Tuesday 07 September 1999
The mobile phone rang, and Charlie looked around, startled by the sudden noise. It hadn't rung in over a week, not since he'd left... well, not since the first of September. The only reason it was still on was that he hoped... well, more like thought... well, it was simply that he wanted to be prepared, just in case Ro-someone ever needed to get in contact with him.
He picked it up, hoping that the number displayed would be Rory's, but it was Liam's. He hadn't spoken to Liam since Sunday afternoon, and he wondered what on earth his brother had to say. He thumbed the button and said, "Charlie."
"Hey, li'l bro', guess what?" Liam sounded excited, which made Charlie both curious and wary.
"What?"
"Got a call from a record company today."
"Which one?"
"Rhythm Records - "
"Who are they? I've never heard of them."
" - they want to offer us a contract! And they have an opening in a studio starting in a fortnight and they want us to record!"
"Isn't that a bit fast?"
"Hey, we're doing them a favour," Liam exclaimed. "The band they had booked for it just broke up and they want someone who can use the time, otherwise they lose their money."
"So? That's their problem."
"But, Charlie - just think about it! We could have a single out by December - maybe even an album. We could be in the charts by Christmas!"
Charlie snorted. "And out of them by New Year. What sort of contract are they offering?"
"The usual."
"Fuck it, Liam! There's no such thing as 'the usual' when it comes to bands. Anything they offer us out of the blue is going to be crap. You know that."
"But they need an answer fast or they'll sign someone else. And no one else has replied to the demo tape. It could be months - years even - before we get another chance like this."
Charlie wavered. On the one hand, he really, really wanted to get their songs released. On the other, he didn't want to end up like the Beatles, who had never own the rights to their own songs, or all the bands who had still been in debt after several hit albums. Surely there was some way they could get a fair contract, one that would let them keep at least some control, wasn't there?
"Couldn't we at least get a lawyer to look at it?"
"Lawyers cost money, Charlie, and we don't have much."
"And we never will if we don't get a good deal from the outset. What do the others say?"
"Well, Patrick's all for it. Sinjin's OK, but he suggested getting a legal opinion too."
And thank you very much for telling me last, you prick, Charlie thought, but held his tongue. "Well, I'm not signing anything without a legal opinion. Maybe we can find someone who can do it on spec - you know, a percentage of our earnings, so that the more money the band makes the more money the lawyers get. That should help them to get us a good deal."
"Hey, good idea. I might ring up Peter, he did law."
"Which Peter is that?"
"Peter Browning - from school."
"Bloody hell, I was talking about a real lawyer, not one of your school friends. We have to get this right, Liam. Otherwise we might as well not bother."
Liam sighed. "Well, what do we do then?"
"How long have we got?"
"A few days, couple of weeks at the most."
"Do you think Dad would cough up for a lawyer?"
"No."
Charlie had to agree. "No, you're right. What about Sinjin's parents?"
"Dunno. Doubt it. They don't like the band much either."
"And I know Pat's people haven't got much. Fuck. Maybe we just have to wait until the next time."
"And what if there isn't a next time? What if this is the only chance we ever get?"
"If we're good enough, there'll be another chance."
"I want this one, Charlie. I don't want to wait any longer - I'm dying in that bloody office. I need to get out there and play full-time."
"Yeah, that would be good."
"Look, Sinjin suggested that we get the draft contract from Rhythm and have a look at it tomorrow night."
"Sounds good to me."
* * *
As Charlie had expected, the contract was heavily biased in favour of the company. They were offered an advance of forty thousand pounds and a fifteen per-cent royalty deal, which sounded fine at first, until they started reading the details. Advance to be recouped over twelve months, deductions to be made for manufacturing and distribution costs, more deductions for advertising, yet more deductions for production costs...
"Look at this!" Charlie exclaimed, pointing at one clause. "They want to retain the copyright on every single song they release!"
