Vince Tyler wandered aimlessly around his apartment - picking things up, eyeing the videos on his overcrowded shelf, rearranging a few cushions about the place. Finally, he took one of the Dr Who tapes and eyed it, trying to make up his mind whether or not to watch it. He decided against it, slipping it back in between the other ones. Why was he so edgy?

At pretty much the same time, Stuart Alan Jones was shown into his room at the Westchester Hotel in London. He paid a generous tip to the page boy and topped it off with a bonus in the shape of a seductive smile, causing the unsuspecting youth to blush prettily and stammer his ingrained, "Will there be anything else, Sir?"

"Do you have room service?" Stuart checked.

"Oh yes, Sir. Certainly. Just dial 222 to order anything you'd like."

'Anything I'd like...' Stuart thought. 'I'd like to be home. I'd like to be at the Babylon with Vince as I should be on a Saturday night.' To the kid he said, "Thanks. I'll do that."

"Sir." With a shy smile, the boy retreated, unaware that not too long ago, he would not have made it out of the room until after he'd been well and truly shagged into oblivion by this particular guest. Today however, Stuart Alan Jones had other things on his mind.

As did Vince, who eventually decided he'd grab a bite to eat and settle in with "The Leisure Hive". What else was there to do without Stuart, whose company had sent him down to London for a few days? He sighed. It was as if he'd temporarily had his right arm amputated.

He went to have a shower first of all, planning to think about what he fancied for dinner after.

In his posh London hotel room, Stuart was doing much the same thing.

Half an hour later and halfway through preparing a plate of scrambled eggs on toast, Vince's phone rang. Frowning, he went to answer it with a questioning "Yeah?"

"What are you doing home, you twat?"

Breaking into a smile, Vince went back into the kitchen. "Making myself some dinner. We're not all lucky enough to have every restaurant in London at our disposal."

Stuart smiled into the phone. "I'm eating in."

"Yeah right."

"Well I am." Stuart flopped on the wide bed, wrapping his bathrobe - damp and warm from the freshly showered body underneath - tighter around himself, while admiring the nice contrast between the bright blue material and his tan.

"Hmm..." Vince murmured doubtfully. "I'm having eggs and toast. I suppose you're dining on caviar?"

"Just because I have money doesn't make me a snob, Vince." Stuart said it lightly, suppressing an inkling of hurt.

"Didn't mean it that way." Vince knew his friend too well not to notice. "I'm just jealous. I'm stuck here in Manchester while you're lounging around glamorous London."

Stuart chuckled. "Paris is glamorous, Vince. London is just bigger."

"Still, wouldn't mind being there myself." Vince tucked the cordless phone between his chin and his shoulder while he scraped the egg from the pan and onto his toast.

"I wish you were," Stuart admitted. "Don't feel like going out by myself."

Tucking the warm feeling safely away with his unrequited longings and unspoken desires, Vince set down the pan and picked the phone up again, smiling into it. "Yeah, like you'd be by yourself for more than 3 minutes."

Knowing it wasn't just any company he wanted, Stuart pointed out, "Don't feel like a shag tonight."

"Bloody hell! Give me a moment to recover!!" Vince mocked delightedly. "Stuart Alan Jones does not feel like a shag. Someone call 999."

Laughing, Stuart mocked in return, "Maybe it's 'cause I'm homesick. Missing you and all."

Closing his eyes and willing his heart to beat a little less loudly, Vince waited a moment before he said lightly, "Alright, what have you taken, Stuart?"

"Nothing." A knock on Stuart's hotel room door interrupted. "Hold on a minute!" The phone went quiet and Vince took the opportunity to settle in on the sofa, plate on his lap. This was better than Dr Who. He grinned at the comparison. The Daleks versus Stuart - a fixed fight every time.

"I'm back!" Stuart declared through the phone. "That was room service."

Vince's eyes widened. "You weren't kidding about eating in?"

"Told you I wasn't." Stuart examined the barbecued chicken wings and stuffed potato.

