“I don’t fucking believe it,” Chris swears the first time he sees Joey pick up a woman. 

He’s only known Joey a few weeks, but those few weeks have been enough for him to have developed something of a crush on Joey, and why wouldn’t he?  He’s good looking, built, and he continuously engages Chris in the kind of flirting that’s had Chris mildly aroused ever since the first time he pointed at Chris instead of the crowd while shimmying his hips onstage. 

“Believe it,” JC says from behind Chris, watching Joey with a tiny smile.  “He actually sleeps with them, too.” 

“Shut up,” Chris says, still skeptical.  Joey, -- his Joey, whom Chris had been so thrilled to add to the group because of his outrageous come-ons and fantastic energy -- is straight?  Chris throws back the rest of his drink and swallows hard, wanting to smack the overly amused expression from JC’s face, which is scrunched up with laughter. 

“I knew you’d look like that when you found out,” JC gasps.  In his merriment, he almost falls over, but Chris has the decency to hold him up even though he’s a crappy friend who deserves to fall right down on the beer-sticky floor. 

“Oh, thank you, I’m sorry.  I’m not laughing,” JC babbles, chest still vibrating where he’s draped over Chris.  He’s wasted, and so is the entire evening as far as Chris is concerned. 

***

They take advantage of the pool as often as possible, and Chris is always the first one in.  After JC gets in trouble with Lou for having peeling, blotchy skin, they make sure to slather themselves in SPF 30, and today is no exception.  Chris tosses the bottle to Joey and turns his back, rolling his shoulders impatiently.  “Do me?” he asks, and glances over his shoulder just in time to see Joey smirk at his word choice.  It’s something they still do sometimes, because even though Chris knows it won’t go anywhere, he can’t resist.  Flirting with Joey is walking the line between thrilling and dangerous, because when they walk away from it Chris is always left deflated, let down with no one to blame but himself. 

It feels good, Joey’s big hands working over his back in the hot sun, and Joey must like it too, because he makes a low sound of approval, deep and sexy.  When Chris hears it, he jumps up and snatches the bottle from Joey’s hands, glaring fiercely. 

“What the fuck?” Joey asks, and wipes his greasy hands on his jeans.  He looks confused, completely clueless, and Chris wants to shake him.  “What’s your problem?”

“My problem, you freak, is that you don’t go ‘mmm’ when you’re rubbing lotion on another dude,” Chris snaps.  He stomps off, only half protected from the sun, and JC makes a point of slapping him on the back at least once a day for the next week, just to remind him of what an idiot he is.

JC’s initial insensitivity aside, he ends up being Chris’ biggest sympathizer once things start to pick up with the group.  When Chris gets all worked up because Joey flops down in Chris’ bed wearing nothing but underwear and says “Let’s talk, girlfriend,” JC listens and nods in all the right places, even when Chris describes Joey’s fantastic bulge in great detail, far greater detail than JC wants to hear, but he can’t stop himself.  It’s like Joey is torturing him on purpose, only Joey isn’t that kind of guy, so Chris does his best to think of Joey like one of the four brothers he never had. 

But sometimes, Joey makes it awfully hard. 

Before they leave for Germany, there are too many things to be done and too little time in which to do them.  The moms try to help, but every free moment is still crammed with last-minute errands and preparation.  The Saturday night before they leave, Chris spends three hours at the mall with Joey, lugging around shopping bags and a never-ending list of items.  JC is supposed to be with them, but they lost him somewhere in menswear at Sears. 

There’s no getting around the fact that he needs new shoes, so he’s surly and irritable as he plunks down his last forty dollars on the counter.  He should’ve gone to Payless, because his mom swears you can buy five pair for like twenty bucks, but Chris isn’t sure he wants those kinds of shoes.  Besides, all five of them are supposed to be the same.  The rest of the guys came home two weeks ago with their black, silver-edged tennis shoes. 

