you met him under the hum of neon and summer air, his accent heavy, his laugh heavier. he’d been leaning against that old truck like he was born to, a cigarette already lit between his fingers. he offered you the next one like it meant something more than smoke, like sharing a drag was a promise neither of you planned to keep.
the night stretched long and reckless. country roads turned into backroads, windows down, smoke curling out into the dark. the radio played low, a song older than either of you wanted to admit, while his hand brushed yours every time he shifted gears.
a beer bottle doubling as an ashtray sat in the console, the bitter scent mixing with nicotine and night air. and when he finally cut the headlights, pulling off into the trees, the moon spilled silver across the truck bed.
you climbed in beside him, laughter still caught in your throat, and he followed with a grin sharp enough to make your chest ache. clothes came off in slow layers, not all of them, not everything but just enough to feel like sin, just enough to make your pulse stumble when his rough hands found your skin.
he said your name like he’d known it forever. like he’d been waiting for the chance to let it fall from his lips.
i don’t usually do this.
me neither.
but both of you were lying, and both of you knew it. so you let the lie burn between you, cigarette after cigarette, as if the pack could hold the night together, as if the smoke could keep the dawn away.
by the time it was down to one, the air was heavy. thick with smoke and heat and something heavier, something you didn’t dare name. you lit it anyway. you shared it, your shoulders pressed together, his voice low and rasping in your ear as you both blew the last of the night into the sky.
and just like that, she was gone.
and just like that, he was alone.
one hell of a night. one hell of a pack.
—
taglist @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @beausling @bruisedfig @pieandflannel @deanswidow