The second and (most probably) final instalment of IT. Do enjoy!

[M] for a reason. MxM M// Male Slash Yaoi (whatever you wish to dub it). Warning: Language.

-Infatuation Technology-

Act II: Scene 1
(Daniel's POV)

Fuck off? Fuck off?
If anyone deserved to hear that, it was me, not Terry. If it weren't for the fact my head suddenly swam, that tears blinded me, and that the nurse was back muttering this and that as she fussed over me and forced me to lie down, told me everything was fine and that she'd be back in a minute once she'd found me a tissue, I would've gotten up and ran after him. I didn't, though, because I couldn't. My ankle had nothing to do with it. I was just a coward and a failure.

I guess that was why I didn't have many friends, though. I screwed it up and could never be bothered to put things right. In turn, that only made me wallow in self pity even more and tell myself that friends were pointless and that I didn't deserve them. I only ended up hurting them in the end. How many of the kids I'd know in college did I still speak to? The answer was none. I still had their numbers, which were probably out of date by now, but I'd just let contact slip away. If I'd ever spoken to them over the phone in the last ten years, it was because they'd rang me. Rarely was it ever the other way round. I found it near impossible to make the effort; near impossible to even consider getting to know them in case I fell hook line and sinker for them and they rejected me. That was probably why I continued to date girls. At least when they left me I didn't feel so bad.

By the the time the nurse returned, I'd calmed myself down and dashed the tears away even though my eyes were still red and my face still hot. I would've feigned sleep, but it was far too late to close my eyes and slow my breathing by the time she walked back through the door. I didn't need the tissue she held in her hand, but she left it on the little bedside cabinet as she refilled the glass of water and cooed over me as if I were nothing more than a baby who didn't actually understand what she were saying.

Preoccupied with my own thoughts, as I was, I probably wasn't far off... only when she leant down to my level did I realise that she'd asked my a question. Was I all right?
Of course I wasn't all right. I felt like shit. I felt worse than shit. I just wanted to curl up and forget that I'd even opened my mouth. Instead, though, I mumbled something about girlfriends and breakups and she nodded slowly before flashing a pityful smile as she pat my head, treating me like a faithful little retriever whilst telling me it'd work out. Eventually, she stopped fussing over me and left the room, and I rolled over slowly till my back was to the door. Would it work out?

I doubted it.

I didn't know why I'd snapped like that. Or, rather, I did. If anything, knowing that made me feel even more sick; made the pit of my stomach church and my mouth grow dry.

Terry had been right, and that was all there was too it. I'd always refused to accept that my parents couldn't care less about me, though. For some reason, it was both shameful and embarrassing even if it were none of my fault. Ultimately, I felt like an unplanned mistake. Ultimately, I was an unplanned mistake. They'd been young when mum had given birth to me, had my parents. Straight out of secondary school, my mum had only been sixteen, whilst my dad had been a college drop out at the age of seventeen who'd gone into an apprenticeship as a brick-layer instead. If it weren't for me, they'd have no doubts broken up after another month or two. Mum would've got to college instead of waiting till I was only enough to stay at home alone, and dad wouldn't have had to force himself to make an effort to visit twice a year or so. They might even have married others had started up a real family. After all, it had always seemed to me that the reason my mum's boyfriends didn't stick around was because of me. Who wanted to get married if it meant you had to acknowledge the anti-social ten year-old as your step son?

I know I wouldn't want to. I couldn't blame them.

But what on earth was I doing?

Sighing, I snatched up the tissue and dried my eyes properly before throwing it towards the bin. It bounced in after hitting the wall, and for some reason the knowledge that I could at least do one small, insignificant thing right made me almost smile. I was acting childish, and that was that. What I'd done couldn't be reversed. That was the end of it. It might be able to fix things with time, say I was sorry, that I understood if Terry didn't want to speak to me again because I was nothing more than an insecure, immature idiot. What his response would be was anyone's guess.

In a way, part of me wished he would go on to ignore me. It'd not be able to make the same mistake then.

