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Crash, Bang
by Shine
Thunder rattled at the front door, and Justin jerked, twisted frantically, and almost fell out of the bed, managing to get one foot underneath him so he landed half-kneeling. His eyes were still mostly shut, and he had his mouth open, his tongue moving--attempts at speech, although his ears weren't working yet. The thunder paused, and Justin dredged up the coordination to stand, groggy and unsteady, and then it started up again, louder than before.
"Fu ohh," he mumbled, sitting down heavily on the bed and fumbling for the light. It wasn't even 5am, his clock told him cheerfully, and he stared a little in disbelief, trying to wrap his brain around it. Who the fuck was banging on his door at 4:53 in the morning?
"JUSTIN!" There was a tremendous crash. Justin looked up towards the windows, where a spiderweb of cracks now glinted dully across one window. "JUSTIN, WAKE UP!" Another rock sailed into view, and neatly cracked the other window.
Of course.
Chris.
Justin moaned and flopped backwards on the bed. He seriously considered staying there, leaving Chris outside--he also seriously considered calling the cops, Lance, and Chris's mother. Then something *smashed* into his abused window, and a piece of brick landed on the bed beside him, less than an inch from his hips. He jerked back upright, and stared with horror at the brick, and at his current nudity.
"Fuck," he snarled, and got up, snagging his briefs from yesterday as he crossed the room and stomped downstairs. He almost broke his neck putting the briefs on, and then headed for the front door. He yanked the door and glared viciously. Christ, the fucking *streetlights* were still on, he noted. Chris was leaning against the doorjamb, smiling at him.
"Happy Birthday," Chris said, grinning. Justin stared at him.
"What?"
"It's your birthday. Happy birthday," Chris repeated, like Justin was an idiot. Justin thought maybe Chris had the wrong person.
Chris pushed past him, heading into the living room. Justin slammed the door shut and followed him in, and was opening his mouth to yell when Chris turned.
Chris's mouth was wet and hot and clever, soft lips and firm tongue and prickle of teeth. One hand stroked down, over his chest, to curl gently at his waist. Justin shivered, felt his anger and confusion leave his brain to buzz and seethe deep in the pit of his stomach, the press of Chris's body a warm provocation.
He didn't know how long Chris kissed him, but he knew when Chris pulled back, and nipped gently at his lower lip. "Happy birthday," Chris repeated, and Justin finally smiled.
"You shit," he said, affectionately, and Chris laughed into his mouth.
Fin
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