“Thirty-three sixty-nine,” the saleswoman says, bored, and while she’s breaking open a new roll of quarters, Joey leans in from behind Chris, mouth against Chris’ ear.  Chris is aware of the faint clink of his earrings against Joey’s lips, but it’s almost immediately swallowed by the “Sixty-nine,” that Joey hisses, right into his ear. 

It’s a hot breath of hotter innuendo, and goosebumps race across Chris’ skin, sweeping through him so swiftly that he’s getting hard even before Joey pulls away, chuckles trailing behind in little aftershocks of sensation.  Even as he takes his change from the cashier, he’s reeling from the sudden reminder of wanting what he can’t have.  He forces his face into a smile because that’s what Joey is expecting, and follows him out of the store on wobbly legs. 

Later, when he locks the door to JC’s room and gives him a play-by-play recreation of the scenario, JC just frowns.  “How did he do it again?” he asks, and Chris whispers into his ear twice before he catches JC shivering and leaning into the touch.  “You ass,” he says, shaking his head, but he gets the point.  He’s so distracted by this thing with Joey; he doesn’t even notice a dork like JC yanking his chain.  It’s hard to get JC to take him seriously sometimes, but he’s the only one Chris can talk about it with, even if he is a sick bastard who gets off on the suffering of his best friend.

***

“Like this, like this!” 

Chris sighs, glad that he’s too tired to feel more than a vague interest in the scene before him.  Beside him on the bed, even JC gives something that sounds like a sigh as they watch Joey spin a stumbling Lance across the limited space of the hotel room.

“I can’t,” Lance protests.  His face is bright red.  “I only know how to lead.”  With that, Joey switches positions and lays his head on Lance’s shoulder, blinking coyly up at him, arm around his waist.  Appeased, Lance begins leading Joey in a jerky, exaggerated version of a dance, and Chris turns his back to them so he can face JC. 

“I’m not saying,” he says carefully, “anything.  All I’m saying is that he’s really fucking flaming.  For a straight guy.”  As if to prove his point, a high pitched squeal comes from behind him, then Lance’s low, surprised laughter. 

It’s things like this that drive Chris crazy, because it’s hard to keep telling himself that he doesn’t have a chance with Joey when Joey acts like half the guys Chris has ever dated-- and looks like every guy Chris has ever wanted to date. 

“I know,” JC whispers back, and slides down closer to Chris. “But looks can be deceiving.”  Chris snorts, because no one would guess that wholesome, clean-cut JC has notebooks filled with desperate, raunchy sex songs.  He’s pretty sure he’s the only one who’s ever seen them, and definitely the only one who’s ever heard JC sing them, complete with the kind of lewd choreography that makes Chris want to burst out laughing and take off his pants, all at once.  JC has a point, but he’s a good friend and his mouth turns up in sympathy for Chris.  They fall asleep watching Joey and Lance dance in giddy circles.

***

“What’d you do to JC?” 

“Nothing,” Chris hisses.  This is exactly how he’d known it would be to share a bed with Joey, who likes to stay awake gossiping about everyone else, when all Chris wants to do is pass out and hopefully sleep through the inevitable leg cramps. 

“Hmm.”  Joey turns onto his side and pokes Chris under the covers.  “He’s pretty pissed.”  Chris can hear the smile in his voice, and it’s infectious.  In the darkness, Chris stretches out his legs and wiggles his toes against the cool, clean sheets.

“Redrum,” he whispers, crooking his little finger close enough that Joey will be able to see it.   He feels kind of bad about it, now, but how was he supposed to know that JC would wake up so terrified that he’d catapult out of bed and into the wall?  

“Shit.  You know how much that freaks him out,” Joey whispers.  “You guys need to stop fucking with him while he’s sleeping.” 

“Well.”  Chris licks his lips and pauses until he hears the sound of JC’s heavy breathing from the other side of the room.  “He won’t even sleep with me, now.  So…” 

“He’ll get over it,” Joey predicts, and reaches out.  Chris isn’t sure about his intentions since it’s so dark, but he ends up touching Chris’ hair, a light brush of hand that’s gone almost as soon as Chris feels it.  It’s not so bad sleeping with Joey, Chris realizes.  He’s always insisted on sharing with JC because of an irrational fear that he would somehow wake up with his hands down Joey’s pants, but it’s kind of nice.  Joey isn’t nearly as twitchy as JC, and he smells good. 