Still, another part of me prayed that he wouldn't.

Act II: Scene 2
(Daniel's POV)

Somehow, I got through the rest of the week without cocking-up even more.

I swear that nurse had spread it around a little, for every other minute I was being preyed upon by her colleagues; smiling blue-eyed blondes in sky-blue dresses and white pinafores. One of them was quite clearly flirting with me, and I guess that cheered me up a little even if were merely due to the comedy of it all. Every time she found herself in my room, her top buttons seemed to malfunction and she contracted some sort of hip swaying disease. Other than returning her smiles, though, I ignored her advances. I didn't want to get her sacked, and when it came down to it all I think she was silently relieved that I didn't respond. The tan line on her finger where a ring usually sat helped me come to that conclusion. Also, I think I'd well and truly had it with women for now.

By the time the week was up, though, I quite honestly was getting close to dying of boredom. On Wednesday, they'd let me wander around a little in the company of one nurse. Initially, it'd sparked fears amongst the doctors considering that I could hardly remain upright. Examination from one of the neurosurgeons had him telling me that I'd damaged my inner ear. Apparently, it'd fix in time but I'd be amongst the dizzies for a while.

On Thursday, I convinced them to let me go adventuring again. After a few minutes, I got used to the rocking of the floor and the tipping of the walls and made it far enough to the cafe by the main entrance where I bought myself something to read and cup of coffee. I finished that book by the time I'd reached the bottom of the cup, making it a waste of five pounds. Thankfully, my doctor for the week 'accidentally' left a book on 'Processes of the Hypothalamus' on the end of my bed so by Friday morning, I'd managed to resist the urge to lye on my back on the floor and speak in tongues just to add some variety to the world.

Friday left me with a whole basket of problems, though.

Thanks to the in hospital shops, I'd been able to buy myself spare clothing so finding something to wear hadn't been a problem. In a pair of badly fitting oversized jeans, my work shoes that had been rescued from the top box on my bike, and my white shirt, I had no need to worry about walking around in a hospital gown. The problem was, they wouldn't let me leave on my own. That pissed me off, in a way, but I guess I could see why. I was still all over the place thanks to dizziness and my ankle was still sore and that made walking a little tricky. The cuts and bruises had mostly healed, but the arm was sore from the still there graze that I kept catching on everything.

In the end, I only had the one option. There was no way I could rely upon my parents. There was only the one person I could trust.

I was still a coward though.

The nurse made the phone call for me, and as soon as I saw Terry's car pull up (the £12,495, pearlescent Obsidian Black Citroën C3 Pluriel that he'd bought when I was with him) I felt as sick as I had that Tuesday evening. If it weren't for the fact I'd gotten the 'all clear' I would've tried to play dead. As he greeted me with a smile I could only nod and try to not grimace, and as the nurse told him I should be watched over closely my stomach overturned.

There was no way my life could get worse.

Act II: Scene 3
(Narrator's POV)

The ride back was one of the worst things both could ever think of enduring.

In a way, Terry was thankful for busy roads as it meant he spent the time paying more attention to the idiotic drivers and boy-racers speeding around than he did to the enigma next him. Preoccupied, he didn't try to spark up conversation and Daniel didn't either. The only words they two had exchanged were quick 'How are you?'s and confirmations on where Dan lived which was, as Terry already knew, completely out of town. It was the reason Daniel often got stuck in traffic, and the reason why he got up ridiculously early to try and get in on time. In silence, Terry kept his eyes ahead and mentally cursed every red light they were met by till they hit the carriageway and were off. Quiet and awkward, huddled up against the door as if doing so could make him turn invisible, Danny didn't tear his eyes away from the passenger window as Terry switched to the right lanes.

The temperatures had soared over the week and the sky was a sea of endless blue. The sun shone relentlessly, but even then, Dan barely blinked as cars and vans and wagons flashed by in a stream of brightly painted colours. They sped past the business parks, and the out of town shopping centres, the air-con on full blast so that the inside of the car was almost icy. The car was a convertible, but he'd heard Terry complaining before that it whipped his hair around too much whereas the air-con didn't.

