It's not a night when they have plans, and Justin has no idea how to find him. He's not answering his phone, though this time Justin actually leaves a message. He called from a payphone, still shaking and strung out from the adrenaline. He got Nick to drive him up to Thayer this time, but he dumped him as soon as he got there; he and Nick are friends and he knows they won't be if he sticks around.

He needs Chris tonight, needs the release fighting with him will bring, because he knows Chris well enough to know the fight probably won't turn physical. He doesn't need more bruises. So he wanders the east side and downtown, drifting from bar to bar, sneaking in when he has to. Chris is at the fifth one he tries, and he had to be careful sneaking into this one, the bouncer looked mean. Chris is at the bar, chatting with the bartender and a couple of friends and Justin takes a minute to watch before he approaches. He waits until Chris stands up, gestures, heads to the back. He follows, catching him in the restroom.

"Chris..."

He whirls, surprise evident, "Justin- "

And Chris sees his own history written on Justin's face and he reaches out to touch before he can stop himself. Justin flinches back, leaves Chris' hand hovering over the bruise. Chris drops his hand after a moment.

"Wait," he says, and Justin slumps into the wall as Chris goes into a stall. When he comes out, washes his hands, Justin straightens. Chris looks like he's made a decision and he gestures for Justin to follow him back out to the loud, crowded room. "Buy you a beer?" he inquires, voice warm in Justin's ear. He doesn't wait for an answer, just goes up, orders two beers, and grabs a table in the back. He seems to have forgotten his friends and Justin doesn't remind him.

Chris watches Justin as he settles, he's looking edgy, exhausted and wired both, and Chris knows after a minute what to do. He starts them talking, music, an easy topic, and just lets Justin go, lets him pick the fight and a whole lot of venom Chris knows isn't for him comes pouring out. He fields the arguments neatly, keeping up his end of the fight at enough of a level to burn off the kid's energy and anger, but not to build it higher.

When they finish their beers he orders another round, pulls out his cigarettes, lets Justin have one, lights it. Then he takes the argument, steers it, and now Justin seems to hurt less, to have relaxed into the familiar setting. The fight builds again, but the chance of violence is less. Of course, the sexual tension has started to rachet up, so Chris thinks 'frying pan, fire' and glories in the warmth. He's had enough beer already tonight to think the flames are pretty, to want to reach out to touch them. By the time he realizes what he's done, his hand is crackling merrily and he thinks muzzily, 'I'm going to hell...'

Justin isn't sure what happened. It seems like one minute they were arguing and it felt good to release the tension from his latest battle with his father, good to just lash out and know he wouldn't end up on the floor. And the next he was somehow flirting with Chris, hardcore flirting, and they both knew it despite the angry-seeming words passing between them. He knows the mood couldn't have switched that fast but he has no memory of what went on between. And now he's getting everything he wants and he has no intention of stopping it.

When Chris suggests they head back to his place he readily agrees. He stands up and his head spins, and he must've had more than he thought. Chris is under his shoulder, warm and solid, saying, "Whoa there," and holding him up. "When was the last time you ate?" he asks, and Justin can't remember. Lunch yesterday, maybe. He shrugs and Chris sighs, but gets a better grip and together they stumble out the door. Justin loves the feel of Chris against him, can smell that dark scent he's caught only a couple of times before, and leans a bit closer.

"Justin," Chris says, and it comes out warning and growl, and then Justin's annoyed, pushing him against something, a wall, a car maybe, and leaning down he growls back and catches Chris' mouth with his. It's, oh, a dream, maybe, because he's got hotwet against his skin and Chris tastes of beer and cigarettes and that dark thing Justin can smell. He loses himself in Chris' mouth for a long time.

Chris is as caught as Justin by the kiss. He feels what's been sparked by this small amount of contact, and he knows that Justin won't just be sleeping off too much beer drunk on an empty stomach. When Justin's thigh presses between his own he sighs into Justin's mouth and lets go.

The walk to Chris' house is just a series of interruptions in his attempts to learn everything about Chris from his mouth. He keeps stopping and Chris keeps getting them moving again, until they've made it up the narrow stairs to Chris' third-floor apartment. He takes the stop as another chance to kiss the breath out of Chris, who laughs and murmurs low in his ear about the door and the lock and says "baby" in this voice as dark as his scent and his taste. So Justin drapes himself over Chris' back and makes lewd suggestions in his ear while Chris struggles with the lock and laughter and finally opens the door with a startling squeak of hinges. Justin laughs at how loud the door is and then Chris has moved into the apartment and the wall is handy, rightthere, and he's got Chris' mouth again, right where he wants it.

It's good, so good, and he doesn't want to get moving again, when Chris tugs he growls. They made it inside and while yeah bed, handy surface for sex, so's the wall. Chris tries again to move, and he laughs low and lets one hand rest on Chris' sternum and just hold him in place while he slides to his knees. He hits the floor with a thump, and Chris is looking down at him, eyes unreadable, but Justin can feel his need. It's easy, easier than it's ever been, to undo button and zipper, to move aside layers of cotton, and Justin wonders if that darkness is everywhere on Chris, and moves in for a taste.

"Oh yeah," and he knows he groaned out loud, and the door is still part open, but he can't bring himself to care because Justin is kneeling and "Oh god" sucking and it's everything he never let himself think about and man this kid is "Good" the best, maybe, he's ever had. It's overwhelming, and he can barely think, and it takes a while to realize that he can touch too, can move his hands from the wall, where they were clutching, to Justin's scalp and "Oooo," soft, like puppy-fur and Chris can feel every bone in his skull, clutches it like a lifeline as the hotwet "Oooooh" sucking continues.

It goes on forever, and he holds back as much as he can because this... there are no words for this. And then Justin looks up, those blue eyes spearing him, and he's laid so bare, so open, and he has to close his eyes and remember, remember that he's getting a blowjob from a seventeen-year-old kid who has bruises like smudges on his face, that it's not going to last, and then Justin does something, something with his tongue or his lips or his throat that has him forgetting everything, even his name, to come like an explosion, and everything is burned out of him.


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