Summary: the late night dalliances post police station, Sy gives Christian a helping hand.
Contains: Graphic sex
Episode References: Post "Are you going to invite me home?" after Syed waits for Christian outside the police station.
A/N: Right so it's been a very long time since I've been anywhere near Chryed so forgive me if this really doesn't tally with their characters. But I seem to be falling back in love with them again, it must be Johnny's muscles! So this is my poor attempt at trying to write them again, in my comfort territory which is, as always, v.v.v. m. There's three chapters, Reviews are love.

Disclaimer: This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.

X _ X

"Touch me," I press the request as a kiss onto the smooth crook of his neck.

"Touch me," I pledge a moan as his parting thighs accept me.

"Touch me," I entice as my teeth make their way along the rigid sweet spot of his ear to his everlasting sigh.

'I don't want…' he starts, attempting to pull away but ever fearful of his departure my fingernails dig desperate to his scalp.

"Christian, I…" he breaks away as I lead a wayward hand of his to its destination. "I don't want to hurt you."

Drooping eyelashes hide guilt-ridden eyes as though he fully intended the double meaning. His finger against my bruised cheek maps a curve of the meaning I have to forget.

"You won't," I promise - an answer to both.

Leaning forward I fix him with my best gaze.

"Touch me," I whisper, one final time, purposefully low.

His caress is the answer he gives, one hand maps slowly up my spine. Each one of my hair follicles dissolve his presence and they spark as if finally allowed to trust once again. My tongue plies hungry lips open and his fingernails dent my biceps, gripping us together. I lave across his teeth and his cock shudders heat against mine. Then his hands lay to rest in my favourite place, against my arse, pulling my groin closer to his.

I don't know how we got here, it seems only a short time ago that he demanded my touch never to seek him, his words of disgust are etched too firmly across my heart. But then, of course, he waited shyly outside the police station. That hellish place I would have only gone to for him, so that he could keep up his boyish belief of the protectors of good and evil. His shuffled feet led to a plea made with darkened eyes. After that - after he had followed me home, how could my mouth not seek his - when his is the finest taste I have witnessed. How could I not lead him to my bed - when it is as though my sheets have waited for the presence of his body.

Bringing my lips from his skin I pledge a request my breath waits for.

"Take your clothes off."

There is a miniscule pause that lasts forever until his body shifts from my bed, and with his back to me he removes his shirt and then ever so slowly his jeans. My eyes consume the way his lithe muscles shine from the evening glow and the heated trail of passion.

He turns. Quickly my eyes map his body, slide down the finesse of his chest, the curve in his boxers. His eyes stay fixated to the floor and I question, not for the first time, how anyone with such a body could feel so shy.

"You're beautiful," I whisper.

His eyes whip to mine, in them painted the memory of when we were last like this. Leaning toward him I place a hand against his quivering stomach. My desire catches on his trapped breath. My fingers slide down his smooth torso, teasing the skin that his boxers meet.

'These might get in the way - don't you think?' My voice dips low, my entire body desperate to touch him.

His jaw tightens before he nods once and lowers the cotton down his legs.

As he stands again, his eyes search mine - desperate for approval, terrified of rejection. How could the sight of him like this make me anything but desperate for him? How could the sight of his large, hard cock make him less than exquisite?

"Fuck, I want you." In a quick exhale I tell him how much my body senses his, craving to erase all doubt.

Taking his hand I pull him to me and his body curves once again around mine. My thigh wraps over his hip. A sharp suck of breath is drawn and I know he's relishing the thrill of his heated sensitised cock against the coarseness of taut denim. I rub my thigh against him and he moans in libidinous need, his eyes slamming shut. His nails grip my hips and I breath past the shot of pain. In the way that he denies my escape and in the warning of his eyes I find my fantasies.

I force his kiss as his cock rubs against the muscles in my thigh. As I part his lips he moans long and hard into my mouth. Eventually he breaks away, desperate for breath.

"I, I want to see you."

Fear numbs my movements as I question if the way that I am today could be good enough for him. Would a body this bruised make me loose him? Now I have him wrapped in our fire I can't risk a single moment of doubt.

"Are you sure?" I ask, moving once more against him in a daring plea, "Tell me this doesn't feel good."

"Christian," he moans breathless. "Please. I…need….to see you."

An unsaid adoration sits in his lust-blown eyes as his gaze fixes against the last inch of skin he can see.

"Please?" He asks as his gaze meets mine through thick eyelashes. His eyes are ebony - he is ignited.

I sigh, swallowing, preparing myself for the certain loss of him as I give him what he wants - tarnished as it is my body will surely repulse him.

I lie back aside him as my eyes fix the ceiling preparing to undo the buttons of my shirt.