"Can they do that?" asked Pat. "I mean, distribution rights, maybe, but surely we own the copyright of the songs we write?"
"Not if we sign them over - which is what we'd be doing."
"Fuck. We can't do that - we've got some good stuff there." Sinjin kicked the chair leg.
"There has to be a way," said Liam.
Charlie rubbed his chin. "We really need a lawyer - one who works in the industry and knows what's good and what's bad."
"What firm did Duran Duran use?" asked Sinjin.
"What the fuck's that got to do with it?" asked Liam.
"Because I read that they got one of the sweetest deals in history - took them years to pay off the legal fees, but after that they were home and dry."
Liam snorted. "Bunch of pretty-boy wankers. I'm not using any firm they used."
"Don't be so stupid, " countered Charlie. "We'll use anyone who's good. Though it was probably a London firm, and we'll have to use someone from Manchester."
"Did Oasis use a local firm?" asked Pat, twirling around on his stool.
They all looked blank.
"Don't know," answered Sinjin, after a pause. "I could ask around."
"Do that," said Liam, trying to wrest control of the meeting back from Charlie. "I don't suppose... well, you've met them, Sinjin. Do you think they'd give us any advice?''
"Besides telling us to fuck off, you mean? I doubt it."
They all laughed at that, but quickly returned to a sombre consideration of their position. After a few more minutes of brooding silence, Sinjin stood up.
"Well, we can't sign this, but we need legal advice on what changes to suggest. Are we all agreed on that?" There were nods all around. "And since there's nothing more we can do about the contract until we've got a solicitor, there's no point in sitting around any longer. Let's start playing."
Wednesday, 08 September 7:30 am
"Morning, Dad."
"Morning, son."
"Would you like a coffee?"
"Thanks."
"Paper's on the table."
"Thanks."
Charlie busied himself with making coffee and toast while his father sat down and started to read the headlines. It had been a real effort, getting up this early, but his father was always tired and cranky when he got home from work, and Charlie didn't dare leave it to the weekend.
"Er, Dad..." he began, as he set the cup down.
"What?" Michael's nose was buried in the paper,
"I don't suppose you could lend me some money, could you?"
Michael grunted non-committally and asked, "What do you want it for?"
"Well, the band's been offered a recording contract."
Michael made no reply and kept on reading.
"Dad," repeated Charlie.
"What?"
"I said the band's been offered a contract."
"I heard you. So what do you want money for?"
"The contract they offered us is crap. We need a lawyer to help us fix it."
At that, Michael dropped the paper and looked at his son. "You want me to pay for a lawyer so that you can get a recording contract?"
"Well... yes."
Michael took a deep breath, his face hardening and his eyes narrowing, and Charlie prepared himself for the inevitable. "I've told you before, son. The sooner you give up these stupid dreams of being a rock star and get yourself a proper job, the better off you'll be. Look at Liam – he's got a good job, with prospects. But then he managed to finish his degree, didn't he? You decided you were too good for university, and now look at you... no money, no self-respect, begging from your own parents... No, Charlie, you'll not be getting a penny from me as encouragement."
"But, Dad –"
"You can play in your band at the weekends if you want, but I'm not paying for you to go gallivanting around the country, getting drunk and taking drugs and sleeping with loose women, getting all sorts of diseases."
Charlie couldn't believe his ears. "It's not like that, Dad," he began, but his father went on anyway.
"I said no, and that's final." He got up and took his paper through to the lounge.
Charlie sat down at the table and rested his head on his arms. He knew better than to persist when his father had made his mind up, but he couldn't help resenting the old man's intransigence. It was so unfair – they were so close, and all they needed was a bit of legal help so they weren't screwed over, and his father just couldn't see how important it was to them.
* * *
He walked around to Patrick's place again that evening and broke the news.
"It's so unfair," he complained, throwing himself down on Pat's bed. "This is the only chance we'll get for years, if ever, and he just can't see it!"
