Jesse drops quarters into the slot and watches the washing machine churn to life. He scrubs his palms against the soft denim of his jeans, trying to wipe away the memory of heat that lingers there. Having no more success than usual.

It's two am, and the laundromat is empty. He leans his forehead against the clear washer door and watches the sheets tumble end-over-end. His hair is wet from the shower and hangs in heavy curls around his face, dripping water down the back of his shirt and soaking his collar. His jeans are half unbuttoned, and he isn't wearing any socks inside his unlaced Keds.

His hands burn, and he rubs them convulsively against his thighs, scraping off layers of skin until they are raw and numb, and he can't feel the ghost of kisses on his palms.

Vinny is stretched out asleep in the middle of the bed. His face is soft and empty, tilted slightly to one side so that moonlight highlights the vulnerable curve of his cheek. One hand rests near his face, the other curves just below the hollow of his stomach. It draws Jesse's gaze lower and he snaps his eyes closed, feeling a blush rise in his face.

"Vinny," he whispers. "Vinny, wake up."

"Jesse?" Vinny grumbles and stretches, flashing an expanse of inner thigh that burns in Jesse's memory. "Jesse, come back to bed. S'cold."

"That's because I took the sheets off," Jesse hisses. His voice remains low; the last thing he wants to do is wake up his other housemates. "You were supposed to go back to your own bed."

"Mmfgh," Vinny replies indistinctly, face tucked into the corner of his elbow.

"Vinny!" Jesse leans close, hand outstretched, but he doesn't touch him. His palm itches and he rubs it absently against his shirt. The mound of newly clean sheets begins to slip from his arms. "Vin--"

"Either get in bed and go to sleep, or leave me the fuck alone, Jess." Vinny rolls onto his side, showing Jesse the bold sweep of his shoulders, the strong line of his spine, the gentle curve of-- Jesse drops the sheets and retreats to the other bed.

He pulls the blankets up to his chin and tries to sleep, but all he can smell is Vinny, all around him. He imagines his own skin carries the scent, even after he's scrubbed it to an angry red. Some trace of it must still linger in the bruises that decorate his collarbone, and his stomach, and the inside of his thighs...

"Stop it," he whispers.

A rustle; then Vinny's voice close to his ear. "Jesse? What did you say?"

"Nothing," he replies.

"I'm sorry," Vinny murmurs, peeling back the comforter and sliding into bed. Jesse tenses and closes his eyes, and tries not to think about all the places their bodies are touching. It's harder to do when Vinny's hands are stroking his stomach and his voice is warm against the side of his face, heating his jaw.

"We can't do this," Jesse whispers desperately, his breath catching faintly in his chest. "We agreed that this was just--"

"I don't care what we agreed." Vinny's cool voice cuts him off. "I can't do that anymore. I'm tired of this."

"Of what?" Jesse asks, turning slightly to look into his eyes.

"Of..." Vinny blinks, stumbling over the words. "Of being good enough to fuck, but not to share a bed with. Of--of you being ashamed becau--"

"I'm not ashame--" Jesse interrupts, but Vinny backs him down with a withering look.

"You can't have it both ways, Jess," he whispers. "I can't keep doing this. I have feelings, too. If you want to--to try, then fine, but if you don't...then that's it."

"I just--"

"Fine," Vinny snaps quickly. He untangles himself from Jesse's body and starts to leave, but Jesse's vice-like grip on his wrist stops him.

"I just need some time," Jesse whispers lowly, those rainwater blue eyes searing a hole through him. "Stay? Please?"

Vinny nods and lays down again, cradled in the circle of Jesse's arms, skin to skin. Jesse's hands burn, but instead of scrubbing them against the cool sheets he presses them against Vinny's back, and he tries to find a little peace in sleep.

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