“I know,” Chris says, sighing.  He doesn’t like the way that JC had gone to bed without saying anything, without giving him the chance to apologize.  They’re just all so fucking tired these days. 

“I wish Lance were here,” Joey says, and shifts again on the mattress.  “He gives the best backrubs.” 

Chris doesn’t say anything.  When Lance’s mom is back in the States, he has to share with the rest of them, and it’s usually Joey he ends up bunking with.  Only Joey would be able to convince him that the natural thing for two guys to do before falling asleep is give each another backrubs.  They do, though; Chris has seen it often enough to have spent many bored moments contemplating the hard, slow press of Joey’s hands into Lance’s shoulders.  While his brain is busy trying not to think about that, his mouth takes advantage of the situation and says, “I could give you one, if you want.” 

“Nah, that’s okay,” Joey says, chuckling softly.  “It’s not the same.”

“Gee, thanks.” 

“Nothing personal.  It’s just…his hands.” 

“And lots of practice,” Chris adds wryly.  “You know, you might not want to—“ he stops himself, because it’s really none of his business.  If Joey is really this oblivious to how he comes across, Chris isn’t going to be the one to point it out.  He wants to, but it wouldn’t be right, not when so much of his view of Joey is probably wishful thinking.

“Yeah,” Joey is saying, a bit wistfully.  “There’s this thing he does with my lower back?  So good,” he sighs, and Chris rolls his eyes.  He knows exactly what thing Joey’s talking about, and – lower back?  Yeah, right.  It’s more like what Lance does to Joey’s ass, but if they want to think it’s normal, then whatever. 

Just when Chris thinks they’re about to call it a night, Joey clears his throat.  Chris’ eyes open and stare up at the shadowed ceiling, waiting. 

“The dreads are cool,” Joey finally says.  Chris smiles.  The dreads are new, and he’s been batting people’s hands away from his head for days, now.    

“Thanks,” he whispers.  He thinks they’re cool, too, even if sleeping on them has taken some getting used to.  Apparently that’s taken as an invitation to touch, because Joey leans up on one elbow and fingers the tangled nest of hair on Chris’ pillow.  He can’t even feel it, really; just a tickle of awareness and a slight pressure whenever they catch on Joey’s fingers.  He holds perfectly still and concentrates on breathing.  This is just how Joey is, he tells himself.  It doesn’t mean anything.

When Joey’s curiosity is satisfied and he lies back down, he has more than his share of the covers.  Chris only has the corner pulled halfway over his shoulder, but he doesn’t yank at them like he normally would.  Normally he’d also be mentally bemoaning the state of Joey’s straightness, but tonight it doesn’t piss him off.  Instead, he just feels a strong sadness that’s probably related to exhaustion.  Tomorrow, he’ll apologize to JC. 

***

He doesn’t tell JC he’s sorry, but he does flick a handful of water on JC when he emerges from the bathroom the next morning, which JC takes for the apology it’s meant to be.  It’s a relief to have JC back on his side even though the feeling of melancholy has carried over from the night before.  It intensifies when he goes to wake Joey, who’s sleeping spread out on top of the covers, his mouth open, face smooth and tranquil. 

“Uh-uh,” JC says when he sees Chris watching Joey.  “Why do you even bother thinking about it?  Wake him up, ‘cause we’re supposed to be in the van in twenty minutes.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” Chris snaps, and it’s not exactly a lie.  He hadn’t been thinking about that, exactly.  What he had been thinking is much, much worse. 

***

The party happens with no planning, none of the anticipation that usually accompanies their rare opportunities for fun.  The label is putting up several of their groups in a nicer-than-usual hotel, and before Chris knows it, every door on the floor is open, music, booze, and laughing overflowing from every room. 