Patrick sympathised, but then he grinned. "I might be able to help."
"How? Your family doesn't have any more money than we do."
"Well, Mum and Dad don't, but my uncle's pretty well off since he sold the company."
"And?"
"Well, you know it's my twenty-first next month?"
"Yeah. So?"
"So my uncle was going to give me some money towards a house deposit. I talked to him last night and he said he'll pay for the legal fees instead. And he knows a couple of lawyers who've done entertainment work, so he'll get us an appointment."
Charlie sat up so fast he nearly gave himself a nosebleed. "Really?"
Patrick grinned and looked very smug. "Yeah. Really."
Charlie jumped up and hugged his friend. "Fantastic! Oh, man, this is great! Amazing! Wonderful!" He fell back on the bed and started laughing. "Oh, wait till Liam hears this!
"And Sinjin."
"They won't believe this!"
"They will when we see the lawyers."
They grinned at each other. Finally – it was within reach!
Thursday 16 September
The first gig went an awful lot better than they expected - or deserved, added Charlie, silently. It was at a smallish pub, which was both good (since it meant a mix of covers and their own material) and bad (since the pay was abysmal and the hecklers were easily audible). At least they got a few free beers.
Liam's wrist held out better than they had expected, though he was clearly having difficulties towards the end of the second set, playing a few discordant notes and lagging behind on the riffs. Charlie had practised every day since getting his new guitar and wasn't too bad, but even he felt abnormally fatigued at the end of the evening.
The four of them sat in the small room behind the bar trying to recoup their energy before packing up. Pat didn't stay long, just threw back his drink and headed out to get a head start on the drums. Charlie wondered if he ought to go out and help, but he was just too knackered.
Sinjin was glowering into his beer. He hated anything that made his own playing look bad, and with both the rhythm and bass having difficulties, there had been a few distinctly dodgy patches during the set.
Liam was rubbing his wrist, trying to ease the cramps, while Charlie was stretching his own fingers and wondering how many more hours of practice it would take to bring himself back up to speed. Still, he consoled himself, at least he had time to practise.
"Well, at least they didn't throw anything at us," Charlie said, trying to improve the mood.
Neither Sinjin nor Liam was impressed. "Might have helped," muttered Sinjin. "You were bloody crap, both of you."
"Hey, man" expostulated Liam, always ready with another excuse. "I know I'm not back to normal but I think I did pretty well for only being out of plaster three weeks. The physio said it would probably be a couple of months before I'm a hundred percent."
Sinjin finished his beer and stood up. "You'd better be a hundred percent the next time we play, Liam. And if you bollix up the recording I'm going to be looking around for another group. I haven't given two years of my life to this band to have it thrown away by a couple of fucking amateurs." He picked up his guitar case and strode out of the room.
"What the fuck's wrong with him?" asked Liam, of no one in particular.
Charlie said nothing - he'd become much, much better at holding his tongue in the last two months. Still, he filed away Sinjin's comment for future reference.
Friday 17 September 10am
"So, gentleman, are we all agreed on these final revisions?" asked the solicitor, all smooth vowels and tailored suit.
They all nodded. Charlie took heart from the fact that the company rep was looking decidedly unhappy. Must have given us more of an advantage than he wanted. He allowed himself a brief smile before composing his features into a suitably solemn expression. Contract or no, the company could still make life difficult for them if they wanted to, and it didn't pay to antagonise them unnecessarily.
"Then I think we can safely initial and sign the document."
They all signed in turn – so many pages, so many copies – and then waited for the record company representative to sign. Their solicitor took the band's copy and tucked it away in his briefcase.
They had a contract.