"So what are you doing after you've eaten?" Vince asked harmlessly, stuffing a chunk of toast with egg into his mouth.

"I thought I might have a wank."

Vince's bite of food sprayed back onto the plate, and he was shaken by a coughing fit. "STUART!" he gasped

"What?" Knowing full well how easy it was at times to embarrass Vince, Stuart grinned, chomping on some sour cream topped potato. "I said I thought I..."

"I heard!" Vince chuckled. "For heaven's sake, Stuart, give me some warning."

"Didn't know you needed any. Sorry." Stuart grinned mischievously, licking some cream from the corner of his mouth. "You're missing something, you know."

Vince was glad he hadn't yet commenced eating again. "You do it for an audience now?"

"Not that, you twat! The potato. I'm having baked potato with sour cream and chives. It's delicious."

"Ah!" Vince grinned. "I'm sure it beats my scrambled eggs by a mile. Or should that be a kilometre? They've changed that now. Bastards! I don't know how long anything is now. And then there's liquids..."

Stuart interrupted the nervous verbal outpour. "It's not what you eat, it's who you eat with."

Shivering slightly, Vince just knew he was blushing. Damn! Didn't even the distance put any damper on Stuart Alan Jones' sex appeal? "Talking about company - I'm asking yours to send you away more often. You're much more friendly when you're away."

"So you don't miss me one bit then?"

Vince put down the empty plate with a lot of noise, buying time. Ah yes - the offensive might work here. "Cause I do," he said lightly. "I just don't know what to do without you."

Stuart was mildly surprised at his own reaction to the words, even knowing that Vince was teasing. "Well, you don't have to do anything without me," he heard himself saying. "I'm not going anywhere, you're not going anywhere. Let's just stay on the phone."

Vince stretched out comfortably on his sofa, a big smile on his face. He tucked one hand under the cushion propping up his head. "Okay then. If you don't mind missing out on your wank."

"Who said I was going to miss out?"

Vince's eyes widened. "You're not gonna..."

"Do you mind?"

Vince gulped. Did he mind listening to Stuart's moans while he got himself off? Must be a trick question. With all the disinterest he could muster, he said, "I'll just watch some Dr Who while you're at it."

"You didn't answer the question."

Deep down, Vince was sure Stuart was joking. Had to be joking. Not even Stuart would jerk off with his best friend listening. But one never knew with Stuart. He'd have to be careful - if he made too big an issue out of it, Stuart might change his mind.

"I don't care," Vince said lightly, noting that his voice cracked just a little while he spoke and hoping that Stuart was already 'in the mood', so he wouldn't notice. How the heck did he get in the mood while talking crap on the phone anyway?

"Okay. I'm just going to turn the light off." Stuart disappeared, allowing Vince to take a very deep breath. Unheard.

Or so Vince thought, because he was under the misguided impression Stuart was using a standard hotel phone. Thankfully, the Westchester with all its old-fashioned design did have that one modern convenience - speaker phones.

When Stuart returned to the bed after having lit a candle on the night stand, he stood and listened to Vince rummaging around. It sounded like he was laying on his creaking sofa, fluffing up a cushion or two and getting comfortable. Smiling, Stuart settled down on the bed and said, "I'm back."

"You're sure you wouldn't rather..." Vince suggested carefully, feeling more embarrassed than he possibly could if he were asked to dance naked on stage at the Babylon. Not that anyone would ask him.

"Do you have a date with Tom Baker?" Stuart teased.

Smiling, Vince shook his head. Then, cursing himself for his stupidity, he quickly said, "Course not! I'm just not sure what to talk about while you... well, you know."

"Whatever. Just don't talk about women, that's all I ask."

Vince laughed. "Don't worry. Won't happen. Well, what do you want to talk about?"

Stuart lay back, closing his eyes. "Tell me what you did today."

Frowning, Vince took a moment to try and remember. The day couldn't have been more uneventful. Aside from the irritating news about Stuart having to go to London for the weekend, nothing had really happened. "You sure you want me to? It's not going to... help, you know."

