Comforts Of Home
by Shine

At night, New York was a fantasy world.

The entire city was a kaleidescope of color, blazing neon storefront signs, the red-and-white flare of cars as they shot by at thirty-eight miles per hour on streets that were never deserted, ever. Joey leaned against the cool glass of the window and stared, too tired to keep his eyes completely open. His breath fogged the window and made the streaks of light fuzzy and vague, and Joey watched it without really concentrating.

He ached. Every bone, every muscle. His throat was sore. One of the sound guys had gotten the flu two weeks ago, and the entire cast was fighting it off. He almost fell off the table when he tried to make the jump in La Vie and had a dizzy spell, and his head still pounded from the flashbulb of the camera.

The whole thing was amazing, it really was--Joey was grateful every day that he'd been asked to audition, that he'd been granted this role. The money was nice, the top billing was even nicer, but best of all was just the fact that he was *here*--Joey Fatone, Broadway star. The dreams of a drama-loving kid from Brooklyn simply didn't get better than this. And Joey was used to hard schedules, night after night of concerts that left you drained and worn out. In some ways, these daily performances were just like one of their tours, maybe one of the early ones, European ones, that went on for months and sometimes had two or three shows a day.

But in some ways, it was a thousand, a million times worse than touring. Because here, Joey was alone.

The Yukon pulled up in front of Joey's apartment building, but Jimmy had to lean into the back seat to lightly shake Joey's shoulder before Joey realized it.

"Sorry," he muttered, and caught Jimmy's sympathetic look. "See you tomorrow," he added, and pushed the door open. He was so tired, he stumbled a bit when he got out.

"Night, Joey," Jimmy said, and Joey waved briefly before trudging up the sidewalk to the door of his apartment building. It was snowing again, the lightest of flurries, and the wind was sharp and cruel.

"Evening, Mr. Fatone," the doorman said, holding the brass-and-glass door open and nodding politely. Joey nodded back, too tired for chatting, and headed for the elevator. Shower, and maybe call Kelly and check on Briahna, and then bed. There was a matinee tomorrow, he needed to be at the theater by ten.

He fumbled his key from his jacket pocket in the elevator, and let his eyes fall mostly-shut when he leaned against the smooth mirrored wall. The door opened with a rich, muted ping and he aimed himself down the hall mostly by instinct. His door was the only one painted blue, and he had to poke at the lock for a few seconds before getting the key inside.

His apartment was warm, a lot warmer than the hallway. A lot warmer than he'd left it. Joey blinked and kicked the door shut behind him.

"Down here," Justin called, and Joey shucked off his jacket and headed in the direction of the sunken living room.

"Justin?" he asked blankly. Justin looked up from his sprawl over Joey's couch and smiled.

"Sorry I couldn't see the show," he said apologetically. "I tried, but tickets were sold out."

"I could have gotten you comps," Joey said, still feeling a bit floored. He hadn't even known Justin was in town.

"Then it wouldn't have been a surprise," Justin said patiently, smiling. "Anyway, I got them for tomorrow."

"Good," Joey said, and finally started down the steps. Justin pulled up his legs, and Joey sat down on the vacated section of couch. The heat from Justin's legs soaked into his ass, and he patted Justin's ankles absently. Justin made a small "mmm" sound and his toes kneaded Joey's thigh. They tickled, but in a good way.

"You look tired," Justin observed, and Joey shrugged, leaning back and tipping his head against the back of the couch. Butter-soft leather under his nape, and it felt warm and plush and comfortable, like smooth skin. "Long day?"

Joey shrugged and stared at the ceiling. "Some girl asked me to sign her license plate tonight," he said eventually, and Justin started laughing.

"Oh man. Let me know when they start auctioning your leftovers," Justin said, snickering. "Then you can complain." Joey smiled, feeling vaguely disconnected and not-real. Exhaustion, he recognized dispassionately. When he was too tired for emotions, he was too tired to be awake, period. Which meant he had about five minutes to strip down and get into bed, or he'd spend the night on the couch.

Justin seemed to recognize it too. "Come on," he said, and after a period of time that could have been hours, but probably wasn't, Joey felt big hands dragging him to his feet. "Jesus, you're fucking heavy," Justin grunted, steadying him, and Joey found his feet and made himself stand.

"I'm okay," he said, but he slurred the words slightly and Justin snorted in disbelief.

"Yeah, right," Justin said shortly, and pushed Joey into the bedroom. Moonlight and streetlight both streamed in, and Justin left him in the middle of the floor to shut the blinds. Joey managed to get his shirt off by the time Justin got back, and Justin touched his bare shoulder.

"Hold still," Justin said quietly, and knelt. Joey touched Justin's jaw lightly, then obediently lifted his feet, one by one as Justin pulled his shoes off. Justin reached up and unbuttoned his jeans, then yanked them off. Joey swayed but didn't fall until Justin pushed him over, landing on the mattress with a soft, solid thump.

The sheets were cool and fresh and perfect, and when Joey closed his eyes the darkness was almost complete. He dozed, already half-asleep but fighting it. He could wait, just for a little bit.

Justin joined him a minute later, stripped to his briefs, and Joey wrapped his arms around him and held on. Justin was smooth, lean muscle under his hands, big and solid and he fit his arms like a line of poetry. Justin kissed Joey's neck, and it was the last thing Joey felt before he gave in to sleep.