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Chenle’s thoughts are heavy in his skull. Thick and dripping, molasses-slow. He blinks once, twice, and he swears he feels the inside of his lids graze the surface of his eyeballs. When Chenle finally opens his eyes, the room around him is still spinning in a topsy-turvy, dreamlike haze.
Chenle is aware of every individual place where his clothes touch his skin. The brush of the tag along the hairs on the back of his neck, the bristle of the waistband of his sweats against his stomach. Even his hands feel strange resting at his sides, like they aren’t quite attached to his body. Chenle closes his fingers into a fist, then looks down. 1-2-3-4-5, he counts in his head, then unclenches his fist in relief now that all his fingers are accounted for.
Suddenly, Chenle is jolted back to reality by a voice in front of him. “What did you say?” Jisung asks.
Chenle shakes his head, too late. He realizes he must have been counting out loud. Hopefully he didn’t say anything else super embarrassing. He can’t really remember, which he blames on the edible Jisung offered him the second he got to his room. Chenle just hopes he isn’t making a total idiot of himself in front of Jisung. That would be a real bummer, especially since Jisung is so chill and so cool and like, really tall, and it was so nice of him to invite Chenle up to his dorm room on the fourth floor just so Chenle could smoke with him. And he lives in a rare single room on the far end of the hallway, which makes it really easy to get away with smoking in here. Chenle can’t believe his luck.
Another really cool thing about Jisung is how great his taste in room decor is. He has one of those trippy, tie-dye tapestries above his bed that he probably bought at a real, live smoke shop or like, maybe even a thrift store. His music taste is also, like, really neat. He loves all those older indie artists that Chenle had never heard of before meeting him, like Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix and even Nirvana! Chenle seriously thought that was just a t-shirt brand!
Jisung also has the coolest smoke setup, most of which is currently laid out on the dubiously-crusty shag rug on the ground. There’s weed, of course. Chenle can make out nug-after-nug stored in a translucent orange pill bottle. Next to the weed is a small bong–-the kind with the multicolored, swirly blown glass-–an assortment of brightly-colored lighters, a grinder, rolling papers–-the brown, natural kind because of course Jisung cares what he puts into his body–-and some sort of brownish thread that Jisung is currently unwinding from its spool.
“Oh, sorry, um. I said, uh, what’s that?” Chenle splutters, thinking fast, lest Jisung realize he’s actually kind of uncool and decide never to invite him back to his really awesome man-cave. He points toward the thread, and Jisung smiles. To Chenle’s stoned brain, it feels like maybe Jisung is looking into his eyes for way too long, and eventually Chenle has to glance at the floor because he’s starting to get that anxious, pounding feeling in his chest that he sometimes gets when he’s high or, like, spends too much time with Jisung.
Jisung brings the joint to his mouth and holds it between his teeth. “Rearry? You’be ne’er used hemph wick?” Nervously, Chenle shakes his head. He hopes Jisung doesn't get the impression he’s some total smoking noob. Because he’s not. Chenle’s smoked a doobie or two in his lifetime. Exactly two, thank-you-very-much. And he only coughed, like, five times after inhaling. Plus, he owns a lot of Huf merch. He’s basically a bona fide stoner at this point.
Jisung, though, just grins around his unlit joint. Chenle watches in stunned silence at how the plush, reddish skin of Jisung’s lips spreads around the filter in the dim light emanating from the lava lamp. His cheeks are dimpled and his eyes are cute and puffy, and maybe something swoops in the pit of Chenle’s stomach at the sight. “Leb’me show you,” Jisung mutters around the joint, as he grabs a lighter. Chenle’s eyes track the movement. He watches the slow flex of the muscles in Jisung’s strong hand; watches how with his long, slender fingers he flicks on the lighter and holds it to the end of the wick, lighting it. His eyes are focused and intense, like a man totally in his element.
Jisung brings the wick to the end of the joint, and slowly the joint catches fire and starts to burn. Jisung closes his eyes. His long, thick lashes graze the spaces below his eyes. It’s kinda pretty, Chenle’s hazy mind thinks. Then, Jisung hollows his cheeks and sucks in the smoke from the joint. He breathes in for a moment and holds it, then slowly releases the puff of smoke. His eyes flicker back open. He looks so, so chill. Swollen, red eyes, blown pupils, and all.
“The hemp is so I don’t inhale butane from the lighter,” Jisung says, imparting his sagely wisdom upon one lowly Chenle Zhong. “It’s better for your lungs. And living longer means I get to smoke weed longer, right? Haha.”
