didn't trust himself to be alone with Chris and not suddenly attack the man with his tongue and hands. That, however, would hardly result in a favorable reaction from the man who needed to get sloshed before even considering going beyond hearty slaps on the back.

Chris could not help but notice that Craig was eyeing him, and he could guess what was on the other man's mind. He considered inviting Craig around to the pub for a drink, cringing somewhat at what a transparent ruse that was becoming. He licked his lips and glanced around, hoping to see - what? A neon sign with divine guidance writ upon?

Craig backed up against the nearest wall and tried to look away, willing Chris to just go. He might just manage if Chris left now. He ran his hands through his hair.

I must not have guessed correctly, Chris thought, seeing Craig backing up. He stiffened. "Well, I suppose I'll just go shower, then. Probably smell like a swine's armpit."

Oh, hell. He couldn't not try. And why, he thought, a sudden stubbornness setting in, should there be something wrong in getting it on somewhere other than in Chris' flat? Was the other man ashamed of him? Ashamed of... this, whatever this was? "I... I could use a shower meself." He felt rather obvious, but knew that he could get out of this one if he had to. It was safe enough.

Chris raised his eyebrows. “Don’t trust yourself to take one alone?" He felt the side of his mouth quirk. Maybe he had not guessed wrong, after all.

Craig fell victim to his own honesty. "Not right now, no," he mumbled. He looked away again, fidgeted, and looked for possible escape routes.

Chris nodded towards the dressing rooms, finding that his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He was courting the idea of... something somewhat different, now. Well, why the hell not? The let's-go-for-drinks routine was pathetic, just silly. If he wanted to fool around with his mate, have a bit of fun, well, why not just do so? "Then come with. I'm a registered chaperone, you know." God, if only.

Craig swallowed, opened his mouth as though to speak, and closed it again. "All ri... OK, yeah."

Chris could not meet the earnest look in his eyes. He looked away, turning that into a turn and swift walk towards the dressing rooms. He did not look back, but was ashamed to note that he paid attention to the corner of his eye, looking to see if Craig was following. Craig indeed was almost running to keep up with him.

Craig felt like a faithful puppy, following his master. Even to the point of feeling to see if his tongue hanging out. It wasn't, but it might as well have been.

Chris stopped at the door and looks back. Craig was visibly trying to pull himself together. "Coming?" Chris asked, trying to emphasize the innuendo with a raised eyebrow.

"Yuh..." Craig replied, managing a faint smile. Chris opened the door, walked in, and left it open. Craig hesitated. He could still back out; there was time. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath, and entered.

Chris kicked off his shoes and socks as he walked past the dressing mirror, towards the shower. He shed his shirt and shorts in that order, tossing them over one of the chairs in front of the mirror. He stood at the shower door in just his boxers, looking back at Craig and feeling suddenly, oddly, very self-conscious.

Craig stood in a daze as Chris undressed. As the man finished, Craig walked a few steps towards the shower, unthinking. Chris watched him, fingers unconsciously hooked in his waistband, feeling even more nervous and silly than he had when he had tap-danced with his trousers off. Why? he wondered. He was just having a laugh, doing something he had done many times before. He licked his lips.

Craig had been keeping his eye on Chris whole time he had slowly walked towards him. His eyes were drawn to where Chris's fingers where hooked. The blood was rushing from his head to another major organ, taking away his ability to think reasonably.

Chris reached over and put his fingers on the blue jumpsuit, at the top of the zipper. He slid it down over Craig's shoulders. Craig stood there as if frozen. Was this - not what he was supposed to be doing? Jesus, he wouldn't think this would go all to cock from them not being drunk on his couch. Or his bed. Or the kitchen floor. "Well." He pulled his hands back, uncertain.

Craig swallowed again, closing his eyes for a moment. He still wasn't entirely sure what Chris wanted; what he was allowed or expected to do. Opening his eyes, he took a step away, and started to slowly undress himself, keeping eye contact. Well, you needed to be naked in a shower, didn't you? At least that was a given.