Chuckling, Stuart reassured, "It's relaxing though - boredom. Go on, talk."

Vince took a deep breath, deciding to take Stuart literally. He started right at the beginning with brushing his teeth in the morning, fully expecting to hear snoring or a plea to stop at any moment. But all he heard was the occasional ragged intake of breath while he rattled on about basically nothing. "You still there?" he eventually asked hesitantly.

It took Stuart a moment to focus on the changed tone of the narrative. "Yeah," he said, sounding very laboured. "Go on, Vince."

Vince shivered at the timbre of Stuart's voice - he was actually doing it, and while Vince was keeping him busy with his dead boring day. It bored him, for heaven's sake. How on Earth could Stuart...? His eyes widened.

"Keep talking... Vince." A husky plea through the phone line. It wasn't quite, 'Oh god, yes, yes, YES!' but at least it was the sound of Stuart's voice while he was... while he... Jesus!

Like a robot - and unable to appreciate the irony of this due to his own ever more insistent needs - Vince rattled on. "And then Rosalie dropped the third bottle of champagne this week, just as I was walking past her. Went bright red, the poor thing. She's getting worse."

"I said no women," Stuart ground out, causing Vince to chuckle nervously.

"Sorry. Anyway, that was just before I went home. Since then, all I've been doing is having a shower and making dinner. And then you called."

There was a lengthy pause, punctuated only by Stuart's ragged breathing. Then... "Tell me about this week's specials at the store, Vince."

Close to hysterics, Vince adjusted himself on the sofa, causing it to creak. Everytime Stuart spoke or he himself grew quiet, he was reminded mercilessly of exactly what was happening in Stuart's room - in his bed - at that point in time. It was like some kind of alternative universe. He was actually privileged to witness Stuart Alan Jones jerking off.

Okay, that did it! Vince was grinding his teeth, willing his own body to settle down until after this phone call was over.

"Vince?" The plea in the voice was stronger now, but the voice itself was absolutely raw. Of course, Stuart was probably embarrassed when it got too quiet. What had he asked him to do? List the week's specials. Right... focus, Vince!

"Nescafe, 200g - 3.39. Pepsi, 1.5 litres - 40p. Small brown bread - 29p. Persil, large box - 4.19. Cadbury Top Deck, chunky bar - 25p; three for 60p. Telegraph Cucumbers..." Vince closed his eyes when he heard the low groan at the other end of the line. He soldiered on bravely... "Telegraph Cucumbers - 1.39 each; they're out of season."

A shudder went through him right about the time Stuart came. He tried to continue, but knowing - and worse, visualizing - the situation in Stuart's hotel room, his mouth went too dry to allow another word to pass through his lips. So he wound up listening to the rushing of his blood through his own ears.

"Be right back," Stuart said weakly, and Vince took the opportunity to take a deep breath and sink back into the cushion - he had raised himself on his elbow while he had given Stuart a rundown of the specials. Now he lay back, exhausted. And he wasn't just exhausted, but bloody hard, too.

"Thanks a lot for that, Stuart," he muttered, not worrying that he was holding the phone against his cheek. "And what am I going to do now? Nice state you've put me in."

Stuart smiled at the phone. He threw something across the bed where it landed on the plush carpet. The wet sound confused Vince.

"Sorry about that, Vince," Stuart said, his breathing slowly coming back to a normal level again.

"Stuart!" Vince blushed. "I thought you'd gone to... I don't know. Get cleaned up or something."

"I had a washcloth on the bed."

"But..."

"It's a speaker phone, Vince."

Vince made a funny sound. Then... "Bastard!"

Stuart grinned. "Don't worry. It happens. You listen to someone jerking off, you get hard. Doesn't mean anything."

"Of course not. I know that." Vince groaned. He wished that was true. But it did mean something. To him at least, when it came to Stuart.

"Anything I can do to help?" Stuart fell back against his pillow, one arm casually under his neck, the other absently stroking his stomach.

"Like what?" Vince shrieked.

