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“here.”
tim leans in, and his lips connect with jay’s. jay yelps, muffled against tim’s lips and his free hand gripping his jaw, holding their faces together, and quickly shuts up as he realizes the reason for the intensity of the kiss — well, part of the reason, the rest of it is that tim isn’t going to turn down an excuse to kiss the living daylights out of jay. but it also helps to seal their lips together, allowing him to exhale all of the smoke in his mouth into jay’s, and within a matter of seconds he’s done just that, slightly bitter smoke filtering into jay’s mouth and pooling at the cliff’s edge before his throat. it stings a little, and the burn, though diluted, almost makes him cough, but he manages to hold it back and feels a weird surge of pride at his feat. it’s silly. lighthearted.
tim pulls away as quickly as he was on jay to begin with, lingering for only a moment.
his face is flushed, eyes slightly bloodshot, what look like smile line wrinkles beneath them.
“that was hot,” jay says breathlessly, heat rising in his cheeks. “do it again.”
tim takes another drag from the joint, not wanting to waste any weed while it’s still burning. his fingers pinch the joint so nimbly, with a practiced grip, chipped black nail polish complementing the hair on the back of his hands that trails off on each finger. he’s so pretty. jay tells him as much.
tim just grins at him from behind those eyelashes and those stupid, stupid pretty brown eyes that jay could wax poetic about endlessly if he didn’t keep getting distracted by tim’s faint freckles and his lips and the way his smile softens his entire face.
“no, seriously,” jay insists, the weed already starting to hit him just a little bit, “you’re literally so fucking pretty, it’s unfair, i have to stare at you every day and i’m supposed to be a functional person and not spend my every waking moment thinking about how much i love your stupid gay face.”
yeah, the weed is hitting him more than a little bit.
tim takes a long hit from the joint, and jay makes grabby hands at it, requesting tim pass it to him so he can take a proper hit. tim withholds the joint and instead, once again, like an asshole, cups jay’s jaw and shotguns the smoke into his mouth. jay presses back into his boyfriend with a vengeance, chasing the kiss until the smoke dissipates and they both need to come up for air.
it’s a little messy and a little gross, and jay is gonna be slightly too aware of the residual smell and half-imagined oily feeling of weed on his fingers for the rest of the night. this is so nice, though, even when they finally separate, jay seated comfortably in tim’s lap, legs wrapped around his waist.
“mmmmmnnnnnnnggggghhhh,” jay mumbles, forehead pressed against tim’s.
“and you’re so warm, my love,” he says intently, raising his hands from their comfortable grip on tim’s delightfully soft midsection to sling his arms around tim’s shoulders.
“you’re so high right now, babe,” tim tells him, not turning his gaze away from where he’s leaned over to snuff out the remains of the joint and leave it in the ashtray.
jay feels heat rising in his cheeks, and though his ears are no doubt flushed red too, he attempts to hide his embarrassed blush by burying his face in tim’s shoulder. it’s nice. it smells like him, faint nicotine and less faint menthol and a little bit of sweat and his kind of woodsy deodorant and weed. jay finds himself curling even more tightly around his boyfriend, drawing his entire body as close as possible.
“you totally smoked more than i did.”
“you’re a lightweight,” tim informs him matter-of-factly, “and,” (voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper) “you’re a cuddly drunk. it’s very cute.”
“‘m not cute. you’re cute,” jay says into his boyfriend’s (!!!) shoulder.
“we can both be cute. i’m biased towards thinking you’re extra cute, though.”
“gayass.”
“takes one to know one.”