#jordon

Anthony had been raised to never smoke a cigarette. Not only was the cancer risk drilled into his brain harder than a square peg in a round hole, his parents had also told him that it was not proper nor becoming of a young man of his caliber. However, Anthony doubted his parents actually saw him as a young man of any caliber, instead of just a canvas to project their own desires for a child on.

If only they could see what he was doing now. He was certainly painting quite the picture.

Curtis took his pack of Mayfair out of his pocket, and with a quick movement he produced two cigarettes.

“Don’t know when you got a hunger for cigarettes, Ant.” Curtis said, his voice raspy and acrid. Clearly this wasn’t his first cigarette of the day.

“Dunno.” Anthony said, avoiding the Scouser’s gaze. “I got bored just watching you smoke.”

“Didn’t know you could get bored watching me.” Curtis said, smirking as he expertly lit the two cigarettes, both sticks in one hand and his pocket lighter in the other.

Anthony got up from his place sitting in the grass and looked left to right anxiously. Nobody was around. He didn’t know why he bothered checking, honestly. Nobody came to this part of the back of the school, especially not on a Saturday. He and Curtis had discovered this spot a year or two back, and now always used it as the venue for their secret rendezvous.

“Shut up.” He said jokingly, placing a quick peck on the Scouser’s lips, enjoying the feeling of the lad’s patchy stubble against Anthony’s own posh, soft baby skin.

“If you insist.” Curtis said, and handed Anthony one of the cigarettes. Anthony held it between his fingers. He looked down at it for a moment. It was surprisingly light for something whose effects were so heavy. The faint glow of the burning flame flickered in the windy evening. Anthony was suddenly reconsidering this.

“Starin’ at it ain’t gonna smoke it.” Curtis said, giving Anthony an eyebrow. Then, the Scouser took a drag, and Anthony watched him as he always did, this time a lot more closely as he aimed to copy him. He watched as Curtis forced the air into his body by subconsciously stopping himself from breathing through his nostrils. Watched as the smoldering cigarette butt glowed as the smoke traveled down his windpipe and settled in his lungs, his eyes raking over the slight movement of Curtis’ Adam’s apple. Then, he watched the Scouser exhale, as always respectfully blowing it to the sky away from Anthony’s face.

“Wow,” Curtis said, his voice appropriately a little more raspier, “You really do like watching me smoke.”

Anthony chuckled nervously at Curtis’ teasing, then he realized it was now or never. So he dove in, putting the cigarette in his mouth and inhaling, trying his best to shut his nostrils. Immediately he feels the burn of the foreign gas in his body. He already feels his systems working to reject it, and coughs bubble in his chest. He fights them down and forces himself to inhale it long enough to feel it scorch his lungs. It feels like his alveoli are all exploding, and he can only hope it doesn’t show on his face. When he can’t take it anymore, he exhales, and the gas is somehow worse coming up than it is down. He isn’t able to maintain composure anymore and he begins to cough, dropping his cigarette to the ground as he doubles over.

Curtis quickly galvanizes, stomping out the cigarette and rushing to Anthony, crouching and setting the boy down so he can sit on the grass. He pounds Anthony’s back to ease him.

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” Curtis soothed, rubbing his back now instead of smacking it. “Just get some fresh air.”

Anthony coughed for a few more seconds while the smoke properly expelled itself from his respiratory system. Curtis continued to soothe him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

When the coughing fit subsided, Curtis sat him up straight and looked directly at him.

“Are you mad?! Let me guess, you’ve never had a cigarette in your life. Or a joint. Or even a fucking vape.”

Anthony nodded glumly.

“You should’ve told me that. I would’ve told you how to take it easy. Held your nose for you. Something, anything. God, Ant, you thick fool.”

Anthony’s voice comes out raspy and muted, although he’s pretty sure that’s not only because of the cigarette. His head hurts and he’s not sure why Curtis is yelling at him. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“Just what?”

“I wanted to impress you, I wanted you to know I could be- could be hard like you.” Anthony hung his head in shame.

Curtis put a hand on his chin, lifting his head up. “The poshest, prettiest boy this side of Mersey wants to impress me. Might be the craziest thing I ever heard.”

Anthony laughed a little, which made him cough a bit more. “Stop being funny, it hurts.”

“You’re taking away my identity, that.” Curtis says, poking Anthony in his side, “telling me not to be funny.”

“Poor you, who would you be without that?” Anthony said, rolling his eyes.

“I’d still be your super leng boyfriend, so I’m good.” Curtis smirked. Then his face fell a little. “Sorry for yelling at you. You just scared me is all. Don’ know what I’d do if you got hurt, especially ‘cause of a cig I gave you.”

“I’m sorry, I just feel so soft whenever you’re smoking your cigs and I’m standing on the sidelines like a little kid.”

“Hey,” Curtis took Anthony’s hand in his. Anthony’s immediately struck by its roughness, Curtis’ palm, a mess of callouses, feeling foreign against the creamy soft texture of Anthony’s manicured hand. “I like you ‘cause you’re all proper and posh, don’t think you need to change anything about yourself for me, okay?”

Anthony blushed, he still got all red whenever Curtis said he liked him. “I…okay.”

Curtis smiled and the two shared a quick kiss.

Curtis leans away and effortlessly takes another drag of his cigarette, blowing the dry gas out of his mouth like a train smokestack. Anthony didn’t even realize he was still holding it, not to mention the fact his boyfriend’s cigarette was still lit.

“It’s impressive how you managed to keep it lit and intact this whole time.” Anthony said, flicking Curtis’ ear playfully.

“Because I’m addicted,” Curtis said dryly. “I can’t live without it.”

“Yeah, count me out of that drug addict life.” Anthony joked, and laid his head against Curtis’s shoulder, the two Mersey boys’ hands finding each other and interlocking on the cool evening grass. “But count me in to being part of yours.”

“Will do.” Curtis said, turning to Anthony and kissing his hair. Then he took another drag. “Maybe we can get you some wafer tubes and you can pretend it’s a cig.”

Anthony scoffed.

“What?” Curtis said, throwing his head back in laughter. “I’m just coming up with ideas you can actually handle, sweetheart.”

King Abdullah I of Jordan on Palestinian sale of land: “the Arabs are as prodigal in selling their land as they are in useless wailing and weeping” (Source: My memoirs complete by King Abdullah I, 1954)