stone supremacy

Stone flicked the wheel of his lighter, cursing as it sparked but never caught. "Piece of shit," he murmured, the joint sticking to the edges of lips while he spoke.

Of all times...

The pad of his thumb ground against the small metal wheel, the skin already rough from the countless times he'd done this.

Click. Click. Click.

Until finally, the damned flame sparked to life. "Thank fuck," he muttered, uncharacteristically gentle as he cradled its warmth and brought the lighter up to his lips. The pearly paper caught and burned before ebbing into a low simmer. Finally getting what he had wanted since this whole 'operation' had started:

A fucking smoke.

He set the lighter down on the armrest, leaning back into the loveseat he had taken up residence on. Sinking into the old cushions as if he hadn't a worry in the world.

Stone finally closed his lips around the filter, breathing in low and deep, allowing the sugary sweet smoke to skim across his tastebuds and fill his lungs.

"Fucking hell-!"

Stone suddenly pitched forward, the burn of the smoke forcing him to expel a series of almost violent coughs and wheezes.

From where you sat, your eyes flickered up with a glint of discontent, watching as smoke began to pool around him in a thin fog.

The mission-the one you were both supposed to be doing-was to track and report on the small cafe across the street. Noting who came and went through its doors, and more importantly, waiting for your target to show up.

And yet, despite your protests, Stone had still managed to conjure up a blunt to smoke.

You didn't even need to say it. Stone could already feel the contempt rolling off you in waves as he cleared his burning throat, still snickering and coughing until he relaxed back into the loveseat with a soft thump.

"Didn't expect this shit to be so bloody sweet," he explained with a raw tone, pointing with the end of the joint as if to prove a point.

Wasn't sure what kind of weed he bought-didn't care either-but he wasn't expecting the smoke to taste like maple sugar and vanilla. Sweet wasn't his thing.

It didn't matter though, because just as quickly, Stone was bringing it back up to his lips, taking another long drag and letting it sit like cotton candy in his lungs. The second hit becoming easier.

He breathed out deep and smooth this time, the light grey smoke billowing out in soft plumes in the space between you two.

He sat back, utterly relaxed as he watched the smoky tendrils lick and curl upwards towards the ceiling in an intricate, formless dance.

For a few minutes, his slowly reddening eyes dilated and zoned in on the sight... before his eyes focused in on your form from beyond the thin veil of smoke.

Your head was already turned to the book perched in your hand, eyes always flickering to the side to watch and lookout for the target. Probably pissed that he took his 'break' to smoke...

You both knew he wouldn't be able to swap out and take watch for a while. Not while he was high.

"You're a bloody buzzkill, ya know that?" he piped up with a grin.

When you didn't respond, he didn't push it. No point in poking for a fight when all he wanted to do was sit back and enjoy the quiet; Now that he had time to smoke his weed 'n all.

Stone let his head loll against the cushion of the chair, angling his blue eyes upwards. Both of his arms were now slouched up on the armrests, his legs spread wide and comfortably.

A lesser man would've fallen asleep right then and there.

He pulled the joint from his lips, tapping the ash onto the motel carpet.

The initial burn of the blunt had rubbed his lungs raw. The feeling akin to breathing in a fine, powdered glass. But slowly the elegant pain wore off and filled itself in with a syrupy feeling that warmed his chest and spread out towards his fingers and toes.

Every nerve in his body begun vibrating and buzzing pleasantly. The high wrapped around his ribcage like an angels wings and staying there. Light and feathery.

Stone had to fight the urge to chuckle at the feeling. Like his body wasn't made of lead anymore... but rather: replaced by a soft cloud.

The room now smelled acutely like a carnival; Candy apples on a hot day, the smell of cotton candy and popcorn.

He licked his dry lips, remembering to reach up a heavy hand and pull his balaclava back down. The silence in the room stretching on.

He heard the sound of you flipping a page in your book, and suddenly propped his head up. Not particularly fast, but the movement made his vision swim and stretch. Trying to blink into focus.

For one reason or another, Stone seemed completely captured by your presence. His blue eyes couldn't let go. Watching as the dappled sunlight filtered through the window next to you, highlighting the supple curve of your cheek and lips.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath.

The masked man nearly jolted at the sudden perverse grumble that slipped from his lips... so profoundly surprised by the sound that his eyes widened slightly.

Where the fuck did that come from?

For a moment, he'd worried you'd heard the odd sound... but you didn't seem to notice. Thank fuck-... but... not being caught right away made the thoughts come flooding back just as quickly.

Your lips, your hair, the curve of your neck and throat.

His eyes kept drinking you in, roaming down your body with a soft hot desire. The buzz in his veins only making the situation worse for him.

The blunt was making him really fucking horny, filling his head with heady images and fantasies of what he'd like to do to you should he be given the chance.

Kiss your lips swollen, bite them until they were raw and you whimpered into his mouth. To tangle his hands in your hair and tug at your scalp. Wrap a hand around that throat of yours and just-bite or suck or squeeze a bit-

"Fuck" he muttered again, realizing he was sinking further and faster into the deep end. Getting worked up for... 'no reason'?

Stone pried his eyes away, trying to loll his head back again and focus on the bland popcorn ceiling above...

But he was getting fidgety, his leg bouncing softly as he tried to think of literally anything else-but all he could think of was fucking you.

The seat of his pants began to tighten, cock swelling beneath the denim at the mere thought of being buried in your heat.

He tried to hide his erection subtly, placing his free hand on his lap and covering it some.

Couldn't just take a smoke and relax, could he? Of course, the sweet blunt and smoke swirling in his head had to make him horny.

He tried to curse the feeling, but couldn't find a real push to do so... His body felt too good. Too alive.

So, he lifted his head again, stealing another glance at you.

Its not like you were doing much. Just sitting, chin in palm and reading. Eyes darting off to the side to watch the cafe... too wrapped up to notice he was painfully hard and fantasizing about you sitting in his lap instead.

Straddling him, wrapping those legs around his and seated on his thighs like you belonged there.

He shuddered involuntary at the thought, wishing and hoping you'd sit all your weight on him right about now.

He'd wrap his arm around your waist and pull you down onto his lap. Grind your hips against his in a way that spoke of a primal, instinctual need that was building inside of him. To cradle the back of your head and card his fingers through your hair. Hold your face so close to his that your noses would brush. Your soft looking lips skimming over his teasingly. He'd take a drag of his blunt, reveling in its sugary sweet tang before he pulled you close, waiting for you to part your lips so that he could kiss you. To breathe the warm smoke into your lungs, to feel you breathe him in like you needed him just as badly as he needed you.

To share a smoky breath like it was both your first and last.

Stone let out a shaky breath, panting softly as white-hot desire wracked through his body. His eyes were red around the edges now, blue eyes blown wide with a mix of THC and lust.