Couch
Joe didn't have a proper bed in that apartment, just a couch. It was too short and missing all its legs; he slept curled up, one foot resting on the floor.
They started out sitting at either end of the couch with a bottle of vodka on the floor between them. They ended up half-on, half-off, Billy's head over the arm and his ass in the air. Joe fucked him and sucked him off and then rolled off him to sleep on the floor. Wouldn't touch Billy. Wouldn't even look at him.
Billy curled up the way he'd watched Joe do, his one foot on the floor barely touching Joe's calf.
The day rent was due Billy found Joe out back, standing next to a trail of gasoline.
"Step off," he said. "Left, dickweed."
He flicked a match at the gas. Ten feet away, the couch erupted in nonchalant flames.
"Fleas," Joe said.
Billy couldn't say anything. Wasn't like he'd paid for it either.