Time moves too quickly, and around midnight Chris realizes that even though he’s seen JC dragging around a completely intoxicated Justin all night long, he hasn’t seen Joey or Lance.  “Hey,” he says to the girl whose arm is holding tight around his waist.  “I gotta go see somebody.”  She pouts a little, but someone is right there to take his place, someone who probably appreciates her teased hair and low cut blouse a lot more than Chris does. 

It’s not hard to find him; Joey is a lot like Chris in that he tends to attract attention, so Chris goes four doors down to the room where people are spilling out into the hall.  The music pounds louder in here, heavy bass that gets under Chris’ skin, and he thinks maybe he’s been in the wrong room all evening.  When he pushes his way through the crowded doorway, he gets felt up twice. 

Once he’s inside, he sees why this room is so popular.  Everyone’s dancing, sweating up against one another, and in the middle, standing on one of the hard, narrow mattresses is Joey.  He’s performing, there’s no other way to put it, and by the reaction of the crowd, they appreciate his efforts.  Two slim-hipped, bleach-blonde teenagers sway and cheer, gazing giddily up at Joey’s crotch.  It’s almost too much for them when he does a particularly suggestive thrust, and whoa, Chris thinks.  He knows where Joey learned that but it’s a lot different when there’s a guy twice Joey’s age dangling a dollar bill from his fingers.  The final insult is when Joey actually tilts his hips toward the guy, encouraging him to stuff the bill in his waistband, which he does happily, fingers brushing the bare skin under his unbuttoned shirt.

Chris has got to hand it to him; Joey plays the crowd perfectly.  Everyone in this room is a professional performer, but tonight they’re cheering for Joey, eyes fixed on his every move.  Not Lance, though.  Lance is sitting at a small table by the wall, playing cards with a guy about his own age.  Every once in a while he glances up at Joey with idle interest, and when he notices Chris he smiles.  It seems strange that Lance doesn’t find this scenario the slightest bit odd.  It’s only when Lance tips his head toward his opponent, his eyes darker than the situation calls for, that Chris notices what’s going on under the table.  He looks away; this night is just too weird. 

“Chris!”  Before Chris can process what Lance is doing, Joey leaps down and pushes through the crowd.  People keep trying to stop him, but he shakes his head at them and makes his way to Chris.  “Where you been?”  He flips long, sweaty bangs out of his eyes and grins. 

“Hangin’ out,” Chris shrugs.  His gaze keeps darting from Lance back to Joey, down to Joey’s half-exposed chest.  What in holy fuck is going on, here?  He doesn’t know where to look or what to address, because he’s not exactly pissed off, but something is nagging relentlessly at his subconscious. 

“Yeah?”  Oblivious, Joey rolls his shoulders and rubs a flat hand over his bare belly.  “You should have been here, dude.  It’s where the party is.” 

“Apparently,” Chris says dryly.  “Lance sure seems to think so.”  He can’t help looking one more time, and when he turns back, Joey’s eyebrows are high with surprise. 

“Oh, shit,” he says, already halfway out the door.  “I didn’t even know Lance was in here.  Let’s find some beer, yeah?”  

Beer Chris can do.  The suggestion settles his stomach, and he nods, motioning for Joey to follow him from the room.  Once they’ve each got a bottle in hand and are in the perfect position to watch JC attempting to reel in a sloppy-drunk Justin, things start to feel normal-- right up to the point when Joey says,

“So, this guy was totally coming onto me.”  The revelation is accompanied by a snort of something like laughter, but Chris doesn’t know why.  It shouldn’t be a surprise; Joey gets hit on by guys almost as much as Lance, who couldn’t get a date in the States but is now suddenly a hot commodity with his pale eyes, smooth, fair skin and record contract. 

“Yeah?”  Chris doesn’t want to hear about this.  He’d rather watch JC cringe with embarrassment over the way Justin has sprayed a mouthful of liquid all over the girl they’re talking to, but Joey’s not done.

“Yeah.  I don’t know why, man.  I mean, he was—“ he fishes a crumpled dollar bill out of his waistband and holds it up for Chris.  “I was just fooling around, but he was, um.  He wanted to like, go to my room.” 

