The dim light from
inside the bathroom was enough to catch the threads
of silver that shot through the black of Justin's dress. He was
sprawled inelegantly across the bed, still managing to look gracefully
and deliberately posed. His right leg still hung off the bed, the 20
hole Doc Marten only partially unlaced. The rich, heavy folds of his
skirt, which had swirled about his legs as he had stalked across the
living room and up the stairs to the bedroom, were now rucked up around
his waist. The slit in the skirt, which had only barely passed his knee
when he was standing, only hinted at the shadows of leg muscle, now
rode high up on his hip, doing more than hint at skin and the arch of
hipbone. His mascaraed lashes lay heavy on his cheekbones, the smudges
of eyeliner disappearing in the shadows of the darkened bedroom. What
drew the eye most, though, was his mouth. His stained, smeared lips
were a gash of red across his pale face. A streak of color bled out
from the corner of his mouth, following the passage of a rough, hasty
thumb. He sighed in his sleep, tongue stealing out to wet his lips.
Chris
pressed a hand to his own lips in response, then winced slightly. He
didn't think Justin had drawn blood, but his fingertips came away red.
The same red as Justin's lips. Desire lay heavy in his mouth, covering
the chalky taste of lipstick. He looked again, and Justin's eyes were a
sliver of blue beneath his dark lashes, watching him.
"Turn
off the light." Justin's voice was gravelly from sleep and use. He
stretched out a hand to beckon Chris. Chris hit the bathroom light next
to him without looking and stretched a hand out in return. Dark tipped
fingers twined, and they painted each other's lips with kisses.