There was something confining about a car, though. With four walls and roof and floor, it was only thanks to the occasional bump in the road that reminded you that you weren't just watching images move by on television screens. On a bike, it was so different. You felt more free. There was so much more to look out for; so much more to concentrate on. Corners made you tilt with the bike, and high speeds left the wind clawing at your clothes. It was exiting, whereas car driving was fussy and boring and stuffy and droll. It wasn't exactly Daniel's cup of tea.

Half way into the journey, the radio found itself being turned on. Terry murmured something along the lines of "Turn it over if you want" to which his colleague shook his head. It was bad enough that he'd forced a car-ride out of him, so he wasn't going to make it worse by switching over the radio. He hated it, but Galaxy was a big enough distraction from the suffocating silence. Consequently, the rest of the journey just flew by.

***

Daniel was jerked from his daze by the sound of the radio and engine cutting off. The sun was hidden behind the towerblock that rose up before them; tatty and painted with chipping cream and green paint. The sun had gotten lower in the sky, casting everything beneath a pink and orange hue, but with things as clear as they were it would still be a good few hours before it finally sank below the horizon and day gave way to night.
The sooner the better, Daniel would've said.

He kept quiet though, only moving to vacate the vehicle once Terry did the same.

"I'll get your bags for you" the other said, giving him little chance or choice. It felt lazy, leaving the work to his friend (or was friend... he wasn't quite sure where they both stood now) but he managed to grab his rucksack before Terry could protest. The car beeped once, the lights flashing twice, to indicate it was locked and then the brunette slowly trailed behind Dan. He'd never actually visited the flats before... well, if he had to be truthful, he'd never visited any apartment before. The close-togetherness put him off slightly, and the dim flickering lights of the entrance and stairwells unnerved as if he expected masked knife-wielding thugs to jump out at them.

"A-are you sure yo-" Terry started. He'd stopped at the bottom of the stairs, though Dan had continue ahead before stopping on the first landing, and was about to suggest the lift when Daniel cut him off mid-sentence.
"It's broken" he said, mouth pressed into the thinnest of smiles before he turned around and continued up.
"Oh" the other replied, blinking at the lift door before he sighed and began the ascent. For someone who was injured, Daniel made quick progress up the stairs. The steely expression on his face told Terry he was hiding -or trying to- the fact that it hurt, though, and as soon as the door to the apartment was open he'd found something to lean against.

What Terry was greeted by wasn't what he'd been expecting... or at least not entirely. Back in the shared office, Danny's desk was, for lack of a better word, perfect. Everything had it's place. If anything, Dan was almost obsessive in the way he kept it tidy and after three months of him being there Graham had found out that he could get a cheap laugh if he moved something. Instantly, the youngest of the four would know it was missing, or spot that it was upside down or back to front. Thankfully, the noveltly had seemed to have worn off now.

The apartment was, in comparison to that little workspace, a tip. If Terry were to use the words of his mother, he would've said that it were as if a bomb had gone off. The cushions on the chairs were slipping off, the rug was half folded over. Mugs and glasses littered the coffee table and even balanced upon the small TV. Through the door, he could just about glimpse the pig-sty that was Dan's bedroom. Amongst all of the mess and disorder, though, there were little islands of tidy that hadn't been tainted with the chaos. Through that, anyone who knew the man could see that Dan spent more time sat at the armchair in the corner by the neatly lined shelves than he did in front of the TV. Everything there was lined up as it were in the office. The books in order and of a uniform height, and the CD cases all the correct way up and displayed alphabetically. He could've laughed or made some sort of comment, but the climb had stolen his breath.

"You want a drink?" Dan asked slowly. He'd managed to stop leaning against the kitchen counter and had taken a glass from one of the shelves above the hob.
"Do you have any water?" Terry asked back. It was a stupid question, considering the fact that pretty much everyone in the country had access to a tap and a sink. He didn't have that long to ponder it though, and simply set the bags down on the floor as he was handed the glass of chilled water that'd come from the fridge.