It certainly wasn't the best deal in history – they were just starting out, after all, and while they had a bit of a local following, they didn't have enough clout to give them any real leverage with the company. Still, it was certainly a lot better than the original draft. They had a decent advance, a decent royalty percentage, and, best of all, the solicitor had managed to get the production costs taken out of the company's share and not the band's. The company had only acquiesced to that since the band had assured them they could record almost everything live, keeping the costs to a minimum. That meant no money for fancy effects or a high-profile producer, but that was all right by Charlie, and he'd persuaded the others to agree to it. The band played live every week, after all, and if they couldn't get it right in the studio they didn't deserve to have a contract.
The only thing that was still worrying him was the possibility that the company might not be able to promote their album when it was finally done. Rhythm Records was hardly Epic or Capitol or Sony – they were a medium-sized independent label with a strong northern catalogue, and they didn't really need DriveShaft as much as the band needed them. They could quite easily ignore the band and concentrate on promoting their higher-profile artists... but Charlie would see to it that the band got heard. He wrote most of the songs after all. He was the real voice of DriveShaft, no matter what Liam and Sinjin thought. He'd make the company listen to them. And once they had a couple of hits under their belt, well, then they could have another look at the contract.
They left the offices in a jubilant mood, running down the steps into the sunshine.
"We're made, guys!" exclaimed Pat, punching the air.
"Some money at last," breathed Charlie.
"Studio time - next month!" added Liam.
"And a single out by Christmas," said Sinjin.
"Royalties!" laughed Pat.
"After expenses," put in Charlie. "We have to make a profit first."
"Oh, there'll be profits," vowed Liam. "Big, fat, juicy profits."
"And all the girls we could ever want," leered Sinjin.
"Big, fat, juicy girls," Liam was almost slavering at the thought.
"Suit yourselves, guys," added Charlie, who was starting to feel a bit light-headed. "I'm waiting for the pretty boys."
Sinjin draped an arm over Charlie's shoulder. "Don't you worry. You can have all the boys."
"Really?" Charlie fluttered his eyelashes and added in a breathy voice, "Don't you want some of the pretty boys? I'm sure they'd like some of you." He drew a finger suggestively down Sinjin's arm.
Sinjin guffawed. "Fuck off, Charlie! They're all yours, kiddo."
Charlie gave an exaggerated sigh and dropped his voice back to its normal deep pitch. "Well, that's a relief. I'd hate to have to fight you for them."
"So..." Liam brought them back to whatever was passing for reality that day, "all we have to do now is record the year's best album."
"And a number one single."
"And a shit-kicking video."
"DriveShaft Rules!"
Friday 24 September 1999
Liam leant into the microphone. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, you've been a great audience. We're going to finish up now, but we'll leave you with one final song, called 'Let Me Ride'."
It had been a reasonably good gig, in spite of the fact that everyone in the band was so tired from recording all week that they were almost staggering like zombies. The audience was above average (half-smashed, dancing like Robbie the Robot, and slinking away for a hot snog every ten minutes), the club's acoustics were all right, the manager was congenial, and they'd cadged a few free beers during the warm-up and the break. Now, as the opening notes of the song flowed from Sinjin's guitar, Charlie was feeling exhilarated, and the chords thrumming through his body like an electric current.
His eyes scanned the crowd during the chorus (which he could play with his eyes closed, and sometimes did), but there wasn't much to see – not that the light was good for watching the crowd anyway. There were quite a few pretty girls towards the front (Liam would be happy with that), and he could see a few guys closer to the bar. He cast a glance that way, wondering if any of them were gay, if any of them were interested in the band, if any of them might fancy him. Not that he was after anything but a quick fuck - it had only three weeks since he had been "returned" to his family, and while his body might have recovered, his heart certainly hadn't. But he missed the feeling of warm hands on his chest and hot breath ghosting over his skin, and if he couldn't have the one he really wanted, he'd take someone who wanted him.
It didn't help that he was so bloody tired that he'd started hallucinating. Twice during the evening he could have sworn he'd seen Rory's face, but when he'd looked more closely there was nothing there - no one who even looked like him. He put it down to exhaustion and the fact that he hadn't recovered from the psychological trauma of the past couple of months. It was obviously going to take him a while to get over it.
