Nighttime
by Shine

Justin shifted in his bunk, flipped over and stared at the wall, flipped back and stared at the ceiling. The bunks of the bus were much larger than the old ones, which were about eighteen inches high and stacked five to a side, floor to ceiling, but they were still cramped for someone as big as he was. He loved his new muscles, but they were not meant for bus living. "Fuck," he mouthed irritably, and squirmed around until he was on his stomach, knee drawn up and head resting on his arms. The curtain tickled his side, and he pushed it away, the rings rattling loudly as it slid down and bunched up at the end of the bed.

He kicked irritably at the sheets, yanking awkwardly behind him with one hand. They were too hot and sweaty where they clung to his skin, too clammy and chilled down by the foot where his feet were freezing. The hot mugginess of outside seemed to penetrate the thin aluminum skin of the bus like a spike, and the air conditioning was blustering vainly to try and compensate. He thought about getting a glass of water, thought about giving up on his bunk entirely and sleeping on the divan.

The bus swayed on, though, and Justin felt himself responding to it somewhat, despite his discomfort. He felt tension bleed out of his body as the gentle rumbling purr of the great engine droned on. With the curtains to the main lounge area closed, the space by the bunks was close and half-dark and secret, shadowy, and Justin stared into the aisle absently, eyes half-closed, focusing without any particular intensity on the colors and sparkles the dark threw up against his eyes. When he saw motion, he was almost inclined to ignore it, disregard it, just go to sleep and not worry about JC turning over, or Chris shifting his legs. But the ripple of skinclothskin didn't stop after a few seconds, and he tilted his head to focus more clearly.

It wasn't Chris; he was still asleep, crashed out hard with an icepack on his knee and one arm tight across JC's chest. Justin could hear him snoring, twitching faintly the way Justin knew he did from years of sharing hotel rooms and quiet rooms and houses. No, it was JC who'd moved, the lean line of arm and the angle of elbow catching on the stray glow of light from outside.

He was on his back, crowded up against the raised edge of the bunk, and Justin couldn't understand how he could sleep there without bruises. Chris took up the inside half of the bunk, and was laying almost on top of him, pinning one side down. At some point during the night the curtain had been kicked to the foot of the bed. And now Justin watched in disbelief as JC, eyes closed and face calm, ran a lean hand across his bare chest, down his stomach, deliberate and smooth and appreciative.

The tips of his fingers flirted for a minute at the waistband of his sweats, and he seemed to be hesitating, waiting for something, but Justin held his breath and watched them eventually slip under, and down. His hand disappeared to the wrist, to the forearm, silhouetted against soft fleece.

Justin stared at the lump underneath JC's pants for a long minute, trying to convince himself that this wasn't happening. When JC's hand started to move, curling and pulling in a steady rhythm that Justin recognized immediately, he let out a little huff of air in wonder. JC slowed but didn't stop, and with a gut-twisting dizzy rush Justin realized that JC knew he was awake.

JC knew he was watching.

He looked back up to JC's face, feeling his face go hot and tight. JC was quiet, smiling a bit, eyes still closed with lashes long and dark smudges against his cheekbones. His mouth opened a bit as he began to breathe hard, and Justin jerked his gaze back to where JC had shoved his pants down a bit, and was pulling his cock out over the waistband. Justin shuddered and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but when he heard JC's moan he couldn't help he. He looked.

Oh, god.

JC had his hand wrapped around his cock, long index finger stretched up and stroking the head. It was hard to see in the dim light, but the gleam of sweat on skin was clear on JC's belly, and the flex and shift of muscles in JC's arm as he worked himself. Cloth rustled and sweat-slick skin rasped against skin, and there was another moan, soft and almost soundless, without force or air behind it, just pleasure. Justin felt himself getting hard, and trembled slightly, forcing himself not to move at the sharpsweet burn of arousal in his groin and brain.

JC arched suddenly, whimpering, and his hand quickly pulled away--ten seconds, twenty, thirty. When his breathing had settled, he put his hand back on his cock, and this time Justin made a noise--a helpless strangled whine, that was lost in JC's louder, richer groan of delight.

Chris stirred, and Justin saw him raise his head, press sleepy kisses on the smooth skin of JC's shoulder. "Should've woken me," Justin heard, indistinct and drowsy, and JC shook his head, eyes open now and glittering.

"Nah. You like this," JC said hoarsely, and Justin tried not to listen, he honestly did--tried to turn away, put his pillow over his head, anything, especially now that Chris was awake and it looked like they were going to have sex. But they were still, hazy and quiet but louder than anything else, and had to listen, couldn't help himself.

And they were talking about him.

"Is he awake?" Chris, dark and velvety and Justin wanted to die, felt his face flame. Embarrassment is being caught watching your best friend's boyfriend jerk off.

"Yessss," JC hissed, and now he must be getting closer, because the rustle sped up, became somehow harder and faster.

"He can hear you," Chris said, but it wasn't a caution. It sounded almost like encouragement. "He can hear you, he can see you--oh god, you fucker, JC," and now JC was panting, and when Justin pried his eyes open in shock Chris was still dreamy-eyed and loose and relaxed, just the words. He was helping JC finish, Justin realized, and shuddered helplessly. The words were harsh, but the tone was pure sex, and definitely not disapproving. "Come on, you slut, he can *see* you..."

JC came, a tiny cry and a taut arch of body, hand spasming shut on his cock. Streaks of white suddenly appeared on his belly, and Chris drew a fingertip through them and sucked as JC gasped for air and trembled and slowly came down off of his high.

Soft noises then, words Justin couldn't make out that filled the dark air between the bunks. Justin slowly, carefully turned over and faced the wall of his bunk. He felt stiff, and it was an effort to move--his cock brushed the sheets, and he shivered and fisted his hands. He wasn't. He wasn't.

He listened to Chris whisper "I love you," clearly, and a minute later was snoring again, didn't have to look to imagine him draped over JC's pliant, sated body. He shut his eyes and tried not to sleep.

"Justin?" JC.

He couldn't help it; he jerked, and bit his lip.

"Justin." It wasn't a question this time, soft and carrying, intent.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"Next time, don't be a stranger." He could hear the smile in JC's voice, the satisfied liquid of residual arousal dropping him half an octave.

JC went to sleep almost immediately after that, but Justin was up for hours, staring at the wall and thinking. He couldn't stop shaking. Or smiling.

Fin