Chris dropped his hands, watching. The post-pub fumbles had always been so spontaneous; they had just happened, without this odd sense of anticipation. It made his palms clammy, and his mouth would not stop drying out. His tongue felt like a lump of wood. He watched Craig emerge from his Lister costume, feeling himself becoming erect from just watching. His eyes dropped from Craig's. He worried at the H glued to his forehead, slowly and gently working it off.

Craig's speed increased as his clothes disappeared, despite his good intentions of doing otherwise. He stopped when he was down to his underpants, feeling the uncertainty returning in full force.

When Craig was done, Chris looked up and tried to meet his eyes. He did, for a moment.

"I... um..." Craig stuttered. "Shower," he tried, gamely.

Chris licked his lips. That, at least, was certain and safe. "Yes." He tossed the H to the side and walked into the shower, shedding his boxers as soon as his back was to Craig, and started the water.

Something broke in Craig as he noticed Chris licking his lips. He gave up waiting for a clear invitation, and walked quickly into the shower with Chris before he could change his mind; moving in close, panting, a wild look in eyes. He had reached his limit.

Chris turned to see Craig practically touching him. "A man can only take so much..." Craig said, huskily.

"Shall we see how much I can take?" Chris asked in a low voice. Yes, he knew what he was doing. He could live up to his bravado. He took Craig's arms; the other man groaned, and Chris leaned in, possessively, dripping water onto Craig's face.

Craig threw his head back, feeling faint. He could not stand it anymore; he reached up and kissed Chris hungrily, feeling like he was about to explode.

Chris found himself swamped with sensation. The drunkenness of the previous... sessions... had made them somewhat surreal, and he was startled at the physical sensation that was flooding him. He opened his mouth, tasting and feeling the nicotine-laced warm softness of Craig's mouth. The other man's skin, slick with the water from the shower, slipped over his torso, sending shivers through him. He let go of one of Craig's arms and grasped the man's buttock, needing to hold on to something. This something was firm and solid, and he grasped it tightly.

Craig ran his hands all over Chris's body, trying to cover the whole thing at one time. This was a million times better than groping at one another aimlessly while drunk. He felt a flood of excitement rushing into every fiber of his being.

Chris slid his hand under the waistband of Craig's boxers, pushing them down, and clasping the buttock underneath with renewed ferocity. Craig growled and clenched his teeth, grazing Chris's tongue. He grabbed Chris's ass, pulling the taller man closer. Chris ground his groin into Craig's lower body. Craig pushed him, and for a moment, Chris felt completely out of control of the situation, falling backwards; he might fall forever, he might fall ten stories and crack his head open. He fell until he felt the solidity of the shower wall behind him, and he let go of the breath he had been holding. He put his free arm around Craig's waist, pulling the man in close and hanging on, just hanging on to stay up straight. The shower seemed to be tilting sickeningly. He opened his mouth wide, sticking his tongue as far down Craig's mouth as he could, licking it like it was the last batter in the bowl. He was rewarded with a surge of sexual excitement that drove all rational thought out of his brain.

Craig brought both hands up to hold Chris' face. He pulled slightly away from tight embrace - his groin was aching terribly, but he was confused as to what would come next.

Chris felt Craig pulling away. No, not now, not now. He needed to just feel. He growled "Where are you going?" into Craig's ear.

Craig whimpered and moaned; he had very little control of such unimportant things as his voice. He moved his head and licked Chris's lips.

Chris sighed and loosened his grasp a bit. Craig caressed his chest, running his hands up and down, lower down on each turn downwards. Chris leaned back against the wall, watching what Craig was doing - fondling his body as if he were his l... fondling closer to his erection, but still not there. He stopped just above the groin level and looked up, earnestly. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice quivering.

Chris frowned, hit out of left field. "What you want to..." Just do it, already. He had been erect since he had walked into the shower, and it was now reaching a level of active discomfort.