The silence returned, and they both stood listening to the sounds that echoed from elsewhere within the building. Several floors below, a baby was crying. Someone else was running a shower, someone had music blaring, and further down the road a car or house alarm wailed at the world. For once, it was Daniel who chose to break the silence, even if it were reluctantly.

"Look..I-"
"I'm sorry about the other day" Terry interrupted, flashing the faintest of smiles before ducking his head to cough. Swallowing quickly hadn't been the smartest of things to do, and it took a second to clear his through. Still, he could see the almost confused look on Dan's face clearly in the sunlight that shone through the open curtains and heated the room. "I should've just kept my shut, really".
"Nah... I... I shouldn't have shouted. I-I'm sorry".
"Don't be..." Terry offered. "No hard feelings, right?" he added quickly, though this time a lot more softly. He was beginning to catch the other's sheepishness. Was that even possible?
"Right..."
"Good"

Act II: Scene 4
(Terry's POV)

Somewhere along the line, it was agreed that I'd crash with Danny for a week or two till the dizziness passed and he could manage for himself and, ultimately, return to work.
We'd almost rowed, to be quite honest, even after the apology. He'd insisted I take his bed whilst he slept on the sofa, whilst I'd said it should be other way round. In the end, I think he'd been too tired and fed up to argue and we came to a compromise. That, and it was going to take a while for things to return to how they had been before I'd so delved into his life with all the grace of a bull elephant. He'd sleep in his own room, and I'd use an inflatable camping bed and set it up in the spare room he used as a sort of library come computer room. The first night, I made do with nothing more than the floor and a few pillows, but I still had work the next day (I worked Saturdays but took Mondays off) so picked things up from home on the way back.

In a way, I probably found it more amusing than he did.

In the less than a day, I learnt that whilst I thought I knew him, I actually didn't. The very next morning I discovered that he was, in fact, lactose intolerant. I guess that explained the black-coffee he lived on at work... that, and why he was sat huddled on the sofa eating dry cereal with his fingers whilst trying to read a book that was balanced upon his knee when I'd finally woken up. He'd only given a small nod to acknowledge me, and I had initially chosen to remain quiet and let him initiate speech when he wanted to. He was still upset, I could see that clearly, and if there was one thing I did know it was that he hated feeling as if he were a burden. It was pointless telling him he wasn't, because it would only seem I were just saying that for the sake of it.

That morning, I'd stood for at least five minutes in a half-awake daze blinking at the fridge till I decided that my eyes weren't playing tricks on me; that there actually wasn't any milk. I then did the stupid thing of pointing it out.
"I know" he replied simply, half muffled through a mouthful of bran flakes as he looked up at me briefly, dark eyes hidden behind a mess of hair that was still spiked with gel from the day before.
"Then what do you put in your tea?"
"Water"
Duh. I stood, mouth half open, trying to think of some come back to that when the faintest of smiles coloured his face.
"Sorry" he said apologetically, though I hadn't minded the mild sarcasm at all. If anything, it was a good sign. I'd just been too tired for my brain to process it.

After that, he explained it quickly to me. After asking why he didn't just buy soya milk, he shrugged and pulled an odd sort of face. I took his word for it that it didn't taste as good, never having tried it myself, and as an add on he muttered something about the price being extortionate and that he could barely afford petrol and the flat as it were. If I'd known he was strapped for cash any earlier, I would've offered to lend him money, but in the situation that I was it was yet another thing that felt wrong. I'm quite sure he'd been ranting to himself and hadn't intended my to hear anyway. Instead of bringing it up, I snook some of my own things in alongside the green and white ASDA packets and hoped he didn't mind. He never mentioned it.