"You're smart, Vince. Use your head." In response to the gasp, Stuart added with a grin, "The other one."

Vince had a feeling that right now would be a good time to end the phone call before he took Stuart up on his bizarre offer. Not that he minded this sort of thing as such, but with Stuart... surely he didn't mean it. He was probably waiting for him to take him up on it, and then he'd laugh and call him a twat. Too risky. And Vince couldn't do risky when it came to Stuart.

"Actually, I'm out of it now, Stuart. I think I'll just go to bed," Vince lied reluctantly, hurt even though Stuart's mockery was only taking place in his own mind.

"But I don't want you to go yet." Stuart knew Vince wouldn't deny him anything if he did the low, soft voice. He was using it, yes, but somehow, this phone call was turning into something he simply didn't want to end just yet.

"You don't?" Vince was a little surprised. He always was when someone expressed interest in his company. Especially when it was Stuart.

"No, I don't." Hoping like hell that Vince wouldn't demand an explanation, Stuart decided not to give him time to find a way out. "Look at it as a favour. A bit of a novel way to help out a friend."

"It's novel alright."

"You helped me." Stuart bit his lip. Hard.

"What? I didn't do anything. All I did was ramble on about nothing."

Exactly.

"Stuart?"

"Yeah, anyway..."

"This phone call is costing you a fortune, Stuart."

Stuart groaned and held his head. "So I can afford it. Jesus, Vince!"

Vince thought about it. This was the closest he'd ever come to shagging Stuart. Great train of thought! He got harder still. "Okay," he said quickly, before he could wind his way out. And instantly, his stomach started doing cartwheels.

"Right then." Stuart grinned like the Cheshire cat. Just as well Vince couldn't see him. "You lying down?"

"If I hadn't been all along, I would be by now," Vince said dryly, wondering when he'd wake up.

"Good. Turn off the TV if it's on..."

"It isn't."

"Turn off that dim lamp by the sofa."

"Okay. Any reason?"

"Yeah," Stuart said. "I want you to concentrate on my voice and nothing else."

Vince made a little hysterical sound.

Stuart smiled. "Are you still hard, Vince?" he said, his voice a good octave lower than it had been.

Vince was going to make a sarcastic remark, but the changed tone of Stuart's voice was too hypnotic. It went straight to his groin. "Yeah."

"Unzip your pants."

Vince did as he was told.

"But keep your hands off!" Stuart warned.

"What?" Vince was confused.

"Do only what I tell you."

"Bully!"

"Yeah." Stuart smiled seductively. Shame Vince couldn't see it. Damn, it kept coming back to that - wishing Vince was actually there. "You'll grow to like me that way."

Vince sighed. "I think I al... okay, what's next?"

"Put your hand on your stomach. Just leave it there while you breathe slowly. Leave it until your palm and your stomach get warm."

"Okay." Vince closed his eyes, waiting for the warmth to spread. Meanwhile, he concentrated on Stuart's breathing at the other end of the line. It had become more noticeable. "Stuart?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your breathing - it's louder."

"I switched the phone from speaker to receiver."

Vince smiled. "Why?"

"More intimate."

A pleasant shiver ran through Vince. Oh yes, he was definitely getting warmer. Really warm.

"You can move your hand up now. No Vince, I said up!" Stuart smiled at the disappointed mumble at the other end. "Patience, Vince. We'll get there."

We... Vince sighed contentedly.

"Are you wearing one of those tight Polo shirts?" Stuart asked, closing his own eyes to visualize his friend better.

"Yeah."

"Which one?"

"The black one."

Stuart smiled. "Good. I like that one. You look great in it."

"Really?" Vince asked in disbelief.

"Brings out your muscles."

Vince blushed, even in the dark and with no one to see it. "What muscles?" he said, unable not to mock himself. Force of habit.

Stuart sighed. "Yours, you twat!" He grinned. "You told me yourself that you're damn good-looking, even if you didn't mean it. I agreed with you, remember? And I did mean it."

Pause.

