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The breeze was flowing in a dance of ebbs and flows through the curtains, gently rocking the open doors in its wake. The golden hour had started creeping in in a sensual slide down the length of your back, but you hoped that it would stop and stand still for the two of you just this time. You’re pretty sure that if you wish hard enough it would work.
a slow column of smoke is ejected from between his teeth as the next song comes on.
“‘S’ not your best idea” you say, to no one in particular.
“Hm?”
“Vinyl.” You state matter-of-factly, “how am i supposed to- to uh-“ a smile cracks your previously worried expression at the realization that oh, things have well and truly kicked in. “Like- that’s how you want to listen to music right now? Personally, feeling like the floor may or may not be tipping a few millimeters everytime i blink doesn’t scream “having the fine motor skills required to not scratch the shit out of a vinyl” to me”
“I just like it. Call it a cliché but the sound of the needle gliding through the ridges just feels so much warmer to me at times like these. Plus I can actually handle my high” He quips back, eyelids heavy blinking as he turns his head in your direction. He’s doing the face, the one where his upper lip snags and his brow furrows lightly, the one he does whenever he’s holding back a laugh, trying to be tongue in cheek as possible, just maybe with eyes slightly more glazed over this time.
“I think what’s even more of a cliché is how you’re even more of a know it all when you’re high, incredible” you razz, stealing the smoke from his fingers. He feigns offense with an unconvincing glare and a barely concealed grin, but he had decidedly turned into mush along with his repartée.
You lay back, legs meeting perpendicular to his in his lap. He never really minded contact. The playlist either plays for three hours or ten minutes, and you’re both watching the sun go down ever so slowly (if you just keep your eyes on it you just know it’ll stay there.)
You’re both reading the books you usually have on each of your persons in near silence, the buzz never truly leaving your body, but allowing a certain clarity to permeate it after a while. Sometimes you stop to show each other passages that squeeze at your heart and bring an uninhibited tear to your eye. You both look a bit stupid doing it.
A lot of people think of Andy as this straight-edge artiste, a bit of a goodie-two-shoes, a clean and organized man who probably only ever enjoys wine from time to time. Reality is that the reason he’s so good at putting his heart into words is probably at least partially due to the fact that the man knows how to get high.He lets the more vulnerable moments float to the surface with the plumes of smoke and watches carefully for the light that threatens to burst out of his rib cage after a few inhales and exhales; and through that absurd spark sometimes he seems to find clarity. That and he’s also just a bit of a dickhead.
you move to stand with one knee on each side of his lengthy frame draped across the massive couch, impatient to reclaim the joint he’d been hogging.
He sees the wobble of the legs framing his waist and moves a hand absentmindedly to your thigh to stabilize you
“Thanks. Your couch is so soft”
“Very soft”
New heights of intellectual prowess were being achieved in real time as you two both noted on the texture of the thing, as if this wasn’t the hundredth time you and your friend had taken the afternoon after your hike in the countryside to light up on that very same piece of furniture.
“Don’t get sleepy now” he says softly, watching your chest rise and fall slowly. “We still have to cook later”
“m’not.” You reply, well on your way to sleep.
“Right.” he chuckles.
His hands are resting on your legs now, book pushed aside after too many attempts at getting past the current chapter. You’re seated on him now, standing up from the position proving to be too much effort.
“Pass it” you motion with a hand, your gaze never leaving the dance of the curtains at the door.
“Bad news,” he replies, tearing you from your slight daze,
“i’m pretty sure this is near done”
“Wouldn’t be if you’d stop chiefing.i bought that, y’know”
“Wouldn’t need to if you’d bought something that actually does anything” he ribs.
“Andrew c’mon-“ you laugh as you watch him defiantly taking the last worthy inhale.
He shakes his head no with a smile as he holds it in
“Noooo, Andrew, you know holding it doesn’t do anything!” You despair through a burst of laughter, and he barely contains his own in reaction, a cough threatening to burst out.
His hands and their warmth leave your thighs, you almost protest,but you think that maybe it would be too forward to admit to enjoying his touch so blatantly. To yourself or to him, you don’t know exactly.