Craig panted, confused. He was hornier than he's ever been - but for something more than just the glorified mutual masturbation they had engaged in before. It was not exactly hard to see that Chris wanted, expected, more of the same. Craig didn't think he could do that now. He kept his hand away from the other man's erection, feeling as though if he touched it, they'd just fall back into the same old pattern. He looked to Chris for any kind of sign, any sort of hint as to what the other man might want other than just a sodding hand-job, but nothing was forthcoming, and he gave up, falling forward again, and licked the join of Chris's neck and shoulder. Frustration swelled in him along with his own painful erection.

Chris closed his eyes and gave a shuddering sigh, trying to think about nothing but the sensual tickle on his shoulder. He absently rubbed Craig's back.

Furiously trying to find some angle, some other action that might satiate his own sudden, unnamed thirst, Craig pushed closer again, grinding up against Chris. This was good. Chris understood this. He ground right back.

Craig kept licking and sucking, moving up to nibble Chris's earlobe, confusedly and desperately casting around mentally for something. Something!

Chris sighed and ground harder into Craig's leg. This was not going to do it. He snaked his hand into Craig's shorts, grasping an erection that would make a fair cricket bat. He sighed at the feel of teeth on his ear and started to stroke the erection, hoping that Craig would get the hint.

Feeling himself being fondled, Craig opened his mouth to gasp, still close to Chris's ear. He positioned himself to grab Chris's erection, but lingered at a point just bellow his belly. He couldn't go further. He just couldn't. He needed more! Chris felt how close-but-far Craig's hand was and groaned. What was the man playing at?

Knowing he wouldn't get away with this mucking about for long, Craig slid his hand around to grasp Chris's buttocks instead. He needed time to think. If only his brain was still working!

"Craig..." Chris gasped, grinding his erection against Craig's hip, insistently, while slowly pumping Craig's.

"Yuh...." Craig groaned, feeling ready to see stars as his own erection was manhandled.

Chris slowed down his stroking as he felt Craig not touch his own erection. This was just not going to work.

Craig bit Chris's neck, moving his hand forward slowly. He skirted the edge of Chris's penis, then grabbed it, feeling both relief and frustrated defeat as he did so.

Chris gasped, grasping Craig's erection firmly in startlement. He took two more deep breaths, then started to buck his hips into Craig's firm, not-stroking grip. He was holding Chris's erection as if it were a lifeline. Chris matched the bucking of his hips to the stroking of Craig's erection, stroking his other hand up and down Craig's back as he settled into a satisfying rhythm. He was horribly turned on, however, achingly stiff, and he was afraid of thinking about why.

Craig started moving his hand up and down, slowly, keeping his head in the join of Chris's neck and shoulder. An idea set foot in his mind, and it scared him, but it was all he had. Determined, he started licking his way across to Chris's chest, keeping a firm grip on the man's erection. He looked up a little, as if looking for guidance, like a teenager on a driving test looking for feedback. Say something, he thought. With words, with your eyes, your body, just let me know I'm not completely alone in the dark here! Chris put his head back against the wall, making a keening noise. He was so close, pumping into Craig's hand as he stroked Craig's erection, ready to climax if Craig just stroked a little faster.

Seeing no response, Craig came to a decision. He removed Chris's hand from his erection, gently but firmly, and kept licking lower down, his hand on Chris' penis, slowing his strokes. If he wasn't getting permission he was damn well taking it. He needed this. Oh god, he needed this.

Chris opened his eyes, looking down at Craig. "What are you doing?" he gasped in a strangled voice.

Craig moved one hand around to cup Chris's buttocks, almost annoyed. Now the reaction comes. Now that he's willed himself to do this, entirely without support; now Chris wants a say. He stopped licking and stopped moving his hand on Chris's penis. He looked up, trying to catch his breath; his mouth opened, but all that came out was "Ah."

