smoking gun
I don't even know, I had a dream one night where Jacob was smoking, and then this happened.
Smoking Gun
Jacob/Bella
620 words // R
I watched him roll that joint like it was his fucking job. “Don’t you tell me a damn thing,” he said, lighting up and blowing out the smoke evenly, trying to squint his eyes to look like he didn’t give a shit about anything.
I shoved my hands in my raincoat. “You’re going to get sick.”
“Yeah lung cancer, right?”
“No,” I said. “You’re going to get sick if you don’t put a shirt on. It’s freezing out here, and it looks like rain.”
“Oh.” He took another pull and ignored me. I didn’t like that this was how he was handling things. Of course I could lecture him about what he was doing, but he wouldn’t listen. So I worried about things I could control: like avoiding pneumonia, because I was not going to take care of his sick ass.
“I don’t get cold anymore,” he said.
“Sure you do. You’re human.”
He looked at me, still with that squint in his eyes, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He would, if he was here. But he wasn’t anymore. The hole burned and widened and I thought filling it with smoke wouldn’t be a bad idea.
I stuck out my hand to him. “Lemme try it.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever…?”
“No, but I want to right now.” Maybe I could smoke him out. He’d cough and sputter and the hole would shrink.
He didn’t object and passed it over. I took my first drag and he laughed when I coughed.
“You look dangerous,” he said, and that squint was back in his eyes. So far, this either meant: indifference, annoyance, or playfulness. Probably all three. Probably more than three.
He threw his arm over my shoulder. He was warm; I could feel it spreading through my body and I sucked on the paper that would smother the hole. It was working. Right now, all I could feel was heat, and as I blew out the smoke I imagined I was pushing that pale, white ghost away from me.
We sat down in the field and waited for the storm to come. The trees were buzzing with excitement and they shook in the wind, waiting.
The pot was starting to make me sick. I handed it back. “Not your thing?” he asked, smirking.
“Just wanted to try it,” I said, leaning in closer to him. “Burn out my insides for just a moment.”
“Can I try something?” he asked, his voice softer and not filled with the indifference from earlier.
“What?”
He titled my head to look up at him. “Maybe it only works if someone else does it.”
His voice had dropped low and velvety. There was so much about him that was changing in each moment; it was hard to keep up. But I wanted to be there to catch everything, to experience it all with him.
He took a deep drag and held the smoke in between his lips, then brought his mouth down to mine. He opened my lips with his like he was going to kiss me, and instead he exhaled. I felt a rush through my entire body. My head was swimming, filling.
He held his mouth against mine but didn’t kiss me. It was just hot air and smoke between us. I wanted him to mold his lips against mine. I wanted his tongue against mine.
Instead, he pulled back, grinning. “Did that do the trick?”
I nodded. “For now.” All I could feel was him. I knew the feeling would fade, the high would fall, but right now it didn’t seem to matter. So we sat in the grass, surrounded by swirling heat, and watched the storm roll in.
Smoking Gun
Jacob/Bella
620 words // R
I watched him roll that joint like it was his fucking job. “Don’t you tell me a damn thing,” he said, lighting up and blowing out the smoke evenly, trying to squint his eyes to look like he didn’t give a shit about anything.
I shoved my hands in my raincoat. “You’re going to get sick.”
“Yeah lung cancer, right?”
“No,” I said. “You’re going to get sick if you don’t put a shirt on. It’s freezing out here, and it looks like rain.”
“Oh.” He took another pull and ignored me. I didn’t like that this was how he was handling things. Of course I could lecture him about what he was doing, but he wouldn’t listen. So I worried about things I could control: like avoiding pneumonia, because I was not going to take care of his sick ass.
“I don’t get cold anymore,” he said.
“Sure you do. You’re human.”
He looked at me, still with that squint in his eyes, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He would, if he was here. But he wasn’t anymore. The hole burned and widened and I thought filling it with smoke wouldn’t be a bad idea.
I stuck out my hand to him. “Lemme try it.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever…?”
“No, but I want to right now.” Maybe I could smoke him out. He’d cough and sputter and the hole would shrink.
He didn’t object and passed it over. I took my first drag and he laughed when I coughed.
“You look dangerous,” he said, and that squint was back in his eyes. So far, this either meant: indifference, annoyance, or playfulness. Probably all three. Probably more than three.
He threw his arm over my shoulder. He was warm; I could feel it spreading through my body and I sucked on the paper that would smother the hole. It was working. Right now, all I could feel was heat, and as I blew out the smoke I imagined I was pushing that pale, white ghost away from me.
We sat down in the field and waited for the storm to come. The trees were buzzing with excitement and they shook in the wind, waiting.
The pot was starting to make me sick. I handed it back. “Not your thing?” he asked, smirking.
“Just wanted to try it,” I said, leaning in closer to him. “Burn out my insides for just a moment.”
“Can I try something?” he asked, his voice softer and not filled with the indifference from earlier.
“What?”
He titled my head to look up at him. “Maybe it only works if someone else does it.”
His voice had dropped low and velvety. There was so much about him that was changing in each moment; it was hard to keep up. But I wanted to be there to catch everything, to experience it all with him.
He took a deep drag and held the smoke in between his lips, then brought his mouth down to mine. He opened my lips with his like he was going to kiss me, and instead he exhaled. I felt a rush through my entire body. My head was swimming, filling.
He held his mouth against mine but didn’t kiss me. It was just hot air and smoke between us. I wanted him to mold his lips against mine. I wanted his tongue against mine.
Instead, he pulled back, grinning. “Did that do the trick?”
I nodded. “For now.” All I could feel was him. I knew the feeling would fade, the high would fall, but right now it didn’t seem to matter. So we sat in the grass, surrounded by swirling heat, and watched the storm roll in.