"Vince?"

"Right here." Vince was glowing.

Stuart smiled. He could hear his friend's mood right through the line. "And there's something else you should know, too."

"What's that?"

"You're damn sexy, Vince Tyler."

"Oh, go on!" Denial crept into Vince's voice even while his skin began to tingle.

"I intend to." Stuart decided it was enough of the light banter now. "Okay, Vince. Relax."

Vince mumbled something along the lines of, 'How on Earth can I?' but Stuart ignored it and moments later, Vince's breathing slowed down a bit.

Clearing his throat, Stuart switched back to his seductive tone when he instructed, "Run your hand up underneath your shirt. Slowly."

Vince moved his palm upwards. His eyes were closed and without any effort at all, he found himself imagining that it was Stuart's hand making its way over his stomach and ribcage, and to the outline of his chest.

"I want you to run your fingertips over your nipples now - very lightly. Until they get stiff and really sensitive." Stuart wasn't at all surprised when he found himself get hard again already. He could hear Vince sighing softly, shifting on the old sofa, probably letting his head fall back over that shabby armrest while teasing himself. He could almost see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, his neck exposed and his lips parted.

Stuart gulped. "How does that feel, Vince?" he asked hoarsely, drawing his legs up and moving his own hand underneath his robe.

"Good. Just keep going, please!"

Stuart smiled, satisfied with the raspiness in his friend's voice. "I will. We're not done... you're not done yet."

Vince opened his eyes, caught up on the 'we' Stuart used yet again. But he didn't have the time to think much about it because he was already being instructed to move on.

"Move that hand lower again. Slow, Vince... let your fingers find your navel and follow that line of hair leading down from it. Follow it. Further..."

Vince was on the verge of screaming. Unable to bear the tension a moment longer, he just had to say something, no matter how stupid. "I think you're supposed to ask me what I'm wearing for underwear." Okay, that was as stupid as it got.

"Vince, I don't care. It's coming off soon anyway."

Gasping, Vince decided to be quiet from now on until told otherwise. This thing about Stuart ordering him what to do... it had something.

"Move into that gap now where your zipper is open, slide your fingers inside your underwear... okay, Vince... almost there... Spread your legs. You can push your pants down further now."

Vince obliged hurriedly and went back to where he had left off, his hand an inch away from where he wanted it.

"Touch your cock, Vince!" Stuart commanded, his voice rough and husky.

And Vince closed his hand around his erection, squeezing tight to make up for the excruciating wait Stuart had forced on him. "Thank you," he murmured into the phone, entirely oblivious to how seductive his voice was to Stuart just then.

Stuart was far more aroused than he had anticipated, and for a moment, it left him speechless. Long enough to confuse Vince.

"Stuart?" he asked, concerned that maybe his friend had decided it had all gone too far.

"Keep doing exactly what you were doing, Vince," Stuart instructed hoarsely. There was no stopping now. No way out. Even if Stuart had been looking for one. "Only now..."

Vince was holding his hard shaft in his hand, waiting. "Yes?" he asked in a whisper.

"Only now, imagine that it's not your hand."

Vince grinned in spite of everything. "Whose then?"

"Mine."

Vince swallowed. He could feel tiny beads of sweat materialize between his shoulder blades and slowly trickle down his spine. The room was getting so hot. He was getting so hot. And Stuart... "Yes!" he croaked.

"Okay, Vince. I'm touching you now... stroking you. How does that feel?"

"Bloody fantastic!"

Smiling, Stuart sped up his own strokes - Vince's strokes, rather. It was confusing, but as Vince had said - bloody fantastic. "Describe what you're feeling."

Vince used his free hand to swipe at his forehead, now damp with sweat. "I'm... hard as a rock," he gasped. "And I'm hot. So damn hot!"

"I know..." Stuart ground out. "You always have been, Vince."

Whimpering, Vince realized that there was absolutely nothing like Stuart saying his name in this tone of voice. Well, nothing aside from Stuart telling him he was hot. Liar! "Say that again..."

