Improv ficlet for stubbleglitter.

four seventeen
by Lesa Soja

"C'mon, J," Chris says. "One more time," and his hand curves over Justin's hip. "For old time's sake."

"We've never done it, Chris," Justin says. He isn't standing in the foyer at four in the morning having this conversation. He isn't. His eyes feel so dry.

"You think?" Chris says, and he doesn't sound drunk at all.

"Yeah, Chris, I think. I think I remember who I've fucked." Four seventeen, by the green glow of the alarm panel. The glare of the overhead light shows up the dust on the top edge of its box.

"And who was in the bed at the time?"

"In the - " Justin looks at him. Chris is tilting his head slowly to one side, lips pursed. Justin just put new sheets on his bed upstairs; his pillows are soft and thick. "You," Justin says, "were asleep."

"mm," Chris says. He starts tilting back the other way.

"Berlin," Justin says. "Joey told me you'd be asleep."

"Funny," Chris says dreamily. "He told me to wait up."

Justin stands perfectly still between Chris's hands. "Well, fuck," he says. Four nineteen, the alarm says. The floor is cold under his bare feet.

Chris's fingers brush over Justin's ass. "I'm going back to bed," Justin decides. Chris nods earnestly and lets go.

Justin climbs the stairs without looking to see if Chris is following, but he isn't surprised when the mattress dips again after he gets in. He rolls on his side, facing the window, and tugs a pillow under his neck. His throat is so dry.

A hand rests on his shoulder blade, hot through his T-shirt. He twitches his arm sharply and manages to shake it off. A minute later it returns, though, and settles more heavily on the curve of his neck, sliding down just as he's closing his eyes.