through smoke (david cook/neal tiemann) pg-13
Title: Through Smoke
Pairing: David Cook/Neal Tiemann
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~3300
Prompt: experimental - shotgun @ my kissbingo table.
Warning: Underage drinking and smoking, language.
Summary: Dave is not much of a smoker. True, he sporadically smokes when he's at a party, but it's usually only when he's had a beer or five too many that the craving starts to build up inside him to such a degree that he automatically leans over to grab a cigarette from the nearest package lying about. HS AU fic.
Disclaimer: David Cook, Neal Tiemann and et al. belong to themselves. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Thanks to yehwellwhatever for the beta! All remaining mistakes are my own. Title is from Needtobreathe's song Through Smoke. You can also read this fic over at AO3, if you prefer that!
through smoke.
The party is already in full swing when they pull into the driveway, Kyle behind the wheels, glaring accusingly into the rearview mirror at Dave and Neal. Andy reaches out, pats Kyle on the shoulder before taking a swig of the bottle of home-mixed alcohol that they made hours earlier back in Neal's parents' basement. Dave watches as Andy makes a grimace, tongue darting out as if to chase the bad taste away and he can't help but laugh amusedly.
"Fucking foul shit," says Andy, and hands it over his shoulder to Neal who grabs it, pale fingers curling around the neck of the bottle.
Dave turns his attention to Neal just as the other boy puts the bottle to his lips, snakebites gleaming dully in the dark car. Dave waits for the grimace, but Neal doesn't make one. Instead, he just takes another remarkably large gulp of the bottle and smacks his lips together as if he doesn't mind that it without doubt tastes like shit.
"Oh gross, how can you even drink that?" asks Andy, now turned completely in his seat and looking at Neal. Neal just smirks and shrugs and Dave accepts the bottle hesitantly when Neal trusts it into his open hand.
"I don't give a fuck how it tastes," says Neal, voice calm and quiet, almost like he's sharing a secret, "as long as it has the intended effect, then I'm all good."
Dave lifts the bottle and takes a sniff, trying his best to contain his grimace, but judging by the snickering from Andy and Kyle from the front seats and Neal's low chuckle - which makes something inside Dave's stomach twist and turn - he doesn't succeed. He drinks it, the brownish - almost dish-water colored liquid - filling his mouth before he swallows. Then he coughs, not expecting it to taste as nasty as it looked.
"Shit Dave," exclaims Kyle, looking at him with big, wide eyes. Innocent eyes, Dave thinks, and holds the bottle close to his chest when Kyle holds out his hand to get the bottle.
"Excuse me?" says Neal, sarcastically, and slaps Kyle's hand away before prying the bottle out of Dave's grip. Dave kind of wants to hold onto the bottle, if only because he knows that it will annoy Neal - and a small part of him wants Neal's full attention for reasons he can't even explain - but when Neal's slightly calloused hand runs over his own, he unconsciously lets go of the bottle.
"You guys suck!" cries Kyle, sourly, as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Yeah well, someone's got to be the designated driver, and this week it's you," says Dave, grinning at Neal when the other boy elbows him and smirks amusedly.
"That completely blows. And it's always me. You say this every time," Kyle whines, and for some reason Dave can't help but laugh. It kind of reminds him to his younger brother, Andrew, when he tells him that he's too young to come to parties with them.
"Sucks to be you," is all Neal says. Soon Andy is laughing too, and Dave swears that he can see Kyle's mouth twitch in the rearview mirror.
"Fuck this, I'm going inside. You guys coming or not?" asks Andy, when the laughter has finally died down, nudging Kyle's shoulder and gesturing with a nod towards the house.
Dave puts his left hand on the door, about to open it, when he feels strong fingers curling around his right wrist and holding him there.
"We are going to drink this first," says Neal, holding up the bottle to show Andy that it's still half full, and Dave lets go of the door handle and falls back into his seat. It feels as though where Neal's fingers are touching him is burning in this weird way that makes him crave more.
"I can't drink more of that," says Andy, door now open and one leg out. "I'm going to go find a beer."
"Me too," says Kyle, sounding oddly proud as he slams the door before anyone has a chance to say anything.
"Andy," is all Neal says, voice low, and Andy nods understandingly before getting out and shutting the door close. They watch as Andy catches up with Kyle just before they disappear in the crowd of inebriated teens that are standing out on the porch, dancing and smoking.
"Um," says Dave, and scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, looking down at Neal's hand that's still curled around his wrist.
"Sorry man," says Neal, and lets go, and Dave now kind of wishes that he hadn't said anything at all, because as soon as the fingers are gone, he really wants them back. The burning feeling lingers for a couple of seconds before it starts to fade away.
"It's okay," he tries to say, part of him hoping that Neal will touch him again and then winces as he realizes just how fucking corny that sounded. He grabs the bottle from Neal and drinks from it, ignoring the taste and the way it burns as it runs down his throat. He drinks and he drinks, until he finally has to stop to breathe.
