Tim's breathing was coming fast and shallow. Richard's closeness, his trembling, the heat from his body, was all he could think about. His hands moved of their own accord, caressing Rich's chest and shoulders, stroking his hair.

He watched Rich's face in the dim firelight. He was leaning against Tim's leg, his eyes closed, his expression intense, yet relaxed. Tim had seen something similar when he was really into his performance. Making music, for Rich, was something exhilirating. Tim found it exciting watching Rich play, seeing the thrill he got from it. It turned him on like nothing else did.

A crunching sound on the gravel in the distance made him jump away from Richard and turn towards its origin. His only thought was that it was Paul, and his reaction...Christ...

Light flickered through the trees as a car turned off the main road onto the track and slowly made a three point turn, before vanishing again into the night.

Tim's heart was beating fast, and his palms were damp. It felt like a narrow escape. He just didn't know what from, or whether he wanted to escape from it at all.

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When the sounds of someone approaching had echoed through the trees, Richard had jumped up and away from Tim without a thought. Being caught like that, by Paul...it didn't bear thinking about.

The car turned and disappeared, and he found himself kneeling up, facing Tim, looking out into the dark where the lights had vanished.

Richard felt sick with the fear that had burst on him, then vanished, leaving him empty. His mouth was dry, he swallowed. He didn't know what to do, what to say, what to think. Where to look.

Richard made the mistake of looking at Tim.

Their eyes met.

Too much with too much meaning to comprehend passed between them in that moment, and Richard found himself leaning in close, just as Tim did the same.

Their lips met, and they shivered together in the dark at contact.

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An angry, rumbling noise and an insistent flashing light drew Paul out of the mire of sleep, somewhat reluctantly. He rolled over to avoid reality, but his nose met with the body of the car; cold, hard and demanding. After a few minutes attempting to ignore it, his mind had to accept the fact that he was awake, that there was no arguing with it now.

Bloody hell.

His mouth tasted like bile, his stomach churned, and his head felt like it was stuffed with sand and cotton wool. He made another empty promise to himself never to get that drunk again, and crawled towards the front of the car to retrieve his glasses from their hiding place in the compartment between the front seats.

While fumbling through the crap to try to find them, Paul squinted looking out through the windscreen, trying to make sense of the blurry mess. There was the flickering light of a fire, and, as far as he could tell, one person sitting or crouching near it. Where's the other one gone? he wondered.

Paul swore as the glasses showed no signs of appearing. The inside light was no use, he knew. It had been broken for years. He was just considering violence when his flailing hands wrapped around a familiar shape.

"Ah-ha!" he murmured. Now to see who was sitting down and who was missing. Paul slipped on the black plastic frames, and got a clear view of the scene outside for the first time.

He froze.

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" he breathed, scarcely believing what he saw.