Everybody had them. Whether it was reading crap romantic fiction in the bath or indulging in a huge slice of extremely gooey chocolate cake or something far more sinister, everybody in the world had there own guilty pleasures.

But this? This was theirs and theirs alone. This slow, soft slide of skin against skin. Too many people in a bed that's far too small and somehow still fitting. Warm breathes on glowing skin and panting moans as touches turn from gentle and tender to almost fierce and possesive. Whispers of love and affection and ownership.

Guilt that's almost over-powering because of what would happen if it all came out, the careers that would be in tatters, the marriages that would be ruined.

But over-ruling it all, the pleasure. The pleasure of spending time with the only 2 people in the world who truly understand what it's like to be who they are. The stolen moments behind porta-cabins, the fleeting touches where the camera can't see, the secret smiles that allow them to pretend to be three good friends doing the best job in the world.

The guilt is almost over-whelming sometimes but, for the pleasure they bring each other, it's worth all the guilt in the world.