In your denial you barely register his hands framing your face. He nods in your direction as if to ask for permission, and you've known each other too long to pretend you don’t understand what he means to do perfectly.
You tilt your head to the side as you part your lips, now an inch away from him. You reflexively rest your hands on his shoulders as he blows the smoke into your mouth. You inhale, and you feel a twinge of anxiety that the drumming of your heartbeat would rat you out. Somehow the flow of smoke has stopped but his slow breaths remain as they keep hitting your lips, setting every nerve ending ablaze. Your forehead rests against his, eyes locked as a hand grips the soft skin of your thigh. Its presence alone is enough to make heat pool at the bottom of your abdomen. You let out a nearly imperceptible needy sound when he dares move it higher, which he wastes no time responding to by crossing the dangerous inch separating you both, locking your lips together in a slow, deliberate kiss. Languidly lapping and nipping, just messy enough to be embarrassing, just messy enough to make you absolutely desperate.
You don’t know when you graduate from straddling him to grinding your hips against him, but you find that you are both very enthusiastic about it.
His enthusiasm, you find, takes the form of his very hard length pressing against your core through his jeans. There’s a steady buzz recapturing your brain and you can tell that he’s also getting mellower, but not any less excited.
Small grazes of his fingers and little bites at his sensitive skin elicit from the both of you an abnormal amount of noises, which you swallow every so often as your mouth finds his again. Its both languid and impatient when he finally reverse engineers the working of your pants to rid you of them to then push your panties to the side. Everything is so much, too much, not enough. You grind against each of his movements in search for more as he rubs eager circles against your clit.
He’s flushed red, staring at you like you’re a revelation, delighted to drink in each unabashed cry you give him when starts fucking you with his fingers.You could cry from the sensation alone, but you watch him, straining with want under you, and your hunger becomes a ravenous appetite.
“Need you inside me” you pant, as he stops in a short lived stupor, want glazing his eyes over before crashing into another desperate kiss as you help him pull down his jeans to free his cock. He pushes you down on your back as he crawls on top of you, eyes never leaving yours, as though he’s searching for something he keeps finding again and again in them. As he lines himself up with your entrance you stop him, wantonly gathering some of your own wetness to add to the precum already beading at his tip. The few strokes of your hand on it extracts a low drawl of expletives from him and you take this opportunity to push yourself on his glistening length, taking in the tip in your lack of patience. That prelude of a stretch alone has you dripping, somehow even more than usual, you note.
He braces his arms around your head and tentatively burrows himself further into you with a heavy sigh.
“you’re fucking killing me, bunny”
He says as one of your legs wraps around his back in an attempt to invite him to ruin you.
His pace is slow but each thrust is more intense than the last, hitting your walls at a deliciously cruel angle that has you clawing at his back and screaming his name in the middle of the empty house. You can barely make out the thankful thought that crosses your mind about the fact that he has no neighbours when you come.
“That’s it- ‘take me so well sweetheart”
You see white as he keeps fucking into you, threatening to over-stimulate you over the edge another time as he chases his release.
All you can feel is him, his warmth, the sounds of his skin slapping yours in an obscene noise every time he moves, his lips murmuring disjointed praise that get lost in the thick fog of pleasure enveloping you.
He’s faltering in his pace moments later, and you think that either the high has robbed him of his coordination or the stuttering of his hips means that he’s close to falling apart,too . Curiously, a part of you that does not care much for consequences selfishly wants him to spend himself inside you, so that in your exhausted daze, you can watch him drip from you as you catch your breaths.
You quickly chase away the reckless thought but make a mental note to come back to it later.
“Fuck, i’m close” he lets out in what would almost sound like a pained noise if it weren't for the blissed out expression painting his features.
Without a word, you guide your lips back to his and softly push your hips away to help his pull out, but capturing him between your thighs, letting the wetness of your pussy finish him off with the help of the thrust from your hips.
“Then come for me, Andy”
The words are all it takes to send him over the edge as he spills over your mound,crashing on top of you.
You stare at each other with an unspoken affection, a deep sense of endearment that was always there but never unveiled until now.
You look around to find that the sun has decided to keep setting, but despite your disappointment, you bask in its last rays.