He sighed and tried to concentrate on the song. A blow job would be good, though.
They finished the set and went into the small backstage area for a breather and a beer. Sinjin was a lot happier tonight – they really had played quite well, though Liam had muffed his chords once or twice.
"I'm knackered," groaned Liam, sprawling back in his chair, sweat dripping down from his hair.
"It was good, though," said Sinjin, pulling his T-shirt up to mop his face. "Good crowd."
"Yeah," Charlie murmured, to no one in particular. He was too tired to think. He was looking forward to the weekend – two days of blessed rest before going back to the studio on Monday to finish off some of the vocal tracks. After that, it was business as usual for six weeks or so until the single could be released.
It wasn't until later, after they went back to dismantle the gear, that Charlie sensed the figure hovering a few feet away. He looked up, and his throat went dry. It looked like Rory. He blinked and looked again, but the figure was still there... and it still looked like Rory. It really was Rory this time, in a light blue shirt and jeans, looking younger, and a little uncertain, and not at all Shark-like.
Charlie straightened up, not sure what to do. He stared at Rory, wondering what he wanted. Had there been some mistake, after all? Had Rory decided to reclaim all the money he'd spent on Charlie? Or was this just a social call? He had no idea, and as usual he couldn't read Rory's expression.
"You want a drink?" Rory asked, after a few seconds.
Charlie nodded, not trusting his voice for the moment. His heart was beating hard against his ribs and he had to clench his hands tightly around the flex he was holding to stop himself shaking.
"Stella?"
"Yeah - yeah, that would be nice," he stammered. He watched Rory turn and head for the bar, feeling slightly faint.
"Looks like someone's got a fan!" Patrick's teasing laugh came from behind him.
"Oh, shut up, it's nothing like that." Charlie felt himself reddening and bent down to unplug another connection.
"Isn't it? Well, I guess you won't be needing me to pack up the rest of your gear for you while you have your beer, then, will you?"
"Would you?" He started to wind the cord into a coil, only to stumble as it caught around his legs. Patrick steadied him while he untangled himself, then took the cord out of his hands.
"Yeah, all right, but only so that I don't have to worry about you falling on your arse and breaking your wrist."
"Big of you."
Patrick just laughed. "Will you still be needing a lift later?"
"Dunno." Charlie looked in the direction of the bar. "Maybe."
"I'll give you half an hour."
"Thanks, mate." Charlie gave him a grin and went over to join Rory, who had just picked up his two beers. "We can sit down if you like," he said, indicating a table that had just been vacated.
"Yeah, that would be good."
They sat down and Rory pushed a glass across the table. Charlie took it and drank, smiling at the taste. "Thanks, that's good."
Rory nodded.
They sat in an awkward silence while Charlie waited for Rory to speak, then wondered if he was supposed to speak first. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn't be threatening or accusatory, and finally settled on "Umm... did you like the show?"
"Yeah, it was OK."
Rory didn't sound enthusiastic, but Charlie found that strangely reassuring. If he hadn't come for the music, he must have come to see Charlie, and that meant he was still interested in him. He relaxed a little and said, "Hey, did you hear the news? We've got a contract. Rhythm Records - a three-disc deal. They had an opening and wanted us to go straight into the studio, so we've been recording all week."
"That's good."
"Yeah, we're really happy about it. They're talking about releasing a single before the end of the year, and a tour next year - maybe even the US. It's going to be awesome."
"You'll be stars in no time. Top of the charts, breakfast show on TV, fan girls from here to breakfast."
Charlie snickered. "Not me, mate. I'm too fond of cock."
"You wouldn't make an exception for a California blonde with legs that go all the way up to her armpits?"
"Only if she had a ten-inch cock." He took a swallow of beer. "Mind you... if there's anywhere you could find a leggy blonde with a ten-inch cock it'd be California."
