I Get High
May. 24th, 2015 07:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ahopper84Title: I Get High
Rating: PG-13? R?
Warnings: drug use (marijuana), implied (emotional) slash... sorta
Summary: Carrick and Zac get high... maybe a little too high. It's not the first time.
Carrick
He’s gone and smoked himself stupid again. I laugh when I look at him, and he pouts. He nudges my arm out of the way and stretches out, head in my lap, then pulls my arm over him like a blanket. I’d tell him how adorable he is, and he’d think I was teasing him, but he really is. He shifts, turns on his side, brushes his nose against my stomach. I try not to laugh, but it tickles. I look down; his eyes are shut, but he’s got that damn smirk. I pinch his side and he giggles, looking up at me.
He tells me he loves me. I roll my eyes and tell him he’s stoned. He shrugs, says it doesn’t make it not true. I tell him to prove it; I don’t expect him to. He stares at me for a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes; he’s not the only high one.
This is the part where he laughs, and I laugh, and we both pretend to move on. It happens all the time. But this time he doesn’t laugh, and neither do I.
He reaches up and touches my cheek; his hand is warm, almost hot even, but it still makes me shiver. This is new. We joke around, but that’s as far as it goes. We never follow through, never find out how much is the weed talking, and how much is real. maybe he’s sick of wondering. maybe I am, too.
He pulls me down and tries to kiss me; it’s awkward for me to bend over like this, and he almost falls off the couch. We laugh, not because it’s funny, although it is, but more to break the tension, like letting off steam. A second goes by, and then another, and then I don’t know how many more.
He doesn’t say anything; neither do I. I don’t know if he looks at me, because I don’t look at him. If that makes me chicken-shit, then I guess I am. That one little mishap, that ten second pause, was enough for the high to wear off and for our brains to start working again. Whatever window of opportunity we had is gone; maybe for tonight, maybe for good.
He says he’s going to bed; I nod and give a half-assed wave that he might not even look up to see. I hear the door open, then close. I lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling; I wish I could see the stars. Not that they have any answers, and not that I’d even have the balls to ask any questions.
I wonder what will happen tomorrow; I remember wondering the same thing the morning after he first said he loved me. Turns out, nothing… except he said it again the next night, and the night after that. Took me a few nights to tell him to prove it; I wondered what would happen then, too. So maybe this will become the new routine. I think I could get used to this.
And then… who knows.
Rating: PG-13? R?
Warnings: drug use (marijuana), implied (emotional) slash... sorta
Summary: Carrick and Zac get high... maybe a little too high. It's not the first time.
Carrick
He’s gone and smoked himself stupid again. I laugh when I look at him, and he pouts. He nudges my arm out of the way and stretches out, head in my lap, then pulls my arm over him like a blanket. I’d tell him how adorable he is, and he’d think I was teasing him, but he really is. He shifts, turns on his side, brushes his nose against my stomach. I try not to laugh, but it tickles. I look down; his eyes are shut, but he’s got that damn smirk. I pinch his side and he giggles, looking up at me.
He tells me he loves me. I roll my eyes and tell him he’s stoned. He shrugs, says it doesn’t make it not true. I tell him to prove it; I don’t expect him to. He stares at me for a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes; he’s not the only high one.
This is the part where he laughs, and I laugh, and we both pretend to move on. It happens all the time. But this time he doesn’t laugh, and neither do I.
He reaches up and touches my cheek; his hand is warm, almost hot even, but it still makes me shiver. This is new. We joke around, but that’s as far as it goes. We never follow through, never find out how much is the weed talking, and how much is real. maybe he’s sick of wondering. maybe I am, too.
He pulls me down and tries to kiss me; it’s awkward for me to bend over like this, and he almost falls off the couch. We laugh, not because it’s funny, although it is, but more to break the tension, like letting off steam. A second goes by, and then another, and then I don’t know how many more.
He doesn’t say anything; neither do I. I don’t know if he looks at me, because I don’t look at him. If that makes me chicken-shit, then I guess I am. That one little mishap, that ten second pause, was enough for the high to wear off and for our brains to start working again. Whatever window of opportunity we had is gone; maybe for tonight, maybe for good.
He says he’s going to bed; I nod and give a half-assed wave that he might not even look up to see. I hear the door open, then close. I lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling; I wish I could see the stars. Not that they have any answers, and not that I’d even have the balls to ask any questions.
I wonder what will happen tomorrow; I remember wondering the same thing the morning after he first said he loved me. Turns out, nothing… except he said it again the next night, and the night after that. Took me a few nights to tell him to prove it; I wondered what would happen then, too. So maybe this will become the new routine. I think I could get used to this.
And then… who knows.