"What?"

"My name. Say my name again, Stuart. Like you did just then."

Stuart squeezed himself harder. "Vince," he murmured softly, then repeating more harshly, "Vince, God you are hot!"

Panting like a dog in heat, Vince squirmed on the sofa, his hand tight around his cock, his lips dry and his skin on fire. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurred to him that he should be really, really embarrassed by all this. But as soon as Stuart had actually allowed him to imagine his presence, all that had gone to hell.

"Vince... say something... did you pass out?" Stuart asked, his voice an extended sigh.

"Not yet," Vince whispered, his hand working frantically, stroking and tugging and squeezing.

Stuart laughed softly, his own hand busy underneath the softness of his robe, making him forget that he'd only come a few minutes ago. "Vince," he murmured.

"Yeah?"

"You wet yet?"

Vince squeezed his eyes shut, one finger following a damp, sticky line along his shaft. "A bit."

Stuart inhaled sharply. "Wish I could see you like that."

Those baby blues shot open again. "Really?"

Stuart ignored the disbelief in his friend's voice. "On second thought..." he began, but before Vince could freak, he added, "I'd prefer to taste you."

"Stuart!" Vince growled quite uncharacteristically.

Not that Stuart had any way of knowing what was characteristic for Vince in this kind of situation, but he was damn sure growling wasn't. But God, he liked it! "Oooh, Vince! I made you growl," he teased, even while a shiver ran down his spine.

A few harsh breaths later, Vince was able to call Stuart a twat, but the effect of that was lost in his moan. "Stu...art..."

"You're close..." Stuart whispered, letting it show in his voice that he was, too.

"Yes!"

"Don't hold back, Vince!" Stuart instructed hoarsely. "I want it all. I want to be kneeling next to you... I want to..." He paused briefly, catching his breath. "I want to swat away your hand and do you myself."

Vince gasped.

"I want to take your cock in my mouth and suck you dry, Vince!"

Between those roughly spoken words and Stuart's rapid breaths, Vince was just about reduced to tears. His hand was pumping furiously, he was sucking in quick puffs of air. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that what they were doing would change things. Would have to change things. But he was too far gone to worry about it. Instead, he whispered, "Stuart, how would you do it? Tell me!"

Stuart's fingers closed tighter around his own cock. "I'd turn you and kneel between your legs, Vince. And because you've already been spilling some, I'd lick the insides of your thighs clean..."

Vince jerked on the sofa, turning sideways a little and spreading his legs until he had one foot on the floor, tracing the soft skin of his inner thighs and licking his fingers dry.

Stuart heard the movements - thank heavens for that creaky sofa - and the wet sound of Vince sucking on his fingers. He groaned. "God, you're doing it, Vince. You're doing it to yourself, aren't you?"

Blushing but well beyond caring, Vince muttered, "No, Stuart. You are!"

Stuart made a sound Vince was sure he'd never heard from him. Something between a harsh groan and a triumphant laugh. "Damn right I am!" he said. "And God, Vince, you taste so fucking wonderful!"

Vince bucked, releasing his cock for a moment and just allowing himself to really feel Stuart's tempting mouth as it closed around it.

"I've got you now, Vince! I've got you in my mouth."

Vince moaned. "You're bloody fantastic at it, Stuart Alan Jones!"

Stuart chuckled. It was a low rumble in his throat which sent a shiver down Vince's spine. "Can you feel me drawing you back into my throat, Vince? Can you feel my tongue swirling around you? Pushing into your slit?"

Whimpering, Vince felt the first wave of his climax start in his toes. It was the weirdest sensation - he'd never come with his whole body, but he knew he was going to now. With Stuart.

And Stuart seemed to know. He kept going without missing a beat. "I've got your taste on my tongue, Vince. I can taste you right now. And I can feel your cock jerking in my mouth."

Vince moaned. He felt... raw. He was pumping himself so hard. Oh God, if Stuart were to stop now...

"Yes, Vince. Yes! Come on, don't keep it from me. I've been waiting 15 bloody years for it!" Stuart was almost screaming now.