They laughed together, but neither of them said anything further. Charlie wondered when – if - Rory was going to get around to telling him why he'd come here. He played with his glass for half a minute, then decided that he'd better make the first move or they'd still be here come Christmas. He took a deep breath and tried to sound casual and spontaneous. "It's good to see you. Again, I mean. Umm..." He stopped, and took another sip. This was harder than he'd expected. "I – I used to wonder, you know, what might have happened if we'd met like this... just you and me, having a beer, chatting after a gig. If we would've liked each other. If we... well, you know, if things would have worked out."
Rory nodded. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something, and Charlie waited for him.
"I..." Rory hesitated. "I..." He took a deep breath and tried again. "You left a c-couple of things at the f-flat. I... I thought you might w-want to come over some time and pick them up."
Charlie nodded. He was sure it wasn't what Rory had intended to say, but it was a start. "Yeah, I could do that." He took another swallow of his beer and added, "Maybe we could go for a meal - that Italian place was good."
Suddenly Rory smiled at him, and Charlie felt his heart give a little thump. He mentally crossed his fingers and hoped that this was going where he thought it was going.
"Aye, it was." Rory's voice sounded a little more confident but his hands were still tight around his glass. "Er... are you - are you playing tomorrow?"
"No. Nothing planned."
"Well, m-maybe tomorrow night then?"
"Yeah, that would be good."
They smiled at each other across the table, and Charlie felt a bit giddy. Rory had just asked him out. Rory had just asked him out on a date!
"What time?" he asked.
"Oh... anytime. Seven?"
Charlie nodded. "Seven. At the Italian place." He'd have to catch the bus up, but that wasn't too much of a problem. He had a date with Rory! He felt like jumping to his feet and shouting it to the world.
Rory drank more of his beer, and Charlie looked at the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Beautiful. There was no other word for it. Beautiful. He drained his own glass and said, "Well, I'd better get back before Patrick leaves." At Rory's questioning look he added, "I moved back home - Mum and Dad's place, I mean - when Tessa went to Australia. Pat's giving me a lift back."
"Prestwich, right?"
Charlie nodded, and rose from his chair.
Rory got up, too. "I - I c-could take you." he said quickly. "I'm heading that way myself."
Well, that was unexpected. And coming so soon after Rory had asked him out, it had to mean he was interested. Charlie tried to stay calm and in control, but he couldn't help smiling broadly. "A lift would be good, yeah. Pat's van gets a bit crowded with all of the gear in it."
"Aye, I guess it would."
There was another awkward pause, then Charlie dropped his gaze and muttered "I'll just go and get my jacket then."
Rory nodded again, so Charlie hurried through to the backstage area and found his jacket and Patrick.
"You ready, then?"
Charlie grinned. "Don't need a lift, now."
"You pulled, then?" Patrick looked amazed. "The guy who bought you the beer?"
"Yeah! And don't look like it's a bloody miracle." He stuck his chin out and preened a little. "I may be short but I'm devastatingly attractive."
"Yeah, right – to the blind and deaf, maybe." There was no sting in Patrick's words - they had been friends for far too long. "I guess that means you want me to take your guitar as well?"
"Would you?"
"Sure. Anything for Twoo Wuv."
Charlie grinned as he flipped him the finger and headed back out to the bar.
Rory had sat down again and was nursing the last inch of his beer. As Charlie approached, he looked up and Charlie felt his heart thump for the third time that evening. He stood by the table and waited.
Rory got up and led the way as they left the pub and walked down the road to the laneway where he had left the car. The night air was cool and chill, and Charlie was glad of his jacket as the residual warm air from the pub dissipated. The car appeared black in the dull yellow light cast by the streetlamps behind them, and Charlie noticed how quiet it was. He glanced behind them, but no one had followed them out, and the lane was deserted.
"Rory," he murmured, touching the man on the arm.
"What is it?"
Charlie moved closer, wanting to do this but feeling very nervous. "Stand still for a minute."