“You don’t say,” Chris says, and it comes out nasty, nastier than he meant it, but Joey cannot seriously be real here.  “I can’t believe he thought you might be interested, Joe.  If I didn’t know any better I’d think maybe it had something to do with the way you were letting him grope you.” 

Joey’s face loses some of its good humor, but not all of it because he’s still just confused, not as worried as he ought to be.  He’s never been on the receiving end of Chris’ scathing sarcasm because he doesn’t deserve it.  Tonight, though, Chris is sick of this cruel situation where other guys feel up Joey while he himself hangs back, which is the right thing to do.  “What?” Joey asks, squinting curiously at Chris. 

“What?” Chris parrots back to him.  The mocking makes it easier to say, so he goes with it.  “You don’t know what the problem is?  Here’s a clue,” he snaps, and takes a harder tone.  “Don’t flaunt what you’re not selling.” 

“What are you talking about?”  Now Joey gets it, and it’s almost a relief when he takes a step back, beer bottle hanging limply at his side, because this Chris is used to.  Confrontation is an art form, and no one has it perfected like Chris. 

“You ask for it,” he says, pointing, and when Joey wraps a hand around Chris’ outstretched hand, he shakes it off.  “You do, Joe.  Jesus!  You’re- you’re like, flaming, do you understand me?  And it’s not right for you to act like you’re within reach when you’re not!” 

“What the fuck, Chris?”  And it’s so wrong how Joey is the one with the disgusted expression when he walks away without looking back. 

***

The first time Chris wakes up in the dark, freezing room, it’s because of the pitiful retching coming from the bathroom.  Definitely Justin, but when he gathers himself to go help the poor kid, he hears the low hum of Lance’s voice, so he lets himself drift off. 

The second time he wakes up, it’s a sharp bounce on one side of the bed and JC’s high whine of dismay.   “I can’t believe you called Joey a queeny cocktease.” 

“Wh-at?”  It’s cold where JC yanked the covers from the bed.  “I didn’t.” 

“That’s what Lance told me,” JC replies skeptically.  “He was very specific.”  JC has a habit of refusing to believe that Lance might ever possibly be wrong. 

“No,” Chris says.  What he’s already said is probably bad enough without JC’s embellishments. 

The covers return, this time with JC underneath them, his cold knees pressed against Chris’ thigh.  “What did he do?” JC whispers.   Lance and Justin are still in the bathroom, and all is quiet in the hall.  It’s probably nearly time to get up.  If the alarm clock goes off anytime in the next few minutes, Chris thinks he’ll scream.

“Nothing, C,” he sighs, but he’s already rolling over until their faces are nearly touching.  “Nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times.” 

“But you’ve never been mean.”

“No, I know.  I just…where is he?” 

“He’s here.  In the other bed, asleep,” JC assures him, and he’s so incredibly grateful at that moment that he almost believes JC when he wraps him up in a tight embrace and whispers “You’ll talk to him later.  I’ll help you.” 

***

JC doesn’t end up helping him.  They’re too busy and too tired for big emotional scenes, and by the end of the week he and Joey have reached some kind of working agreement where they smile and sing and dance without making eye contact. 

When Joey is sent up to Lou’s room to get some proofs from the desk, Chris shadows him and slips in while Joey’s back is turned.  He locks the door behind him, just in case. 

“We should just talk about this now and get it over with,” Chris announces.  It’ll be a relief to have things back to the way they were, even if it does mean walking around sexually frustrated ninety percent of the time. 

“Now?” Joey seems surprised.  “But-“   He glances around at Lou’s expensive luggage and the stack of files on the desk. 

“There’s never any time.  Please?”  Joey hasn’t looked at him in days, and he’s nearly desperate for it, just for a sign that their friendship isn’t ruined. 

“Sure, sure.  What’s up?”  Joey keeps his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his heels. 

There’s just no good way to do this, but if he waits any longer it will be even harder.  “What I said, before.  I was just-”

“Don’t even say you were drunk.” 

