And sometimes, he thought the unreality of the situation was what made it so easy. He'd never really given much thought to the repercussions at first, and he was never really interested if Chris was paying him any mind. It occurred to him, though, after Chris got out of bed and stomped into the bathroom, noisily, that Chris was fully aware of just what Justin was doing.
Chris didn't acknowledge it all the time, but the more he did, the more Justin did it for a reason, rather than just because he felt like it.
Chris got in late all the time, because the bars in Germany closed later than they did in the States. He was usually relatively sober, though he reeked of beer and chlorine. Justin never waited up any more, though he used to: he didn't have to, because Chris always woke him up, no matter how hard he tried to be quiet. And Justin appreciated it.
He was usually half-hard by the time Chris was slipping between the sheets of his bed. Justin knew this made him easy, but he couldn't help it, not with slits of light shining in the hotel window, highlighting the planes and angles of Chris' face, casting shadows like something out of a dream.
Sometimes, Justin would do it quietly, sliding his hand down the front of his pyjama pants, bringing himself to orgasm quickly and with little circumstance. It was those nights that Chris didn't stay.
The other times, Justin would shuck off his pants and his wifebeater after he'd gotten in bed, running his fingers over the soft skin of his inner thighs, then his balls, until he was so hard, so aroused, that he couldn't see straight. He'd touch his cock, then, and moan from the relief, not caring that he was loud -- that was the point. He'd think of Chris, think of how Chris would touch him, kiss him, how Chris would feel on top of him, inside him, how Chris would taste, how Chris would fuck him, how Chris would look when he came. Justin would come with Chris' image embedded in his mind and Chris' name on his lips.
And Chris stayed.
Sometimes, Justin was sure Chris watched. He was certain that when he was writhing in his bed, hand curled around his erection, Chris' eyes were lingering on him, even in the darkness. In his mind, he could feel Chris' eyes on his body and Chris' breath on his cheek and Chris' hand on his cock and Chris' mouth on his mouth, sometimes all at once, sometimes individually. After he came, he could draw the line between reality and his imagination, but he could never shake the feeling of Chris' eyes.
But he always forgot, in the morning, and it had long since been established that it wasn't something they ever talked about.
It was strange, too strange, when he heard Chris. Justin supposed he couldn't really blame him, though it had never really occurred to him that anyone beyond the age of eighteen did it. He couldn't do it himself, when Chris did it, because it was just too distracting. He tried covering his ears with his pillow, tried pulling the sheet up so he wouldn't be tempted to watch.
It never worked, though. Justin would end up burying his face in his pillow, shuddering when Chris let out a muffled groan, letting tears leak out of his tightly closed eyes, coming into the mattress when Chris bit back a final moan with his own orgasm.
Justin felt awkward, afterwards, and couldn't sleep, even if he moved away from the wet patch on the sheet. He would play back the sequence, imagining Chris' movements -- because he never let himself watch, -- seeing Chris' face as he touched himself, forming the outlines of Chris' eyelids, Chris' lips as he came. Justin would shiver, and curl up in the hotel blankets, and wonder why Chris would go to such lengths when Justin was right there.
Before he fell asleep, Justin would wonder, too, why he went to such lengths when Chris was right there. But he never did anything about it.
Justin always waited a few nights before he'd do it again, because it was just too uncomfortable a situation. Sometimes, he could explain it, but only in that way that makes sense in the small hours of the morning, when his mind was bordering on not enough sleep. He thought it might have been because he was scared, was waiting for Chris, because he wanted Chris to say something, to do something.
The feeling wore off after a few nights, and he'd find himself naked between his sheets, hand on his cock, Chris in his eyes, the memory of Chris' moans in his ears, the ghost of Chris' gaze on his body. He thought he was louder, those nights, more obvious. He touched himself gently until he whimpered, thrust his erection against his palm until he moaned, stroked it until he came, Chris' name an echo in his mind and a memory on his lips.
Chris always stayed.
And then just as he had started, Chris stopped. Justin wasn't sure, at first, if stopped was the right word, or if it was more of a pause, but as a few nights dragged into a week, and then to two, it became apparent that Chris was through.
Justin was hesitant, then, when he started again. He slid languidly out of his pants, stripped off his tank top with as little movement as possible, not even wanting attention. He bit his lip, glancing over to Chris' bed, where he was lying, facing away from Justin. He forced his gaze away, and slipped his palm down the expanse of his abdomen until he was touching, just barely touching the hot skin of his cock with the tips of his fingers. He let out a gasp, brushed his thumb over the head, and the darkened images before his eyes came flooding to light.
He wrapped his hand around his cock, legs spreading almost unconsciously. He moaned softly, and let his inhibitions fall, until Chris moved.