One of Chris's hands was still on Craig's back; the other was dangling pointlessly. He was painfully, agonizingly erect, and Craig was playing at.. something. He did not care what. He started to reach for his own erection, ready to finish this himself.

Feeling more than a little shameful for wanting this so badly (why? Why so badly?), but he moved down nevertheless and covered Chris's erection with his mouth, sucking eagerly. He was half afraid if being swatted away, so he sucked hard, using his tongue like he would in a deep kiss, hardly having the time to savor these new sensations.

Chris gasped in a very loud moan, choking slightly on the shower water. He grabbed Craig's hair to keep himself from falling over. He had been close before; this hot, wet sucking was just too much. He pumped a few times and came like an electrocution, holding tightly to Craig's hair as he groaned and the world spun in a strange new direction.

Craig flinched as Chris's climax erupted. He choked on the come and spat it; he did not much care. His mind was gone. He came hard himself, lost in this unfamiliar territory.

The aftershocks left Chris's knees almost too weak to hold him up. He leaned against the wall again, his eyes squeezed shut, letting go of Craig's hair.

Craig tried to breathe, collapsing onto his hands and knees. He coughed desperately, feeling oddly lonely.

Chris held his hands out, then pulled them back and clenched his fists. He was shaking, and it was no longer from the aftershock of orgasm. Thought had returned, and it had brought words with it. Intimate. Sex. Beautiful. He tried to say something, anything, to derail these thoughts. He got no farther than a strangled "eeeehn."

Craig looked at the strong legs in front of him and did not want to raise his eyes further. He shifted so that he was sitting with his back against the wall, leaning into the solid surface for at least the semblance of support.

Chris picked up the soap, needing to do something. He turned it in his hands, and it echoed the turning of his mind around the same thoughts. Oral sex. Sex. Craig. Beautiful. Craig's beautiful mouth. Having sex. He bit his lip.

Craig looked up, meeting Chris's eyes reluctantly. He felt as though he had done something wrong.

Chris tried to put no emotion into his voice. "That was... different." Oh hell. It was. Too different. He should have gotten drunk again. Why the hell did he do this? He could hear his voice quaver.

"Yeah..." Craig searched for something to say and found nothing.

Chris felt uncomfortable watching Craig sit on the shower floor. He offered the other man an excessively sudsy hand. Yes. The other man. Mate. Co-worker. Not his lov... he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Craig struggled to gain control of his muscles, looked up, and saw the offered hand. He felt suddenly lighter. At least this was something. At least he wasn't alone in this confusing place. He took it, giving Chris a faint smile. Chris tugged Craig to his feet and stood blankly, still holding Craig's hand and the soap.

Craig looked at their hands, noting the difference in texture of skin, coloring, the shape and size of their fingers. Chris' arms above them, shaking slightly, muscles moving a little. He kept smiling, waiting, as patiently as he could, for a sign of emotion, a sign that this had meant something. That he, Craig, meant something. Was worth something.

Chris's hand was trembling uncontrollably. He licked his lips and pulled it back. He needed to do... something. He started to lather himself with his sudsy hands, looking at the shower wall's join to the floor.

And that was it. Chris was already cleaning himself; washing the filthy layer of young black Scouser away down the drain. Craig looked at him for a moment, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. "That's what happens when you go around looking like that," he said quietly, and stepped out, heart pounding.

Craig walked out of the shower. Chris watched him leave, feeling stirrings of... anger. Resentment. Loneliness. God help him, the man walked out of the shower, and he was feeling lonely?

Craig stood in the dressing room for a while, just breathing.

Chris stood under the water and shut his eyes, shaking.

Standing in the middle of the dressing room, Craig tried to think clearly. He was swelled with fulfillment, but it was dulled by confusion and shame. And a vague... guilt. Guilt, for fuck's sake! Slowly, all other emotions gave way to cold, chilling anger. Yeah, you've had your fun now, haven't you? Bit of something on the side, something "different". That's what you said, wasn't it? Can't sully your wannabe posh middle class self with shirt-lifting antics, can you? Best get someone else to do it for you. Enjoy your slumming blow-job then? Still feel straight enough? Fucking white middle class enough? He was dripping wet, but neither noticed or cared.