“No, I wasn’t,” Chris says quickly, though he’d been considering doing just that.  The problem is that Joey knows all his tricks and Joey’s already heard all of his apologies.   “But don’t listen to me, man.  What I said was shitty; it wasn’t even really true.  You’re not like that, and everybody’s gonna want a piece of you no matter what you do.” 

Joey frowns and walks to the window.  His shoulders are still hunched forward, defeated, so Chris doesn’t believe him when he says, “We’re cool.  It’s fine.” 

“It’s not fine.  That stuff I said wasn’t true.  You should be however you want,” he snaps.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Joey snaps back.  Before he moves his hand to conceal his face, Chris sees how his mouth is turned down the way it gets when he’s about to break.   “Maybe I shouldn’t,” he repeats softly, into his hand. 

“Shouldn’t…” 

“How I am…it’s not like I don’t have any idea,” Joey says.  It sounds self-deprecating and ominous, totally unlike the Joey that Chris knows.  Worry moves Chris forward toward Joey, until Joey starts talking again.   “I like it; I like to flirt.  I like what you and me do, and it never even occurred to me that I was being a cock tease until Lance said-“

“AHA!” Chris shouts.  He’d known it all along; Lance, that lying bastard.  His first instinct is to bolt from the room and tackle him to the ground, demanding a retraction, but not with Joey here saying that…maybe… 

“I mean, I know you’re gay, Chris.  Those things you said that night weren’t exactly out of line because sometimes when I- touch you.  I know what it does, it’s not always accidental.  And I’m sorry.” 

Chris shakes his head rapidly.  The dreads brush soft trails across his neck with the motion, which is becoming a habit.  It helps him think, and at a time like this some serious thinking is definitely in order.  He should accept the apology and move on, he thinks, except there’s a tiny rebellious portion of his brain that says no, let’s see where this goes. 

“Joey,” he says, still killing time.  Joey’s looking at him like he expects Chris to have all the answers in the world.  They all look at him like that from time to time, and he probably deserves it for always trying to act as though he has those answers.   “You’ve been tryin’ to turn me on?”  A laugh breaks loose, harsh and nervous even to his own ears. 

The shock comes when Joey just shrugs. 

“So, okay,” Chris says slowly.  He goes to stand behind Joey at the window and puts an experimental hand on Joey’s back.  Beneath the soft cotton, Joey’s muscles are bunched with tension but Chris doesn’t pull back; he just rubs until he feels Joey relaxing, and then lets his hand slide down to curl around Joey’s waist. 

Joey’s bigger than Chris, but when he leans back, Chris is there to take his weight.  For a few minutes he just holds Joey like that, both hands spanning his waist, sharing space like they haven’t in over a week. 

“Dude,” Joey finally says.  “I’m kind of, um…” When he turns in Chris’ arms his dick is hard, impossible to hide in his sweatpants. 

“Whoa.”  Chris can’t believe that for once he’s not the first one there.  Not first, but not far behind, either.  “Are you sure?” 

Joey nods yes, staring at Chris’ mouth, and that hasn’t happened a whole lot since he got the braces, so he licks his lips and pulls Joey’s head down for a kiss, soft and deep.  Everything about this is already familiar but his hands still shake, so he twists them in Joey’s t-shirt, grateful that Joey’s experienced enough to already be licking Chris’ mouth open with intent. 

When Joey starts moving his hands over Chris’ body, Chris presses him up against the window.  For long, breathless moments they touch each other until it reaches the point where Chris is so hard and so close to coming that he knows they’re going to have sex one way or another.  Joey, who surges against him making low, contented grunts, seems to be in a similar state so Chris doesn’t even think twice about pressing his palm against Joey’s erection and rubbing, hard. 

It’s all going so great he can’t believe it; he never thought he’d end up with Joey like this.  The most he’s ever hoped for is a stolen grope under the covers or a drunken kiss, so it’s painful—but not at all surprising—when they’re lying on the bed, pants around their knees, and Joey pulls away suddenly, gasping for breath. 

