Thank you to Deb for the beta.

Michael leaned on the counter. "Joey," he said.

Joey looked up from his coffee mug. "Yeah?"

"I wanted to say thank you. Again. For working so hard when--"

"Hey," Joey said, his eyes crinkling. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah," said Michael, stepping closer. "I do." Because he did; because he knew, bone-deep, that Joey loved him. Because it was easy to say, somehow, with Joey, in a way it so rarely was. He was close enough to feel Joey's breath on his face; Joey didn't draw back at all.

They hung there, waiting. Surely Nicole would come in. Surely the phone would ring.  Surely something would break the tension.

Nothing did.

Michael closed his eyes and moved that last inch, remembering Joey sleeping beside him, remembering Joey loved him, loved him, loved him.

Joey tasted like pizza, and his body was warm and solid and he smelled faintly of paint thinner and Old Spice. Joey's hand was - oh God, Joey's hand was pressing between them, strong artist's fingers on Michael's dick, through his pants.

"I love you," Michael said, into Joey's mouth. "I love--fuck, Joey--"

"Bedroom," said Joey.

Still pressed together, they stumbled to Michael's room. Michael kicked the door closed behind them and let go of Joey long enough to strip out of his clothes. "Too fast," Joey said, as they stretched out on the bed, naked. "Too fast, too *fast*..."

But he didn't stop. He kept kissing, kept touching, kept thrusting hard against Michael's body. "We shouldn't," he said, but he didn't stop, and Michael kissed him again and again, trying to keep him quiet.

Joey rolled him over, straddled him, pulled his mouth away and smiled. "We *shouldn't*," he said, and wrapped his hand firmly around Michael's dick, jacking him off.

"We *are*," Michael said, because Joey sometimes didn't grasp the obvious, Joey didn't think that way. Joey would say one thing and go with his gut anyway, never noticing, unless you told him--you always had to tell Joey these things, because Joey--God, Joey was good at this, his hand a little slick with sweat--Joey got lost in things, didn't sleep for days, painting; Joey was irresponsible and -- and Joey bent down and kissed him again. Michael came between their bodies, and Joey laughed and thrust into the mess, coming himself.

And then promptly fell asleep.

Michael rolled his eyes and squeezed out from underneath his friend to fetch a washcloth. Typical Joey. Just *typical*.

He cleaned them both up and curled up next to Joey to sleep, pressing his nose into Joey's hair, brushing away a smudge of paint from behind Joey's ear. Typical Joey was just fine.