Chenle admires Jisung’s commitment to both pot-smoking and caring for his body. He really has considered everything. Chenle can’t believe he was stupid enough to inhale butane both times he smoked weed. His lungs are probably shriveling.
Jisung plucks the joint from between his lips and starts to pass it over to Chenle. Chenle feels like his hand moves in slow motion, inching toward him at a sticky, snail’s pace. Maybe it’s just the edible talking, but Chenle can literally see every subtle twitch of Jisung’s hand, every shift in the bulging veins and movement of his long, slender fingers. “D’you wanna hit this?” Jisung asks, and his voice comes out really slow and kinda deep and gravelly. Smoking sure is sexy, Chenle thinks, belatedly hoping he didn’t also say that out loud.
By the time Chenle’s brain catches up with him, he’s sucking in the harsh, ashen flavor of the joint. It seers in his throat, but it doesn’t feel entirely unpleasant. He blows out and immediately begins coughing. He feels Jisung pat him on the back. “Easy there, tiger,” Jisung says. He’s smiling sweetly at Chenle, and Chenle feels some weird, constricting sensation in his chest, somehow more foreign than the feeling of the smoke filling his lungs. Chenle doesn’t even remember Jisung taking the joint from his hand, but suddenly Jisung is taking another, slow drag off it. He looks all casual and suave and, like, really good at smoking. Chenle’s heart skips a beat.
Jisung’s tolerance must be way higher than Chenle’s, because he’s chatting away all normally about stuff like college classes and how he maybe wants to start a band or like, become a DJ or something, and it takes what might be hours or what might only be a few minutes for Chenle to realize he’s been staring at Jisung the whole time without saying a word.
“What’re you thinking about?” Jisung asks, as the last of the joint burns between his really nice-looking fingers and a final smoke cloud wafts around his square jaw, his full lips, his wide eyes.
Chenle swallows, but it’s too dry. He launches into yet another coughing fit, and then Jisung is patting him on the back again, all reassuring and soft, kind of like how someone might burp a baby. Jisung withdraws his hand, but he continues to stare at Chenle with a focused, almost amused look on his face. “You keep staring at my hands. And my mouth,” he says finally, and Chenle freezes like a very stoned deer in some very bright, Jisung-shaped headlights.
If Chenle was more sober, his brain would be kicking into overdrive right about now. Maybe he would have had a fighting chance at thinking of some quick excuse, or even just apologizing. As things are, though, with Chenle’s whole body sinking into the plush carpet and with his head feeling pleasantly fuzzy, all he manages to muster is a feeble, “Yeah.”
Jisung turns toward Chenle, shifting his body a little until he’s seated between Chenle’s pretzeled legs. The smirk on his face as he deliberately brings the last of the joint to his mouth is unmistakable. Chenle tracks the slow movement with his eyes, and suddenly, he’s filled with some confounding desire to rub his hands up the side of Jisung’s arm where the veins are clearly visible, mapping them with the pads of his fingers and feeling the way his soft, fine arm hair parts for him. Before Chenle has the chance to make any rash decisions, though, Jisung takes his thumb and brings it to Chenle’s lower lip. “Open up,” he mumbles in that gravelly, baritone voice. Then, his cheeks hollow around the joint one, final time, and next thing Chenle knows, Jisung is leaning into his face, closing the distance between them, and breathing smoke directly into Chenle’s willing mouth.
Luckily, Chenle doesn’t choke this time. He feels the hot smoke fill his lungs, but he continues sucking in until he’s breathed in every last bit of smoke Jisung gave him. And then, before he even has a chance to exhale, before he even has a chance to think, Jisung’s mouth is against his. His hand is on the edge of Chenle’s jaw, roaming down his neck, tracing the place where the stretched-out collar of his t-shirt hangs off his chest.
“'Wanted this for so long,” Jisung mumbles, right into Chenle’s mouth. Smoke is escaping from between Chenle’s lips, drifting right into Jisung’s; an infernal feedback loop of smoke and hazy, late-night decisions. Jisung kisses like a man possessed. He’s forceful with the way he smashes his lips against Chenle’s, like he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. Jisung uses his giant hand to tilt Chenle’s head back, before sticking his tongue directly between Chenle’s slack, parted lips and lapping wetly at Chenle’s spit. Chenle’s stoned brain feels like Jisung is mapping his oral cavity with his tongue. It’s so messy, all spit and no technique, but the confidence with which Jisung kisses him has Chenle throbbing in his pants in mere seconds flat.