After returning from work, we didn't speak much. He told me he'd already eaten so I didn't press further, and not being that hungry myself I resigned myself to chewing on raw carrots whilst watching the football. He had a new book in his hands and only lifted his eyes to glance at the screen whenever someone scored a goal... which wasn't often at all. After finishing, he muttered a quiet 'Night' and went to bed. I followed his example half an hour later, though I'm sure it was way past midnight by the time I drifted off.

Still, the next day I somehow managed to rise earlier.
I wasn't quite sure what to do, to be honest so after umming-and-arring I simply shaved and wet my hair in the bathroom sink before combing it through. Why I even bothered was a bit of a wonder because I messed it up afterwards when drying it.

Towel still around my shoulders, I made myself breakfast (I'd picked up milk the night before, of course - dry cereal wasn't my thing) and wandered around examining this and that in nothing but a pair of shorts and t-shirt. I wasn't exactly a neat freak, but the contrast between mess and supreme tidiness bugged me and in the end I gave in and began to neaten things up a little. Just the chairs, of course. That, and I cleared the moutain of cups from the coffee table and pulled the rug straight till I was happy that I'd not go stark raving mad. I'd almost finished washing up when Dan finally stumbled through from his bedroom as if he were drunk.

"Y'alright?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder as I shook water from my hands.
"Mmm-rr-mm".
I took that as a yes. I didn't speak Wookiee to be honest. "Coffee?"

This time, he merely nodded before yawning into the back of his hand. After drying my hands, I put the kettle on, though he took the task from me after getting to his feet to stagger around. He walked into things several times and nearly tripped over his own feet. That in itself had been enough to convince me that me being there was more necessary than not. It was easier convincing myself of that, though, than it was convincing him to sit down and stop moving around. The vertigo wasn't going to just vanish over night, not matter how much he hoped it would.

About an hour or two later, I discovered yet another thing I'd not known about him. Hair which I'd previously thought to be straight was, in fact, curled. I'd always thought otherwise because of how he wore it; either combed down with gel, or spiked up in a mess. Instead it fell in a half wave, though he still kept it short. It was also a lot lighter than it usually looked thanks to the absence of the any sort of gunk... more of a sandy blonde than light brown. It probably wasn't something I should've been paying much attention to, though, so once more I made no comment and simply stole glances now and then whilst he returned to be the anti-social book worm.

Act II: Scene 5
(Terry's POV)

Things got more at ease over the next fortnight, and my dizzy little friend seemed to get his balance back as well. Whilst he'd been putting his weight onto his foot gingerly at first, by the time a week passed he was walking perfectly fine. A week and a half, and the only outward sign that remained of the accident was the healing graze. That, and he occasionally had to clutch the counter to prevent himself from toppling. There really was no need for me to be there any more.

Still, I stayed. Neither of us rose the topic of me going back home... I guess I'd grown to like it there, and I think Daniel had sort of done the same. He became more chatty, eventually, and commented on my tidying. It left us calling each other obsessive compulsives whenever we caught each other putting things neat. For him, it was either the kitchen worktops or his shelves, and for me it was the sofa and TV which I'd more or less claimed as my own. Though there were two toilets with sinks in the flat, the only bathroom with a shower was through his room so I'd also forcefully made his bed and opened the curtains. It was probably the first time the room saw the light of day. He'd laughed about it though. And smiled. Seeing him smile was probably why I continued to do it. It was impossible not to smile back. If he was in a good mood, then it was infectious.

There was a brief spell when he'd stormed around like holy hell, but that'd been after talking to idiots from the insurance company. Being reminding about his bike or the accident quite naturally put him in a bad mood. Actually, I think it were the bike he cared about more. 'Pissed off' was a little watered down when it came to describing how he was at the fact that someone had gone right over it and had written it off completely. Getting him to sit down and watch football made him forget soon enough, mostly because he launched off on a rant of how pointless a sport it was.
Still, he was pretty chipper afterwards when our team won.

The sweet little hypocrite.

Act II: Scene 6
(Daniel's POV)

If I'd been down in the dumps at first, Terry turning my life upside down reversed that.