"Why?" Rory asked, even as he complied.
"I want to kiss you," whispered Charlie
"Not out here!"
"There's no one to see." He pressed on. "Look, if anyone comes around the corner, I'll stop. I just want to kiss you now, before we do anything else."
"Why?"
"Because I want to. Because I don't want this to be just a continuation of last month. I want more. I want to be able to say what I think without worrying about you getting angry. I want to choose what we do sometimes. I want to be equal, Rory, not just a rent-boy."
"You were never a rent-boy," Rory breathed, barely audible.
Charlie leaned in, touching his lips to Rory's. They were soft and warm, and though Rory jerked a little at the touch, he didn't pull away. Charlie tilted his head and parted his lips; Rory did the same. They moved slowly over each other's skin, still hesitant, still unsure of what all this might mean. Charlie felt warmth spreading through him, as if he were coming to life, like a tree after winter. His arms crept up over Rory's – not to not to stop him from moving away, just to touch him, feel his warmth, reassure himself that he wasn't dreaming. He slid his tongue into Rory's mouth and nearly groaned at the sensation. He lost track of time, knowing only the touch of Rory's lips on his own, the feel of Rory's chest close to his, Rory's arms sliding up to rest on his own. It seemed to last forever.
Suddenly he felt Rory pull back, and he looked up. Rory was looking at him as if stunned – as if he couldn't believe what he had done, as if Charlie were some terrible apparition. Maybe I went too far, he told himself. Maybe he doesn't really want to do this. He wondered if he should go back to the club, hoping that Pat hadn't already left. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and started to turn away.
Rory moved then, taking hold of him and spinning him around so that he was the one leaning against the car. Then he found himself being thoroughly kissed, with a passion he'd suspected but never seen. Rory's tongue was deep inside his mouth, tangling with his own, questing and probing, and it was the best kiss Charlie had ever had.
Rory pulled away again at the sound of a car passing the end of the street, but he didn't let go. Charlie pulled him into a hug and let his lips slide along the delicate skin of Rory's neck, under the ear and into the hairline. He felt Rory relax, and smiled. This was going to work, after all.
"I missed you," he whispered.
"I missed you, too." The words were soft enough that he wondered if he'd imagined them, but he tightened his arms a little anyway and pressed his lips to Rory's skin before pulling back just far enough that he could looked into Rory's eyes. For the first time saw that Rory was completely open, and he could read him – all the myriad emotions – the want, the longing, the fear, the despair – all of it. It made Charlie want to hold him and protect him and keep him safe, and hurt him and shout at him for all the slights that he had endured. It made him want to burrow into his clothes and soak up his heat, and at the same time push him away, because he knew – he just knew – that Rory would never really change. He'd always have to fight to get Rory to treat him as an equal, but by all the saints he was going to fight until Rory changed or he died trying.
Rory's hands slid under his jacket; Charlie could feel their heat through the thin cotton of his shirt. He wriggled as Rory hit a ticklish spot, and they both laughed. Charlie felt almost dizzy with relief and dropped a quick kiss on Rory's lips.
"It's getting cold. We should go."
Rory kissed him back, twice, as if he couldn't quite believe it the first time. "Aye." A third kiss followed, then Rory looked him in the eyes. "Er... d'you still want to be dropped off at your parents' place?"
"Is there another option?" Charlie looked hopeful.
"Well... if you w-wanted... my place?"
Charlie nodded. "That would be great." He tightened his arms around Rory and leaned in for another kiss.
The sound of a car coming around the corner broke them apart again. They looked ruefully at each other as it passed them, and then Rory sighed as he turned and unlocked the car.
"Come on, let's get going."
Charlie walked around to the other side and got in. Rory put the key in the ignition but didn't turn it. Looking straight ahead, he said, "You didn't really leave anything behind, you know."
"I know."
They looked at each other and smiled, rather sheepishly. Then Rory turned the key and the car sprang to life.
THE END