After what feels like an eternity but is probably only a few minutes, Jisung starts to pull back. There’s a trail of spit connecting their mouths, and Jisung has at least enough shame left to look a little embarrassed by it. As Chenle’s eyes refocus in the dim light, there are a few things he immediately notices. First, Jisung looks very, very high now. As high as Chenle feels. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and his pupils are saucers. His lips are glossy and swollen from making out. Then, Chenle notices the clear bulge in Jisung’s pants. His gray sweatpants leave little to the imagination. Chenle might be stoned, but he still has enough brain function left to know what he wants, and right now, what he wants is Jisung.
“Jisung,” Chenle mutters. He reaches his hands out, but already Jisung is sliding back on his knees and reaching for the waist of Chenle’s sweats. Chenle’s hands end up finding Jisung’s hair, just as Jisung pulls Chenle’s pants and underwear down enough to free his leaking dick. Jisung practically moans when Chenle accidentally pulls at his hair.
“Shit, sorry,” Chenle mumbles, but Jisung shakes his head.
“It’s ok, I like it,” Jisung says, and even in the pink of the lava lamp light, Chenle can still make out the blush coloring Jisung’s cheeks. It’s the first real sign Chenle has seen all night that maybe Jisung is feeling any of the nerves that are running through Chenle like wildfire. Jisung tips his head forward, and it causes the soft skin of his lips to just brush the sensitive head of Chenle’s cock.
Holy shit, this is really happening, Chenle thinks, but then Jisung replies, “Yeah, it really is,” and Chenle wants to curl in on himself in embarrassment again. Someday he’ll learn to hold his weed better and keep his wandering thoughts to himself. Before he has a chance to really start stressing about it, though, Jisung is parting his lips, and then suddenly, they’re fixed around the tip of Chenle’s cock.
“Fuck, fuckkkk,” Chenle moans as arousal courses through his body. Jisung has only just taken the head in his mouth, but already this is the best blowjob Chenle has ever received. Not that he’s gotten a lot–-and usually he blows his load too fast to really savor them–-but undoubtedly, this one tops the list. Maybe it’s the weed, but when Jisung finally takes another couple of inches into his mouth, Chenle swears he feels it in his toes. He’s definitely still going to blow his load in seconds.
“Jisung, uh—” Chenle tries to warn, but now Jisung is bobbing his head in earnest and doing something with his tongue that feels like he’s trying to trace the vein on the underside of Chenle's cock. Every little touch, from the velvety-soft heat to the slobbery, sopping wetness, feels unlike anything Chenle has ever experienced. Chenle knows he’s an absolute goner.
The real nail in Chenle’s horny coffin is when Jisung’s eyes flutter open. His eyes look all wide and glossy, like he’s intentionally trying to look innocent, despite the sight of Chenle’s admittedly kind of fat cock stretching his lips obscenely wide. “Ji-Jisung,” Chenle moans as he tugs on Jisung’s hair, hard. Jisung pulls back just in time, and somehow Chenle manages to keep his eyes open just enough to see rope after rope of his own cum splattering Jisung’s lips, his nose, even an eyelid. When it feels like Chenle can’t possibly come any more, Jisung takes the head of his cock into his mouth again and suckles on it. Chenle feels his dick squirt out another pathetic ribbon of cum, and he watches as Jisung’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows it down. Chenle hopes it tastes alright, despite his diet of dorm food and hot Cheetos and Mountain Dew that are probably not working in his favor.
If Chenle was tongue-tied before, he’s dead-silent now, all fuzzy and boneless and spent. That’s why he almost misses the frantic movement of Jisung’s hand where it’s shoved down the front of his own pants. “Oh, ohhhh,” Jisung groans, his voice even hotter and raspier than before, and then Chenle notices a new, conspicuous dark patch form in the front of Jisung’s sweatpants.
Finally, Jisung flops forward limply, his head landing on Chenle’s lap. “Wow that was…”
“Yeah.”
Jisung nuzzles his face into the soft fabric of Chenle’s pants. Somehow, Chenle’s hand finds Jisung’s hair again. He runs his fingers through the strands, stroking gently. They both sit in pleasant silence for a moment, and Chenle lets the Pink Floyd song coming from the record player wash over him. Maybe they really are just two lost souls in a fish bowl, Chenle muses.
Finally, Jisung stirs. Chenle withdraws his hand and lets Jisung sit up. “Guess we better, uh, clean up,” Jisung suggests, rubbing shyly at his neck, like he has any reason to feel nervous around Chenle right now. Jisung’s hair is sticking up at odd-ends, but Chenle can’t stop thinking about how soft and cute he looks right now.
“Yeah, we should. But could we maybe smoke another joint first?”
Jisung smirks, then reaches down for his grinder.