Though I never wanted to, I brought the very reason we'd fallen out up so I could merely apologise properly. He insisted he'd been in the wrong, but I'd still been childish about the matter. I told him about my family in end... and other insignificant things -or at least that's what they were to me- such as where I'd lived, where I'd gone to school and college and uni, what I'd actually studied there, and the places I'd visited. He told me the same, though to get any detail I had to grin and encourage him. I think the fact he'd more or less had the better upbringing made him reluctant to admit it or say so in case he upset me again. After I got him talking though, I got long descriptions of sunny Spanish beaches, quaint Italian towns, and looming German castles. It was more fascinating than any book, and I barely dared to speak in case he stopped and wouldn't start again.

Other than a week in Whitby, and another in the Lakes District, I'd never really been anywhere. I'd certainly never been abroad or on a plane or ferry. Irony had it, though, that I'd been airlifted to hospital twice. However, I'd been completely out-cold on both occasions so couldn't remember a thing at all. Graciously, he shrugged and told me it wasn't all that great. Apparently he got travel sick on long distance journeys so spent them with his head in a paper bag. There was nothing I could do but laugh at that. Terry just pouted at rolled his eyes at me, calling me a lost cause.

The next day, he had suddenly wished me a late happy birthday which ran into an announcement of more football. I think he was a little reluctant to linger on the first subject. To be honest, though, in the days that he spent having to nursemaid me, the TV got more use that it probably had in all the years I'd had it. It was a miracle it even worked still. In the end, we hardly even watched the match. Despite the doctor telling me I should avoid drinking and heavy lifting and driving (as if I could do that) I ended up getting as drunk as Terry did. He'd teased that I shouldn't be downing lager, and had tried holding the can above his head where I couldn't reach it but I'd used the brains I'd been born with - I'd simply taken one from the counter so that he stood looking all the more an idiot. Served him right for denying a man his drink.

He'd wrinkled his nose at the ginger beer shandy, but after forcing it on him he took back his previous criticisms. Eventually, we ran out of ginger beer to mix with the lager. It didn't really matter though, because by that point we'd found kicking each other whilst sat at opposite ends of the sofa to be much more entertaining. The next morning, I wasn't quite sure which of us was the most hungover or bruised. I think Terry boasted the latter, whereas I was the one who spent the day with a towel over my head whilst I reluctantly bit at pieces of toast in the dark.

I was better come the evening though, and by the time he came back from work I'd gotten half-way through finally re-building the computer I'd been telling myself I'd do for weeks on end. If anyone ever created an award for the worlds greatest procrastinator, I like to think I would win it hands down. Unless someone stood over me with a whip, I had a nasty habit of avoiding things till the last minute.

Smile on his face, Terry threw his tie across the top of the TV and kicked his shoes off before sitting down at the table across from me.
"Have fun?" I asked, looking up briefly. I could tell something amusing had happened. It made me wish I wasn't stuck at home. I had a check up in three days time, but after that I'd be on the all clear and able to get back to work, thank whatever god or gods there was.
"You seriously should have been there!" he started, grin growing.
"Tuck' pour coffee over his laptop again or somethin'?"
"Better!"
"Well go on then!" I pressed. Attention divided, I stopped what I was doing for the meantime. I could build a computer from scratch, but I couldn't do it without looking.
"Well, management have that annual meeting, right? The interactive screen thing stopped working, the one they used at that thing on health and safety, so management panicked and we lot were forced to fix it or at least try. In the end, Gray said they could just rig the slides up to a computer and use a projector and Tuck' agreed with him. After that, some tart asked why we had to use a projector and why wouldn't it just work if we told the computer to play the slide show... and this lass is supposed to be head of computing at somewhere or over. Any way, her boss didn't look that pleased and after Gray explained what a wire was and that the internet wasn't magic, and I think I managed to breath in coffee laughing".
"Nice" I smirked. I guess it was a little funny... no doubts being there would've been more hilarious.