“Wait, wait, sorry,” he says, and rolls to his feet.  Chris takes one last look at Joey’s dick before it disappears behind his sweatpants, which are yanked up in three jerky attempts.  “I don’t think I can –“

“Oh, no.  No, no,” Chris moans up at the ceiling.  He’s so turned on he’s squirming on the bed, and Joey’s the only person he could ever forgive for having a sexual identity crisis at a moment like this.  “Fine, whatever,” he says, and curls his hand around his dick.  It will only take a minute, he’s so close.  “Just go.  Please?  Just go now Joe, okay?”  He’s not going back out there like this.

“Oh shit,” Joey blurts from a safe distance. 

“I said you could go,” Chris breathes.  He lets his eyes fall shut and remembers Joey’s mouth.  It might be over now, but there hadn’t been any mistaking the eager delight with which Joey had kissed him.  That memory alone is enough to spark pleasure in every part of his body, even his hand where he jerks himself. 

When he opens his eyes, he sees Joey edging nearer, and it’s a supremely unfair twist of fate that he’s coming in his own boring, familiar hand right as Joey says,

“I changed my mind, man.  Wanna do this.” 

***

“You’d better not fucking wimp out this time, Fatone.”   They’re naked this time, safely locked in their own hotel room and when Chris bites lightly at Joey’s hip, Joey makes a pained sound and arches against him. 

“I won’t, I swear.” 

“Well, sure, not now that you’re getting your dick sucked,” Chris snorts, but he doesn’t mind.  Giving Joey head is fantastic, as well as great for his ego.  He loves hearing about how much Joey wants him and how incredible his mouth feels, and he especially loves the way Joey’s fingers toy carefully with his hair, wrapping up in the dreads, then scratching lightly at his scalp. 

“I’m- yeah,” Joey laughs breathlessly.  He lets his legs fall open even further, and then groans.  “What a fucking mood-killer,” he mutters, and if Chris’ mouth wasn’t so full he’d agree wholeheartedly.  They can hear JC and Justin in the adjoining room, and unlike Chris and Joey, they’re not trying to keep the noise down. 

“Justin, what would you say if I hypothetically drank the last of the soda?” JC laughs.  Chris swallows his own laugh and takes Joey deeper, wanting to impress.  For all Joey’s complaining, his mood doesn’t seem to be suffering in the slightest. 

“Oh, God,” Joey whispers. 

“Hypothetically, I would kick your ass.  It’s my soda, bitch.”   Chris lets the conversation fade away into the background as it declines into a debate of hypothetical nonsense.  None of it is as important as the quiver in Joey’s belly when Chris gently slides his hands over the pale, soft skin.  His mouth has found a good rhythm that Joey seems to be enjoying, so he keeps it up and explores with his hands and fingers. 

“You know, you’re using ‘hypothetical’ wrong.  Do you even know what it means?”  Lance, loud and mocking.  This might very well kill the mood, but Chris keeps on. 

“Yeah.  It means you’re using your hypothetical face wrong,” Justin shouts, then adds, “Bitch!”  It’s his new favorite thing. 

“Whatever.  This is my real face, believe it or not.”

Chris’ left hand is skimming underneath Joey’s balls when Joey gasps and lifts his head from the pillow.  “Um.  What would you do if I hypothetically came right now?”  He sounds just like Justin, and when Chris pulls off to laugh, a jet of come lands in his hair, warm, wet and heavy. 

“Son of a bitch,” he breathes, because even though seeing Joey’s dick up close and shooting is a huge turn-on, it’s a bitch to wash the dreads of anything sticky.  

 “I warned you,” Joey laughs when he’s done moaning through his orgasm.  So much for being quiet.  

“Hypothetical warnings don’t count,” he retorts, but Joey is already kissing him again, and it feels like they should’ve been doing this for years. 

Later, when Joey is helping Chris rinse his hair out in the sink, JC comes in and watches them without asking any questions.  He hands Chris a towel when they’re done, and leans in close and says with a grin,

“I knew you’d look like this when you found out.”