He always knocks, though he knows he doesn't have to -- he's got the key on the ring next to his own. Chris answers after a few minutes, and never turns him away, though Justin knows he's got every reason to, because it's late. Chris never asks why he's there, and Justin never explains. There's no explanation he can give, and after so long, Chris knows better than to go looking for one.
In the moonlight streaming through the door, Chris always looks the same. He's always wearing a t-shirt and boxers, and his hair is disheveled, because he's just woken up. His eyes are wide and his lips swollen from sleep. He looks ethereal and beautiful in a way only he can achieve.
Justin closes the door quietly behind himself, and touches Chris' face, lightly. Chris' breathing is shallow and slow, and when Chris puts his hands on Justin's waist, he can feel Chris' breath, light and feathery on his cheek. Chris pulls up a little, and Justin doesn't realise his mouth is open until Chris' tongue is delving into his mouth, slick and hot and so very Chris.
Chris slips his hand up under Justin's shirt, and his fingers glide over Justin's stomach, over the warm patch just below his belly button. Chris knows him, knows his body all too well, Justin thinks, sometimes, and shivers. Chris' hands are small and his palms are always hotter than Justin's skin. They're too quick, and Chris knows too well what he wants. His hands are sliding up over Justin's stomach, over his chest, and then they're gone, unbuttoning Justin's shirt, pushing him against the wall. Justin's shoulder blades dig against the drywall -- it's more than uncomfortable -- but he doesn't care, never does, when Chris' lips press against his throat, and down, as he drags Justin's shirt off by the sleeves.
Chris has a fascination with his shoulders, Justin notices, and when Chris licks at the skin at the base of his neck, it takes all of Justin's concentration to shimmy out of his pants. He's always hard by then, so turned on that he can feel a dull buzzing in his ears. Chris grabs at his waist, his hips, and his fingers curve along Justin's ass, hot and damp, and Justin's breath quickens.
Chris forces him around, and Justin only manages to get a hand between himself and the wall before he slams against it, knocking the breath out of him. Chris' hand is on Justin's hip again, the heel resting against his ass, and his lips are damp on the back of Justin's neck. Justin lets out a guttural sound, and Chris presses against him, sliding his fingers into Justin's mouth. Justin can feel Chris' erection pressing into his ass, but Chris is still dressed, and Justin thinks, thinks --
-- doesn't think much, because then Chris is sliding saliva-slicked fingers into Justin's ass, one by one. Justin gasps, rolls his hips. He leans heavily on one shoulder, and lets one hand slips down to encircle his cock.
Chris arches his fingers inside him, brushing harshly against his prostate, and Justin moans, can't stop. Chris folds his other hand over Justin's, on his cock, and his tongue is working its way down to the patch of skin between Justin's shoulder blades.
Chris pulls Justin's hand from his cock, and Justin almost screams, thinks that if he doesn't come soon, he'll wither away and die.
And Chris' pressure is gone; lips, fingers, cock. Justin shudders against the wall, whimpers, considers jerking himself off, but doesn't. Never does.
He hears the rustle of fabric on skin, and then Chris' cock is pressing against the knot of muscle of his ass, slick with saliva. Justin clenches his eyes shut, and brings his arm up to cover his face. Chris' tongue swipes along the vertebrae of his neck, and then Chris is inside, pushing inside of him, but there's an edge that Justin doesn't think he'll ever get used to.
Chris' hand returns to Justin's stomach, and Justin can feel the muscles straining, and Chris' knuckles brushing against his cock. Justin writhes, the skin of his back almost adhered to Chris' chest, and as Chris' thrusts pick up, start being harder, faster, Justin can't hold out.
He comes with a rush, sparks shining on the inside of his eyelids.
Chris sucks at his neck, and it hurts after that, though Justin always moans when Chris comes. He thinks it might be force of habit.
When Chris pulls out, Justin turns around, lets a sated "oh" fall from his lips. Chris puts his arms around his, hands resting on Justin's hips. Justin leans, threading his arms around Chris' neck, and kisses him deeply. He doesn't know how long he's there, gasping against Chris' mouth, but when he pulls away, his head hurts.
As he gets dressed, picking clothing up off the floor, Chris asks, "D'you want to stay?" It's the first thing he's said all night.
"I love you," Justin says, instead of answering, and pulls on his pants.
"I know," Chris says, and steps into his boxers. "You can stay." He touches Justin's forearm, as he's rolling up the cuffs of his shirt.
Justin shakes his head; that's all he came for. Chris shrugs, guides him to the door, hand on Justin's back. He murmurs, "Love you too, man," but Justin doesn't say anything. Lets Chris think he didn't hear.