His hands hold mine as he places a sweet, almost chaste, kiss against my lips,

"Let me?"

Confusion sits in the furrow of my brow as wayward thought drifts - his voice is different. He counts in a sigh as my buttons slip through their cotton holds. A daft calmness drifts through me as I realise the usual hesitation in his darkened tones has fled with honest reassurance as its replacement.

He hooks his calf over my thigh, sitting astride me. His hands map the contours of my chest, my shirt lying half undone, closed just to the darkest bruise. As his fingers dip into my collar bone his eyes map my skin and drink in every heartbeat. Through lowered eyelashes I gaze at him. I can't quite believe the control in his posture as he presses me onto the mattress; or the willingness of his movements as his fingers sink through the sprinkling of hair against my chest. The slowness in his controlled movements shows me that what this is, this act, is more than just lust-fuelled craze. A simple thought lodges itself forever inside my doubt - he wants to be here.

His dark eyes sparkle as he finds mine locked upon them. He leans forward and his parted lips reward mine, once, twice. Soft and slow, the taste of us echoing through me.

Pulling away, his fingers hover over the last few buttons that hide the mark against my hip. I grit my teeth, preparing for the disgust that will surely show in his eyes.

As predicted emotion changes the moment my shirt lies open. But as I study him, I know the look in his eyes is so far removed from the one anticipated.

"Syed" his name falls from my lips, as I see what can only be a feeling of guilt.

I place my fingers against his, on the edges of my open shirt. He dips his head, his eyes closing.

"Sy" I soften his name to our endearment "look at me?"

I wait an enduring moment until his dark eyes look into mine, ashamed. My hand cups his cheek, my thumb looping his ear.

"Sy, none of this is your fault," I promise.

His eyes narrow briefly, questioning how I could have read him so easily and then a sigh releases from his lips.

"You said that we were the same, me and that bloke I mean."

His words come out so small that I'm filled with sharp regret at the acidity of my tongue in the humiliation of a second. My hand traces a path against his arm, trying to pledge an apology.

"I was…angry. You are nothing like him."

"But if I hadn't…" he starts, but his words die.

"If you hadn't pushed me away? Syed it was your…" my lips refuse to say the words. edging away from memories that would surely break the moment. "I shouldn't have been there. And anyway it was my stupid fault for inviting that prick back here. I can't believe how much of a fool I was, I knew there was something…" my words come strangled in my fury, they're cooled by a simple phrase.

"You can't blame yourself Christian."

I sigh, my eyes close - I do. I blame no-one but me. I've been here before and I swore then that nothing like this would ever happen again. With my chest bruised in agony, and my eye showcasing the prize fool that I am, I still know it could have been so much worse. It doesn't matter how many people tell me that it wasn't my fault or that it could have happened to anybody - it didn't happen to them. Anyway those stock phrases don't mask the pain of my broken pride, or deafen the sound of his foot against my rib. This was my fault. My stupid, drunken mistake.

Warm lips press against my hip, to the side of the worst bruise and the torn skin is lathed by a soft tongue. A shuddering breath releases from my lips. I am forced away from pained wounds and carried away in passion - in the presence of Syed. His mouth circles around my agony as he anchors me to the moment. The sense of him reverberates through every pore: the taste of our desire-filled kisses linger against my tongue. His scent melds with mine in the summers air. His smooth heated weight pushes me into the silk of my sheets. My cock, which had cooled in the remembered nightmare, swells, as his lips slowly tend to my torso.

"What are you doing?" I ask, the words barely formed behind my rapidly beating lust.

"Kissing it better," he breathes each word against my skin and offers me a new memory, circles me with comforting consuming desire.

A few calculated steps and I'm in his air. He's so close to me I can practically taste him. I wonder if he knows how little that white top does to cover his perfect torso. I wonder whether, when he chose to wear it, he knew he was coming to see me and that I would be able to do little but imagine it on my bedroom floor.

"That's a nasty bruise" He breathes between dark shaking lips.

Confidence seeps through me as I note his barely hidden yearning.

"Are you going to kiss it better?"

"I didn't want to leave," Syed breaths. His lips now against the bruise on my cheek. "I really wanted to…." He sighs, letting the unsaid words lay between us coated in desire. "Don't you see that's why I had…"

I don't let him say it. I much prefer the ending I was painting in my head - our passion slowly erasing the pain of his parting shot. I grip my nails into his hair, pulling his mouth to mine. Sucking his bottom lip between my teeth. He keens loudly. I leave one hand against his head denting his scalp, travel the other down the swell of his back. I cup the silkend skin of his naked arse and tilt his groin into mine.

A thrill trembles through him, our lips part and gazes connect. His eyes, hard shards of desire, look deep into mine.

My voice comes in a whisper, "I told you, with me, you can do anything you want to do."