Jasico One Shots-Songs

Nicotine By Panic! At The Disco

            I stared at the mirror for a few more seconds. The light blue skinny jeans and dark black muscle shirt contrasted but looked amazing. But I was still nervous. I took one last look before crossing my heart and praying I hoping this obsession would die.
          The lights were dim, the music was loud and there was smoke every where. I saw him sitting by himself, smoking a cigarette. Black hair, shorter than me, all black clothing that left little to the imagination, and smoky haze around him. I sauntered over to him and leaned on the table. 
           "Hey beautiful. Wanna dance?" The smoke burned my lungs as I breathed. He gave me the once over. I did the same and stared extra long at places where it was, ah, unneeded, you could say. He smirked and flicked his cigarette. Curse my eyes for loving to look.
            "Still coming back, huh?" Nico stood up and I admired him again. I love it when he wears the black leather.
           "You know I love it baby." I replied, stepping closer and running my hand over his chest.
           "Then let's dance." He grabbed my hand as we made our way to the dance floor. The smell of smoke was pouring off him in waves and I coughed. But I couldn't get enough of it.
          The dance floor became a tangle of bodies. We switched partners periodically and were always switching our spots. Arms waved and butts shook. Nico ground up again me, making me moan. I loved the feel of him body. I felt out of control as his hands ran all over me. But I didn't care. I didn't want control back. This made it better. I felt myself going numb along with my emotions. All that mattered was his hands, running over my chest, and his hips pressing into my ass as he held me from behind as we moved with the music.
            It all went away. I felt time dragging and myself dragging with it. The sensations were amazing but it was all so familiar. It was like Nico's cigarettes. Bringing you to life but killing you at the same time. 
           He kissed me. I could taste the smoke and his lips were chalky. I was always afraid I'd get addicted to cigarettes by kissing him. When he stopped I could still taste it. I could feel it on my lips, feel the cigarettes and feel the emptiness. 
           I couldn't get the taste off. I pushed Nico away and stumbled off the dance floor, drunk on alcohol and the music. I went to the bar and ordered another drink to try and get rid of the taste of his lips.
          I drank and drank and it went away. Damn him and his stupid lips. And the stupid, awful things he does. He makes me feel like I'm on cloud nine, but after the night's over he leaves.
           He showed up again, and drank with me. He lit another one of those cigarettes, puffing it in the air. I realized I shouldn't be scared of getting addicted to them, but it was him I should've worried about getting addicted to. And look where I am now. Addicted to Nico. He's worse than the nicotine filled paper. He's so much worse.
          But as he sat there, smoking his cancer stick, I realized its much better to just burn it all then to fade. I'd rather have the wild nights and take risks than to have no life and no stories. I'd rather have something to remember when you're old.
          I stared at him. He was so calm, so relaxed. I hated him for it. But I would never want someone else to be in my spot, observing his calmness. But maybe it's better if I just leave. I would never want to be replaced. Maybe that's what he's afraid of. He figures it's better to leave then to be replaced by someone else.
          He's staring at me. Talking.  But now he's silent, cause I'm not answering. Nico said something about catching up later. I'm loosing him. I'm not the right match. Hell, I'm NOT a match for his fucking cigarette. I'm not important anyways.
          I kissed him. Make him stay. Make him love me. I can taste the cigarettes, but I realize that it's part of him. I'll never be able to get rid of it. Of Nico. Damn his kiss, his lips. His awful attitude. I'm addicted to him.
          I'm addicted to him worse than if I was addicted to cigarettes. He's worse then nicotine. So much worse.
          But this is the last night. I swear. This is the last night I'm gonna see him. I looked over at Nico, dancing next to me. He was staring at me, eyes full of lust. But that's all it would ever be. He'll never love me. Never love me the way I love him.
          I lost myself in the grinding, in the feeling of him against me. Let's make this a good night.

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          Morning came with a headache and an empty bed. Like always, Nico was gone, leaving a mess of sheets and my aching heart. I remember bits of last night. I remember that it felt better than any of the times before. And I remember that it was supposed to be the last night.
          I groaned in frustration and grabbed my phone, opening it and going to my contact list. There was his name. 'Nico Di Fabulous;)' This is it. I'm cutting all ties to him. I'm gonna delete his info. out of my phone.
          But something makes me pause, makes my finger hover above the delete. Maybe is the fact that I can still taste him in my lips. Or maybe it's that I can still see where he was just while ago. Or maybe it's that I can still smell him, and the smoke of his cigarette. I can see him in my mind, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking a long drag from one of his fucking cancer sticks.
          The anger wants to make me delete him, but I realize I need Nico. I'm addicted to his smell, his cigarettes. I need it. I need it so bad.
          Nico's like the worse cigarette ever. Worse then the ones filled with nicotine. And instead of deleting his info, I called him. 
          "Hello?" He husks, his smoker voice raspy.
          "Nico?"
          "Jason? Wow. Calling back so soon?"
          "Hey, what can I say? You're worse then nicotine." I smiled as he laughed.