And Vince came so hard. His body spasmed and his free hand dug into the sofa. He'd have preferred to bury it in Stuart's curls, but... "Stuart! Oh God, finally!" he called out before he came. Then he was capable of nothing but incoherrent sounds.

Stuart squinted against the stars in front of his eyes as he spilled himself into his own hand. He didn't care. He could barely think. All he knew for sure was that he'd just fucked his best friend, if not literally, and that it was the best damn shag he'd ever had.

"Stuart?" Vince murmured, sounding predictably insecure and embarrassed. He just knew that after this, things had to go downhill. It had been bloody fantastic, but he never should have gone along with it. They'd both gotten carried away and taken a gamble. And they'd both lost their best friend.

"Vince..." Stuart felt Vince's fear in his own gut. He'd been the one to get this started. He had the responsibility to make it all right again. Great! Stuart, the responsible one. But somehow, it was easy, as he put his words together.

Vince got in ahead of him. "Stuart, I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

"What?"

Stuart sighed. "I'm not sorry, Vince. That was totally amazing. And what's more..."

Vince held his breath.

The irony suddenly came to Stuart and he chuckled. "Vince, do you realize how appropriate it is that our first time should happen on the phone?"

"I... um..." And then it hit Vince. "Our first time?"

"I want you to go to sleep now, Vince. And have a good, long sleep. You're gonna need it. I'm leaving London tomorrow afternoon and I want you to be wide awake when I get home. Yours - tomorrow evening." Stuart smiled when he heard the tension virtually drop off Vince.

Too confused, giddy and just too plain happy to argue, Vince said, "Okay, Stuart."

"Vince?"

"Hmm?"

"Put your lips against the phone."

Vince smiled. Who'd have ever thought it possible - a sentimental Stuart! "Okay," he said, his lips touching the mouth piece of the phone in a soft kiss.

Stuart did the same at his end, only in true Stuart fashion, he added an exaggerated smooching sound.

Vince laughed. "So, tomorrow..."

"Yeah. Don't forget it."

Vince beamed. "Not bloody likely, Stuart."

Smiling, Stuart said very softly, "Night, Vince. Dream of me."

'As always,' mouthed Vince silently. "Will do. Night, Stuart."

Reluctantly, Stuart hung up the phone, with Vince following suit a moment later. Only Vince looked at the receiver for a bit before replacing it reverently.

In London, Stuart kept staring at the phone. He reached for it, picked it up, started dialing Vince, and put it down again. This happened a few times before he finally gave up, knowing exactly what he had to do.

This time when he picked up the receiver, he dialed hotel reception. "This is Stuart Alan Jones, Room 682. Please get my bill ready, I'll be leaving." He assured the clerk that no, there was nothing wrong with the room, but that an emergency had come up.

Then, Stuart got up off the bed, dressed hurriedly and threw his bits and pieces carelessly into his open suitcase underneath the window. He left the room in a hurry, made his way downstairs, paid and gave a very generous tip. Once outside, he was glad to find that even this time of night, there were a bunch of taxis parked right at the front door.

He got one and directed the driver to take him to the airport before he sank back in the car seat.

He'd call work tomorrow morning, let them know he couldn't stay in London. He'd have to re-schedule the meeting, of course, but that was okay. For now, he had an emergency to get to.

The emergency, in case anyone asked - and they would, considering he may have just kissed a huge contract good-bye - was nothing short of a matter of life and death. He'd already wasted 15 years; if he didn't get to Vince tonight, if he couldn't touch him, finally, without hiding behind the bloody phone, he'd quite simply die.

Stuart smiled. He'd known, as had Vince, that their relationship would change if they ever did this. They'd both wondered, without ever talking about it and certainly without Vince having a clue that Stuart thought about it as well, if they could still be friends afterwards.

What Stuart hadn't known was that he'd find himself deeply, irrevocably and crazily in love with Vince.

So then again... perhaps things hadn't changed at all.