Justin hates last call, hates it like he used to hate being left behind. Now, he can hate the girls that Chris brings back so much sooner, and he thinks that maybe that should be a consolation, but it isn't.

Last call is when he can settle up his bets with himself, smirk when he realizes that he has the ability to glance around a room and know which girl appeals to each of his friends. He wonders if they can do the same for him, thinks that once in a while Lance might give that thoughtful look and decide that Chris is Justin's speed tonight.

It's always funny until he sees Chris wrap an arm around one of them, and Justin doesn't like to think about the fact that Chris's girls always seem to be pleased, one step away from laughter. It's a given, just like Joey's girls tend to have big breasts.

Justin doesn't feel like dealing with 2 am tonight, so he smiles at Chris, and the last five tequila shots decide that *he* should get to be Chris's girl. He wants that laughter, wants to go home with Chris, so he dances over.

The little blonde over in the corner in drab green and not too much makeup would have been the one tonight, and Justin barely spares her a smile, doesn't care that he's robbing her of her brush with fame.

"Chris, man?"

It's dark and too loud, but they're used to communicating when it should be impossible, so Chris leans in, and Justin yells in his ear.

"I left my notebook at your house. Can we bail so I can get it?"

Justin makes sure to emphasize the important words: notebook and bail. That's the key to communicating in the middle of noisy chaos, and Chris gets it. He looks a little regretful, but the blonde isn't anything more or less than they've all had before. It won't matter in the morning.

Justin knows that he's being a brat again, but they all understand the importance of the notebook, something that JC taught them, way back when.

It's not until they're back at Chris's, Justin's buzz evaporating and Chris appearing to be a mix of concern and irritation, that Justin realizes that this was a brilliant idea except for the fact that there is, in fact, no notebook here. He's got no idea what to do with Chris, who isn't known for his reservoir of patience.

So Justin flops down on the couch, hoping that the look on his face is one of concern and not the idle lust that he feels right now. Most girls look crushed and smeared after they've spent all night dancing but Chris looks fresh and smells like a thousand rehearsals.

Justin thinks that the familiarity is nice, and finds himself grinning at Chris, who promptly forgets about everything else and plops down next to him. Justin thanks his stars that he chose Chris, the boy of no attention span for his unrequited lust.

"Hope you're happy, Infant. We got no bitches, no booze and no notebook."

Justin can't help but laugh at Chris's solemn pronouncement, while Chris's eyes squint in mock anger. He thinks that now he might know how Chris's girl feels, except that there's nowhere to go from here.

Justin's staring down at ugly carpet, studying it like he could isolate each individual fiber. He almost jumps when he feels Chris's hand scrape over his skull, petting in little circles.

"You're like sandpaper." And Chris laughs at Justin's shivers, knows that Justin can't stand the subtle, teasing pressure on his scalp. Justin loves and hates that laugh, wishes that things didn't have to be so difficult, that he could just open up his arms and have Chris snuggle down.

He twists viciously away from Chris's hand, walks over to the window. It's late now, too much time has passed while he was too drunk. He wants to stay, doesn't want to drive home, wants Chris to tell him that he's pretty.

The silence has gone on far too long. Justin is tossing his car keys up and down, and Chris is shaking his head. "You're still too drunk, I don't care if you haven't drank in a couple hours, and I'm not going to drive the whole way to your house and back."

"I can't stay here." It's that final, and Justin doesn't even know how Chris can consider Justin sleeping only a connecting bathroom away.

"I don't know why not. I've even got an extra toothbrush, and eggs for breakfast." Chris looks proud of his accomodations, pleased that he remembered to stock up, and Justin steps toward him, thinking that he's going to hug him, which is perfectly allowable.

One step, two, and Justin thinks that maybe it's obvious that there's something more than a hug on his mind, because Chris looks more serious than he remembers as he opens his arms.

Justin can't help squirming, feeling Chris's warmth spread through his body everywhere they touch. It seems natural to lean down and kiss him, and Chris *does* kiss back. Justin's very, very sure of that.

Chris kisses like a wet dream, hot and secret and very good. Justin thinks that he may have started it, but Chris is finishing it, and one of Chris's arms twines around his head, pushing him down harder.

It's not at all what Justin thought it would have been like, but Chris suddenly stops kissing, stepping back and just looking at Justin. "Go to bed." And Chris looks tired, so tired that Justin wants to hug him.

When he tries, Chris just says "We'll talk tomorrow." and Justin has to be content with that, since Chris is going into his room, stripping down and going into the bathroom that connects his room with the guest room.

So Justin goes into the guest room, peels down to his boxers, and hopes that Chris might have understood what he was trying to say with that kiss. He makes himself stay awake, trying to figure out what to say when the talk, until he hears the lock on the bathroom door click.

~end~