It's some time past noon when Billy untangles himself from the scrappy motel bed, from Joe's grip that's been tight on him all night, like Joe's muscles haven't relaxed since they went to sleep, despite whatever they wereon last night (whatever it was, it was a fucking excellent idea last night, but now, not so much).

He stumbles to the john and back, his body crashing into Joe's on the bad mattress, but Joe's awake now, all tongue and hands and fingertips and damn Billy if he doesn't want to stay here and make out, make warmth, make love, for the rest of the day.

"Damn, you need a licence for that heart of yours," he murmurs, and Joe chuckles, but when Billy catches his eye he knows they both know it's only half a joke.