He just gave chuckled quietly, watching me as I went back to work which was a little unnerving but I managed to ignore it.
"Need a hand?" he asked finally. I dropped whatever it was I'd been holding, having jumped slightly, which made him smirk even more so than he'd been doing. For that, there was no way I was going to say no. The bastard deserved that much. I was having trouble anyway; what with being human and having only the two hands and all that.
"Go on then" I chirped, telling him what to do.

In the end, we had to be the biggest nerds in history. That, or I'd dragged him into down to my level of 'geek'. What did he expect though? He worked in Information Technology with two old men and a guy who's idea of fun was reading The Lord of the Rings for the eighth or ninth time... i.e. Me. What had started of as him holding something still eventually turned into him working alongside me, similar to how we usually did at work in an attempt to speed things up. We'd long ago worked out the knack of it. Tucker and Graham had tried copying, but hadn't quite worked the same way because ultimately, I had small hands and could work in half of the case whilst Terry messed with the other left-handedly.

There was something different about it, though... usually, we just got on with it but I found that things were more awkward, all of a sudden. After the third or fourth time my hand brushed against his, I suddenly felt queasy. I tried to tell myself it was the dizziness returning, but as the minutes ticked by the butterflies in my stomach got worse. My head didn't spin at all, and there was only one explanation...

I guess I'd liked him all along... hell, the only reasons I'd ever gone out to pubs and bars was because he'd be there. The pay at Visions wasn't fantastic. I could have left after I finished paying off my course fees; could have gone into teaching or something a lot more rewarding. I hadn't though, namely because of the attachment I had to the little office. Or, rather, what was in it.

Whilst the girlfriends meant nothing to me, Terry meant the world.

Losing the ability to give eye contact, I melted into a sheepish and clumsy heap. It was too stuffy, too... uncomfortable. The one time I did manage to look up, he suddenly looked right away and I dropped my eyes back instantly. I was about to make up some excuse to run away like a coward when he stole my chance and got to his feet. With him no longer sitting next to me, there was suddenly a cold draft and I couldn't help but shiver.

"Jesus! Is that the bloody time?!"

Looking up, my eyes fell on the digital clock above the cooker and I didn't have to feign surprise at all. 00:23 blinked at me in big green numbers. Again, though, before I could flee Terry had found a smile from somewhere and had opened his mouth again. "What do you say to eating out, then? I sure there's somewhere open...".

My mind screamed 'No!'. But, for once, I thought 'fuck off'.

"Y-yeah... sure" I managed.

There was no denying it. I couldn't run and hide forever.

Act II: Scene 7
(Narrator's POV)

The only place open at midnight in the whole of the surrounding area (with the exception of a cheap takeaways) was a little travel restaurant on the outskirts of the town. Considering the hour, it was surprisingly full... then again, considering the amount of spaces in the car park outside, it was quiet as would be expected of the hour. There'd been an odd sense of deja vu, the journey having been made in silence.

The two sat opposite each other at one of the dark, wooden tables by the window when they finally reached the diner. The sofa like seats with their blood-red plastic covers weren't as comfy as they had actually looked, but the condition of the seating was something that neither had preoccupied themselves with. If it weren't for the speed in which the elderly waitress moved to them to take their orders, one of the two would've resorted to diving through the window to escape. It was impossible to see anything outside, but Daniel still continued to stare intently out of the window whilst Terry's eyes flitted back and forth as if he'd just killed someone and the body of the trunk was in his car. Though he was certain Danny didn't notice, every time his eyes landed on the brown-eyed blonde he felt the blood rush to his face and he quickly looked aside.

If they'd looked in the slightest bit suspicious, none of the other patrons seemed to care. The waitress just nattered on in an accent that was clearly irish, whereas everyone else ate their food drowsily. When the meal finally came -an odd looking chicken stew- the two merely picked at it reluctantly as the suffocating silence dragged on. A mellow little tune played out on the radio, but all the two could think about was less than four feet in front of them. Terry didn't dare more than two forkfuls thanks to his stomach doing back flips, and the youngest of the two had more or less forgotten how to lift his arm.

