Slow kiss, whatever pairing you want! — wiz
Oscar giggles, thready and high, and leans into Lando’s space to grab the joint back from his hands. He takes a breath to steady himself first, pull it together so he won’t choke on the inhale and embarrass himself, and settles into his spot, twisting to sit sideways.
Lando lowers his hand and sinks back into the couch they’re sharing. Oscar can’t look away, stuck on the spread of Lando’s fingers across the pristine fabric. He’s drawing designs in the fuzz with his index finger, everything else held stationary, like the only tendons connected to his brain are concentrated there.
Lando pokes Oscar’s side.
“D’you forget how to smoke?”
His voice is slurred, low and slow. Oscar drags his eyes back up to Lando’s face.
“Noooooo,” Oscar draws it out, reveling in the shape of his mouth around the letters.
He forces his limbs to cooperate. Draws his hand up, and pauses, thoughts loading in from far away.
“You ever-“
He stops.
Lando blinks, lids slow to lower and even slower to raise.
“Yeah?”
It’s more an exhale than a word, but Oscar sees the green light that it is.
“Y’ever shotgun?”
Lando’s finger pauses, halfway through writing Oscar’s name in the cushion. His nose scrunches up. Oscar wants to lick it.
“Fuckin’- what?”
“When you, like,” Oscar takes a hit, sits with it in his lungs for a moment. “And then you, y’know. Blow it in somebody’s mouth.”
Smoke escapes as he speaks, words made hazy and real.
Lando shifts forward, back into his usual state of perpetual motion.
“You mean blowbacks?“
“What the fuck. You just made that up.”
Lando twists to face him, faster than his eyes can track.
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yeah-huh!”
Lando rolls his eyes, giving in. Shocker, honestly. Oscar’d expected them to go on forever. The silence sits on his limbs like a weighted blanket.
Lando clears his throat.
“Nah.”
“Huh?”
Oscar’s head is heavy. He lets it slide to the side, leans his shoulder further into the couch.
“Never-“ Lando pauses, clearly searching for words. Oscar’s more interested in finding out what the sheen of sweat on Lando’s collarbone tastes like than predicting what he’s trying to say next. “Shotgunned, or whatever.”
Oscar stops calculating how weird it would be to lean over and lick Lando.
“You- never?”
“No?”
Lando sounds confused. Bemused, maybe.
Oscar hums. He wiggles his toes, testing his control of his limbs. Looks at the joint, cherry burning up, getting hot in his fingers, and makes a decision.
“Hold still.”
“Wha-“
Oscar swings his leg over Lando’s lap, faster than he thought he was capable of, and drags the rest of his body into center.
“Wanna try?”
Lando swallows and nods, head tipping back to keep Oscar in sight.
The joint’s nearly burnt down. Oscar shakes off a pang of guilt at the waste, and takes a hit, inhaling deep, making his chest tight with it.
He weaves a hand into the crown of Lando’s hair, and tugs until his mouth drops open.
Oscar leans in close, close enough for Lando’s breath to be a gentle puff against his skin, just far enough not to touch, and closes his eyes.
He exhales. Lando inhales, audibly shaky, and Oscar opens his eyes to meet Lando’s, pupils blown wide. Oscar’s skin feels lit up, electricity arcing across the paper-thin distance between their lips.
“Again?” Lando croaks. He’s looking up at Oscar like he wants to eat him. Or be eaten by him. Oscar can’t tell.
Oscar takes a quick glance at the joint and nods. He takes one final hit, a too-large inhale, and leans back to put the roach in the tray on the coffee table.
The air feels like molasses around him. Syrupy, thick and sweet. Just a little too warm to be comfortable.
Sweat prickles at the backs of his knees where they’re bent.
Oscar looks down at Lando, mouth ajar and eyes half-lidded, and feels like he’s swallowed the sun.
He leans in again, and exhales into Lando’s waiting mouth. Eyes wide open to watch him inhale and hold it.
Lando’s exhale lights Oscar up, like he’s blown on the embers in the pit of his stomach to start a bonfire instead of into his face.
Oscar closes the distance, suddenly desperate to touch, and kisses Lando.
Lando inhales sharply and wraps his arms around Oscar’s waist to pull him closer, hands hot like a brand even through Oscar’s shirt.
Oscar slides his tongue into Lando’s mouth, mapping all the places his breath has been that he hasn’t, and slows. The desperation cools, replaced with low-burning need, both too high for finesse or speed.
The world outside of Lando’s body below him and mouth on his disappears, narrowed down to nothing more than wet heat and the press of fabric against his knees.
It’s sloppy; lazily licking into each others’ mouths, breathing against each other.
Oscar could spend hours like this.
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