Chris began to scrub himself violently as he shook. This had not just happened. He should have... they should not have.

Fighting to keep it level and controlled, Craig raised his voice to be heard over the shower. "I'll get out of yer hair, then."

Chris gave up and leaned against shower wall, dropping the soap. He did not trust himself to speak. He was not sure if anything would make it past the sick lump in his throat. He panted, feeling a manic fear.

Some chairs sat in front of the mirror, and Craig walked over to them, not sure if he wanted to sit down, or sure that he'd manage to stay upright. He started looking around tiredly for his clothes. Anger seethed through his veins. There was no room for anything else.

Chris slid to the ground, hugging his legs as he sat under the shower.

Craig remembered that the clothes thrown around the room were not his own, and that there was a change in his locker. He stumbled over to it, and opened the door a little too loudly.

Chris listened intently. He had to get home. He had to get home before he fell apart into.. some pack of Chris-like fragments. But he could not face Craig.

Craig leaned his forehead against the locker's cool frame. His head felt too heavy to hold up anymore. Yanking it away from the locker, finally, he slammed the door even though he had not yet picked up anything from the inside. It bounced back pleasingly, making a noise that sounded pretty much like Craig felt. Chris shuddered as it echoed through the room.

The inside of the locker stared at him, and Craig said to it, quietly, "Fecking hell..." He picked up his clothes and started putting them on, moving as fast as he could. He just wanted to get the hell out of there.

Chris panted, hoping that Craig would leave quickly. He was going to scream to keep the words from forming in his head. A lover's hands. A beautiful mouth. Sex. He started to whimper, and bit his fist to stop the sound.

Craig finished dressing, still fuming, holding on to the anger. He stood still for a moment, just trying to calm himself. He wanted to be calm. Calm, but angry. That way, he wouldn't do anything stupid with it. Instead, the calmness seemed to mellow him out, allowing him access to emotions he didn't want to think about.

Chris heard the silence and stood, shakily. Craig had left. He could go. Maybe get drunk. Too drunk to think. He turned the shower off.

Craig felt pressure behind his eyelids, and found that he could not move. He wanted the anger back. The anger had been good. He heard the shower stop, and did not care.

Chris opened the shower door, shakily, and froze as he saw that Craig was still there. Angry. Lovely. He wanted to scream and run, but he was stuck. He could not leave, and he could not step back.

Craig just stood still, his eyes squeezed shut, rubbing his forehead with his palm. Chris leaned against the doorframe, looking down. Craig turned, and, for a moment, looked straight at Chris; his eyes filling with tears, yet still furious. Bastard. He'd thought Craig was gone; had wanted to sneak out when he wasn't there. Hadn't even had the guts to face him. Not just a bastard, but a coward. A sodding, cowardly wanker. He turned his head violently and stormed out.

Chris risked a small glance up, and saw the back of Craig disappearing through the door. Craig slammed it so hard the hinges protested.

Craig rushed down the hallway. He started crying, sobbing, even as he was still in the building. He managed to get outside and leaned against the wall, hoping to god that no one would see him. Fighting back the tears with some effort, he leaned against the outer wall for a while, blinking. Feeling empty.

The sound of the slammed door echoed through the room as Chris stepped out of the shower. He looked to the left, and saw his reflection - soaking wet, hair mussed, his face looking like that of a man who has lost something. He looked away, dragging out one of the chairs and sitting with his back to the mirror. He felt an agonizing hollowness. But maybe it was for the best, because it swallowed all thought.

If I'm going to wait until I get myself together, he thought, I will never leave.

He started to dress, very slowly. He was finding it hard to breathe. He wondered if he could face Craig by tomorrow. He wondered if he could face himself in the mirror by then, as well.