He lays upon his stomach, overwhelmed by mounds of pillows & duvets as the artist basks in the afterglow of their love whilst Brody had retreated to the balcony to sate his appetite elsewhere. So he counts the billows of smoke that plume from lips into the night sky with every inhale against the stick between fingers; watching the clouds mingle in the brisk air. An arm that hangs off the side of the beg beckons his lover back inside. “Mon amour… It’s cold. Come back to bed. I miss you again…”
→ ☾ When he was young such things as sex were not discouraged to be talked about. Not in a wolf pack where nearly everyone could tell when you had it. And so Brody wasn’t sure when he’d picked it up, maybe in high school, but it was his human father’s habit, a smoke after sex with the alpha. It was like an addiction, sate such a beautiful thing with a drag of poison. Maybe it was a pain and pleasure sort of thing.
The first cigarette that Brody had ever smoked had been given to him by his father. A kind man, overly kind, who liked to wake up early in the morning and bake breakfast muffins. Alpha cooked actual food, and his dad made muffins. It was always a messy affair. Then again, everything in their house had been messy, even clean up.
So nowadays, smoking after sex felt natural, like an addiction, like a homage to the memory of his father after Brody woke up at the smell of smoke. It was a weird comfort, the idea of your parents having sex, all thought most people find the thought disgusting, because for Brody it meant that his parents loved each other. They loved each other until they died.
And that is how Brody plans to love Mae. That and this smoke was a great time for him to just sit and think–think about anything, everything, and nothing all at once. To think about the way his father looked, a scruffy beard of his own, only red headed. Tall as a tree, and just as built. Smelling of gasoline and motorcycle smoke.
He is shaken from his thoughts when Mae calls for him, and he kills the cigarette on the wooden railing, a burn spot chipped into the white wood. “I’m coming.” He says, standing up and leaving the window open, just to air himself out before returning to Mae’s side, smelling of smoke and worrying about Mae’s asthma. “You sure I’m okay to come back yet?” He asks, not wanting to set him off.
He nearly quit smoking when he figured out Mae had asthma, just nearly, but Mae hadn’t asked him too. Maybe that wasn’t the point. He should be willing to without asking. But giving up smoking now felt like giving up a piece of his childhood. And that he definitely wasn’t ready for.
So he waits a couple more minutes before closing the window and making sure the balcony doors are sealed shut before coming back to bed, wrapping his arms around Mae smelling of the cold and cigarette smoke. “Hi, I love you.” He whispers softly into Mae’s ear and listens to the sounds of his love falling asleep. ☽ ←
