Lyrics: "You'll stop me, won't you, if you've heard this one before/Yeah the one where, I surprise you, showing up at your front door." - Ani di Franco

(Given by Julad, because she hates me. Actually, no. Given by Julad because we were dicking around with the improv fic format.)

*knockknockknock*

"I'm working, please come back later."

*knockknockknock*

"I said, I'm busy. Come back later."

*knockknockknock*

"Look, who is it?"

"Housekeeping."

JC smiled. He recognized Chris' piping voice immediately. "Come back later, Housekeeping."

"You need more towels?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine."

"Fresh sheets?"

"No, I told you, I'm fine."

"You sure? No sheets? Hot from dryer."

JC sighed. He felt the lyrics for the new song slipping out of his head - they were no match for the persistency of Chris. He unlatched the door and left it standing open as he walked to the window.

Chris ducked his head into the room. "So, uh, you want sheets?" he said in his normal voice. "Because...I lied, I'm sorry, I got no sheets."

JC paused in lighting a cigarette and turned a mournful gaze on Chris. "No sheets? But I need sheets." He lit the smoke. "Well, okay, how about towels? You got more towels?"

Chris smiled and shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Mr. Fatone used up every towel in the hotel. None left for skinny writer-types."

JC grinned, then leaned out the window to exhale. "Yeah, well, that's okay. Us skinny writer-types can use a washcloth or something." He waited a beat for Chris' comeback, waited...waited. "Uh." He didn't recognize the look on Chris' face when he finally turned to check what was up. Oh, he recognized the look, all right - just, only on his own face in the mirror. Chris never wore this combination of confusion and awkwardness, the one JC felt his own features slide into on a regular basis. "Dude? What's up?"

Chris shook his head like a dog trying to clear its ear. "No, nothing. Um."

JC waited patiently for precisely as long as it took to finish his cigarette. "What?"

"Just...washcloth."

"Washcloth?"

"Yeah." Chris shook his head again. "Didn't need that mental image."

"Wha - oh." JC tried to block the memory, but it flooded back too fast - Chris on his knees in front of JC in the shower, scrubbing thighs and back and everything in between with a standard-issue white hotel washcloth, murmuring about wanting to get JC squeaky clean so he could lick everywhere he wanted to. "No, I guess not."

"No. So. I'm, uh. I'm going to go."

JC nodded, and focused on lighting another cigarette. "Okay, sure. I'll see you guys at dinner." This was the most important cigarette in the world. Looking up at Chris was out of the question when this cigarette needed to be lit.

Except JC's hands shook so bad it still wasn't lit when he heard the door close quietly.