Eventually, meek made the first move.
Opening his mouth, it was probably for the best that Daniel couldn't form a single word. What he wanted to say passed between them as their eyes met, and the timid smile that flickered across the older man's face returned the answer. The foot that nudged his below the table did so lightly, but in that instance actions truly did speak louder than words. He got to his feet shortly after Terry did to follow him from the diner. There were no teary confessions like in the movies; no award winning drama acts.

Reality was simple.

Reality was sound.

Reality was sweet.

Though the night air was almost freezing, the heat of the body above him as Daniel was pushed against the side of the car made it seem minimal. Everything fizzled away till there was only one thing, one person who mattered. Though it took his breath away, it certainly wasn't stifling. For once, things felt right. The warm hands pressing lightly against his chest, the teeth that bruised his lips, the hardness against his leg that made fire well up in his stomach and his jeans seem far too tight - all of it. It was good, and true and just. How he'd ever survived without it, he didn't know.

In a frenzied act of desperation he pulled the figure down on him; the fingers of one hand sinking into a mess of soft hair whilst the other clutched tightly at the shirt before him, never wanting to let go. Mouths pressed together in an open eyed kiss and his heart raced; pounding in his chest like a war drum till he was dizzy and breathless and had to pull back for air. Terry was then pressing kisses to the side of his neck; soft and gentle as he took far too long with getting the door open. After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally succeeded.

Everything seemed to be getting in the way, but moments later they were joined again; the sweetest of treasures beneath Terry as they fought for space on the back seat. It was cramped and suddenly all too warm, but ice cold hands already wormed their way beneath his shirt and made goosebumps rise on his skin as hips pressed up and ground against his. Crushing their mouths together in a heated kiss, he let his eyes slip shut and shuddered as quiet moans reached his ears. He opened his mouth invitingly, let the other's tongue trail across his teeth and explore before he suddenly retaliated and battled back; diving into that tasted faintly of coffee and mouthwash. The fight for dominance ended when the need to breath cruelly split them apart once again.

It was quick and desperate, but the act that followed was something both had waited a lifetime for. It was a joining so intimate and pure. The shedding of clothes in the dark, the feel of skin against skin; each moment dripped with ecstacy. The roaring of blood through deafened ears to gasps and the burning of nerves made pain obsolete. The hesistation that had first struck the two soon vanishing after coaxing whispers and kisses were exchanged. There was no need for theatrics, no need for pointless words. It just happened, and passed all too fast; leaving them spent and in a knotted tangle of arms and legs as they slowly crashed back down to earth from highest of highs.

"Jesus..." the youngest finally murmured, head still against the the other's shoulder which was now littered with bites and red whelts. Terry wasn't the only one bearing the marks, for the pink rings stood flush across Dan's chest, dark in the moonlight that crept through the tinted windows. Wide eyes, almost black, finally looked up towards those of soft-grey as he stole another kiss.

"You're beatiful" Terry mouthed, smirking as their lips lingered together. "You know... I should start calling you kitten..." he added quietly, chuckling at the sudden frown of confusion he recieved. "Other than my neighbour's cat, you're the only thing I know with nine lives" he explained softly.

"Fuck off, Terry"

Lowering his mouth to the other's ear, he nipped the skin playfully with his teeth as he pulled him closer.

"Only if you'll stay with me" he whispered.

-END-

Thank you to all who have read! You're all darlings. I do hope you enjoyed that. ^^ I'm afraid that's all I'll be posting of these two. If enough people like them, though, I might dabble with them a bit more in the future. (I think I'm getting a bit attached to them).

Please review. I'd like to know what people think, and where I can improve... keeping the POV's in character was probably the most difficult thing. I've never been a fan of writing in first person, to be honest. I hope I didn't mess up too much. The ending was also a little different to how I'd planned (actually, none of the story followed the original plot) because I thought that too much might have drawn from everything else. It's still a little off though, in my opinion. =\ What do you all think?

Thank you again for reading, sweeties! xxx