Justin bolted upright at the movement, hand sliding from his cock to rest on his thigh. His eyes darted to Chris' darkened silhouette, slipping out of his bed, heading disinterestedly towards the bathroom. He frowned as Chris paused at the doorknob, wasn't sure if Chris was hesitating on purpose.
He lay back a little, brushing his fingertips over the head of his cock, again. "Chris," he sighed, letting the 's' die off as the breath left his lungs. He closed his eyes, sinking back down into the uncomfortable mattress. "Why," he risked, voice barely audible even to his own ears, "why aren't you." He trailed off, leaving the thought hanging as he stroked along the length of his cock. He shivered.
And thought he could hear Chris' sharp intake of breath.
"Aren't you going to watch," Justin finished, thrusting his hips against his hand.
"I wasn't," Chris whispered.
"You did," Justin said, breathily, uncertainly.
"No," Chris murmured, but he was already moving again, and then sitting on the edge of his bed, facing inwards toward Justin.
Justin gasped, and curled his fist around his cock. He cracked an eye open, peering over at Chris. He licked his lips, throwing his head back against the pillow. "Please," he breathed, and then there was Chris' weight on the mattress, Chris straddling Justin's hips, Chris pressing his mouth against Justin's, tongue pushing into the wet heat.
Justin cried out against Chris' mouth, his hips undulating beneath Chris. Chris didn't kiss the way Justin thought he would, had imagined he would: it was hot and heavy and invasive, and more like Chris was kissing Justin, than with any sort of reciprocity.
When Justin stroked along his cock, he could feel his sticky pre-come on his palm.
"Stop," Chris mumbled, and stripped down the sheet between them. Justin gasped, let his eyes fly open, startled. Chris kissed with his eyes closed, Justin noticed, and jerked his hand away from his cock.
Justin felt himself whimper, "please," as he rocked his hips under Chris, hurtingwantingneeding to get off. He reached up to touch Chris' bare shoulder, and then Chris was moving on top of him, pulling off his boxers, grinding his cock almost painfully against Justin's. Justin closed his eyes, arched his back into Chris as he kissed him, Chris running his palms down Justin's sides.
"Fuck, Chris," Justin breathed, as Chris threaded a leg between Justin's thighs. Justin arched again, when Chris touched his hip, pelvis; fingers painfully close to Justin's cock, but not quite. He tore his lips from Chris', turning his head, and could tell he was begging when he brought his legs up to wrap around Chris' waist, thighs tightening around hips.
Chris licked a long, lewd swipe along Justin's neck, parallel to his throat, and Justin let out a choked noise. He gripped Chris' shoulders, writhing with the friction of Chris' cock grinding against his own. Chris buried his face in the crook of his neck, and Justin could feel the damp, heavy breaths seeping into his skin. He swallowed thickly, bucking his hips once, twice.
Chris panted harshly against his neck, raising his hips, and suddenly his fingers were on Justin's cock, wrapping around so that the heel of his palm pressed against the underside. Justin swore breathily, forming words in his head that sounded like moans to his ears. Chris' palm was hot and damp as it pressed firmly along Justin's cock, making Justin shudder and thrust his hips up towards Chris.
"Shh, shh," Chris was mumbling against Justin's throat, grinding his erection against Justin's thigh. Justin's mouth found his, and let Chris' tongue snake torturously inside as he swept his palm across the head of Justin's cock. Justin arched, hitching his leg higher along Chris' back, and came with a long moan, dying off as his breathing slowed.
Chris gasped against Justin, wiping his palm across the sheet, and touched Justin's hip. Justin sat up, gripping at Chris' collar bone. His lips slid from Chris', pressing wetly against Chris' cheek, jaw, throat, as Chris tilted his head back. Justin shifted, rearranging his legs so his ankles hooked around Chris'. He pressed his pelvis upwards, and kissed Chris, hard, so that Chris' teeth scraped against his lips. Justin guided his hand down to curl around Chris' cock, and a little awkwardly, stroked along the length. He was surprised, but not very, when Chris gripped his hip more tightly as his orgasm hit.
Justin broke away, trying to get his breathing under control. He wiped his hand on the sheet, and experimentally squeezed his legs against Chris'. Chris sat up, and crawled off Justin without even a glance. Justin frowned, could see Chris' eyes flashing in the dim light.
"Chris," he whispered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
Justin could hear Chris letting out a long breath before he said, "Come here."
"Can I," Justin started, as he crept over to Chris' bed, climbed on gingerly.
"Yeah," Chris said, softly. "I just -- yeah."
Justin slipped between the sheets as Chris moved over, and slid his arms around Chris' neck. "I wanted," he murmured.
"I know," Chris said, and pulled Justin closer, who promptly kicked him. "Ow," Chris added, carefully, as if he thought Justin would do it again otherwise. "Stop."
"Sorry," Justin said. He fell asleep with Chris' palm on his spine, Chris' breath fanning across the back of his neck.