Lit Cigarettes || Angst/BxB Shots

• I'll Be Here In The Morning •

Content warnings - Shitty writing with a shitty ending

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  Dorian Cooper's head was blindingly hazy. He could remember the blurry lights, and the fuzzy thoughts that had started to collide just behind those auburn eyes, eating away at the guilt in his heart every time his fingers touched his face, lips greedily collecting the smeared taste of saliva mixing with vodka. He was almost drowning in the pride that bubbled in his chest with each of the other's whimpers he drank down, catching the noises with a kind of desperation he didn't know was in him. He was fully aware of the door that blocked both of them from backing up anymore.

  Orion Sloan's head was painfully clear. He remembered the multicolored lights that danced on Dorian's dark complexion, making him look absolutely ethereal. The way it sparked in his dark eyes hidden under his long lashes. He remembered the way that dumb makeup enhanced those damn eyes in that damn lighting, making it impossible for him to look away when he grabbed his face and pulled him closer to his lanky torso. He also remembered the fear that filled his chest when he tasted Dorian's favorite peach vodka.

  Dorian's fingers tangled into Orion's hair, tugging roughly just to drag out another mewl from the latter. He took a deep, shaking breath, his chest burning from the lack of oxygen, and he swore to god he was addicted. His shirt was fisted in a handful, a weak, trembling voice whispering to him, "Dorian, slow down..."

  He took a breath, softening the kiss with uncanny mercy, murmuring, "If you're scared, we don't have to do this. We can forget it ever happened, Orion."

Orion didn't respond. He just gripped Dorian tighter, his chest rising and falling quicker than before.

  They were both scared, but Dorian didn't want to acknowledge that.

  Orion was a drug. He was an addiction that Dorian wanted to continue to fuel every single day. Whether it was smelling the shitty cologne of weed, cigarettes and cheap beer, or it was the feeling of Orion's shitty dyed hair between his fingers. Or it was the feeling of Orion's head pressed hidden in his chest when they hugged and the feeling of his heart gently pounding against his rib cage, their breath syncing together after only a few seconds. It could've started when those sleepless nights were spent breathlessly whispering a name he longed to taste, into absolute nothingness. Into the darkness of an empty room, his skin uneasy and desperate for a touch other than his own fingers.

  So of course now that he had Orion, he never wanted to lose it.

  He never wanted to lose the cure for loneliness.

  He didn't want to lose his own cure for it.  A cure nobody else could have because it was his and only his. His and his alone. Nobody else could get their filthy, unwashed hands on such a pure prescription like Orion. The only prescription that worked for Dorian.

  Begrudgingly, Dorian broke from Orion when he could feel his hands tightening around his bicep, allowing him the brilliant gift of air. He was shocked to find Orion looking up at him looked at him with those fragile eyes, his head leaned back against the door. His chest was rising heavily, and Dorian took a second to really look at him.

  His glasses were reflecting the poor lighting from the orange lamp in the corner of Dorian's bedroom, green eyes twinkling with life. They looked like stars, the little spindles of hazel and specs of yellow that were scattered throughout shades of blues and greens could easily serve as a distraction for addicts. His hair matched his eyes for the most part, an underlying hint of blue. Dorian remembered when the two of them had dyed it in the bathroom of his dad's apartment before everything had gone to shit.