Chris bought the t-shirt for Lance, who held it stretched out in front of him while Chris grinned like a maniac beside him. He lowered his hands and said, "thanks," dryly. Chris clapped an affectionate hand on his shoulder. Lance tossed the shirt on the bed.
Later, Justin picked it up. "What is this?" He looked over his shoulder at Lance, who was stepping out of the bathroom, toweling his hair.
Lance walked over to Justin and peered past him to look at the shirt. His bare damp chest pressed against Justin's back, and Justin leaned back into it. Lance said, "Chris thinks he's funny."
Justin grinned and said, "He is."
"Put it away," Lance said. His hand came around to rest against Justin's hipbone, through his jeans, and then to slip beneath the waistband. He pressed his mouth against the back of Justin's neck. "It's not for me."
Justin reached over his shoulder to touch Lance's hair, he tossed the shirt loosely toward the lamp-table, where his suitcase lay open. He turned his head so Lance's could reach for his mouth. He said, "it's not."
