God, getting his hands on Mountain’s better stash had been one of the best choices Swiss had ever made. Now it had taken some serious bribing to convince Pebble to tell him where it was, but he’d gotten there in the end after sacrificing a few snacks and fizzy drinks to the shortest of the Earth ghouls. The air in the bedroom still carries the sweet, pungent aroma of the premium weed they'd just finished smoking, mixing with the cool night breeze drifting through the open window.

Swiss could think of no one better to share in it with than you. You were as good a smoking buddy as they came, with the added perk of them deciding beforehand that they were both fine with things getting a little more heated. It wasn’t their first time, and it certainly wasn’t going to be their last. Your thigh presses against his, warm through the fabric of his pants, sending pleasant shivers up his spine despite the fog in his mind.

Right now though, the blunt had been finished, extinguished in the ashtray on his bedside table just a few moments before things had gotten a little touchier. He kept it there, along with a pack of cigarettes and his lighter glinting softly in the low light. For now though, the window was open, but the bedroom felt like it was on fire. Neither of you could be bothered with anything rough and tumble, both riding that wonderful brain fog gathering in your temples that makes every touch feel amplified.

Your lips clash lazily, no hurry in the world as Swiss’ forked tongue snakes out each time to tease your bottom lip, urging for more. The taste of him is uniquely his—something smoky and sweet that makes you want to deepen the kiss further. There was no point in having you borderline humping his thigh if he made no move to get his clothes off, after all. “Arms,” he requests once he’d unbuttoned his own shirt, his voice lower and slightly rough from the smoke. He pauses, golden eyes studying your face in the dim light before clarifying, “Lift them up a bit.”