It was all in Chris' hands, really. They were too small for a regular massage, when he'd try to cover Justin's broad shoulders. But when it came to a foot massage, they were the perfect size.

Chris was attentive when it came to foot massages, too. He would hold Justin's foot in his hands, running his thumb down the center, stretching tendons carefully. He would seek out pressure points, pushing to release Justin's tension. And his fingers were small enough that when he rubbed each toe individually, they wouldn't get lost in his hands like his toes did in Justin's.

After a long day of rehearsing, or even a concert, if he wasn't feeling one hundred percent, Justin liked curling up on a couch, his feet in Chris' hands, watching sports before bed. Chris could make him forget all about basketball, sink him into relaxed bliss, without even kissing him. And then.

Then Chris would lean over, lick Justin's neck, murmur Justin's name over and over until Justin woke up again, and they went to bed.

And Justin would remember that the best part of Chris giving a foot massage was when it was over.