Give An Inch
"So I can't pick him up anymore," Chris says sharply, and then hastens to lower his voice and smooth out that edge, even though Justin's still in wardrobe. Justin always knows when Chris is talking about him, it seems.
"Well, shit, yeah." JC grabs his own ankle and bends his leg annoyingly far behind his back. "Damn, I'm cramping. He's grown like five inches in the last five months." He stretches out his hand for balance and Chris automatically offers his elbow.
What Chris means, of course, is not that he can't pick Justin up anymore, but that he can't. Last night was just a little too much - trying to one-potato two-potato three-potato four the kid onto the bed, and Justin fighting and hollering and twisting, and his shirt riding up under Chris' hands, and all of a sudden, Justin was panting and flushed and suspiciously bright-eyed against the pillows, and Chris had bolted to the bathroom to try to rinse the feel of Justin's skin from his fingers. He had washed his hands six times in scalding hot water before his erection had started to fade.
It wouldn't be so bad, Chris thinks, if Justin had a crush, or no clue at all. If he would be straight-up smitten, alternately giggly and shy, Chris could roll his eyes and dismiss it. If he would be oblivious, Chris could grit his teeth and sublimate it. Either way, no thrill ride, but at least there are game plans that work with those scenarios. What makes it bad is that Justin's neither planning nor not planning - he just understands that Chris is eventually going to want to sleep with him. And the fact that Justin understands that makes Chris not want to understand it himself.
"He'll start picking you up, if you stop." JC switches legs and drops Chris' arm, balancing like a big-nosed stork, pursing his lips. "You give them an inch, they swim all over you. You can't let him catch on that he grew."
"I think he knows, C."
JC shakes his head, only wobbling slightly. "Only if you let him."
"Two shoes sizes he's gone through, it's not like he's been fucking hibernating through that."
"Thing about J, he really responds." Before Chris can laugh at JC thinking he knows the thing about Justin, JC smiles his spacy smile that clamps down on Chris' impulse. "He only lets you be boss if you are boss, you know?"
Chris knows.
"You don't wanna be the sack of potatoes."
Chris knows.
"You make him be the sack-"
"Hey." Justin trots across the studio floor in a blue windbreaker and overalls, his eyes keen. "What're you doing?"
"Stretching, dumbass," Chris whips back, but Justin always knows. Justin always knows, and as he looks from Chris to JC to Chris, Chris suddenly wonders what it would be like to be picked up by someone who knows you're always only going to be talking about him anyway.