"Shit Dave," says Neal, sounding almost wistful, when Dave hands him the bottle again. It's now only a quarter full, or three-quarters empty, depending on how you want to look at it. Dave just glares out the window, looking at their fellow students. He has no idea how long he's been sitting like this, but when he finally looks at Neal again, the bottle is empty.
He feels like he should say something, maybe even suggest that they get out of Andy's car and go inside the house to find Andy and Kyle, but then Neal just spreads his legs a bit as he slumps down in the seat even further and suddenly their knees are touching just slightly. And Dave can't for the life of him remember what he wanted to suggest before, all he can focus on is how he can practically feel Neal's body heat from next to him.
His hand flies to the door handle in a hesitant attempt to get some air or cool down or whatever. His fingers curl around the door handle, seconds from opening the door when he looks back at Neal.
Neal raises an eyebrow at him, and Dave sighs as his fingers leave the door for the second time, and tries to relax. In the end he just slouches down in the seat further too, automatically spreading his legs as well to better fit into the backseat of the car, and now their knees are without doubt touching. For a second, Dave can't remember how to breathe properly, and he blames it on the alcohol, which he is definitely feeling now. Then Neal reaches out and squeezes his thigh, gently, and Dave starts to calm down at the feel of the warm hand pressed against his jeans. When Neal retracts his hand, Dave almost kind of want to ask him to put it back again. Almost.
Neal pulls out a cigarette, hunching over the bottle that lies empty in his lap as he lights it. Dave watches, entranced as the smoke kind of just floats to the ceiling of the car, moving along the surface before creeping out of the slightly opened window.
Dave is not much of a smoker. True, he sporadically smokes when he's at a party, but it's usually only when he's had a beer or five too many that the craving starts to build up inside him to such a degree that he automatically leans over to grab a cigarette from the nearest package lying about. That's the thing about parties; there are always available cigarettes when you need them. However, they are in a car, just Neal and he and there are no available packages just lying about - and now he wants one. Like really badly. Again, he blames it on the alcohol, which has definitely left him more drunk than a couple of beers too many would normally do.
"Give me a cig," he demands and snaps his fingers impatiently, or at least he tries to. For some reason his fingers just fumbles awkwardly in the air, his coordination completely off the rocks. Neal just stares at him, and Dave refuses to back down even though he's kind of embarrassed by his lack of control, his eyes narrowing slightly to keep everything from spinning. It's not fucking fair, because Neal's had way more than him (or at least the same amount) and yet Neal seems to cope just fine with the alcohol in his system, whereas Dave can't seem to stop thinking about things he so shouldn't be thinking about.
"This was my last one," says Neal calmly and shrugs. Dave watches as Neal lifts it to his mouth and puts the butt of the cigarette to his lips, and for some reason he can't help but stare, his eyes transfixed to Neal's mouth and the snakebites, even when Neal lowers the cigarette to blow out the smoke.
"We could share though," says Neal finally, when nearly half of the cigarette is gone, flecks of ash on the floor and the seat. Dave looks down and then regrets doing so, because all he sees is how close their knees are. He twitches in his seat, silently telling himself to just get the fuck out of the car before he does something stupid.
"Sure," he says, slightly nervous, and looks out of the window briefly, trying to calm himself. His own reflection stares back, almost accusingly, and he swallows before wincing. Then he looks back at Neal, holding out his hand to take the cigarette, determined to take a couple of drags of it before getting out of the car. Neal just shakes his head, smirking softly.
"Nah, I've got a better way. Plus, wouldn't want you to burn yourself, right?" It's not as much the words as the way Neal says it that makes him unable to do anything but swallow and stare, eyes wide, as he looks at Neal, stunned. His tone is low and kind of husky, and Dave swears that the only time he's ever heard Neal use this kind of tone is when he's trying to convince some girl to sleep with him. Or at least blow him. He feels something inside his stomach coil at the thought.
"Um," he offers awkwardly, not entirely sure what Neal means. "How?" he asks, head tilting a bit to the side as he gazes confusedly at his friend, forcing himself to look away from Neal's snakebites.
"Shotgun," says Neal in this matter-of-fact kind of voice, as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Dave has no idea what the fuck Neal means. Or rather, he kind of does because he saw it once in a movie, but he can't fathom why Neal wants to try that with him.
"Sit still," tells Neal, and inhales deeply, the end of the cigarette glowing red as he does so. Dave looks as the smoke fills Neal's mouth, and he lets out a pathetic huff when his mind catches up with the fact that soon the same smoke will be in his mouth. Neal leans over, places the hand that's still holding the cigarette on Dave's knee (again), to keep it from twitching nervously, and the other on his face; strong calloused fingers touching his cheek, forcing him to move his head until they are looking at each other.
Neal nods and Dave opens his mouth a bit, and then a bit more when Neal raises an eyebrow at him. Finally, Neal leans over him until their lips are nearly touching and then he exhales soundly, the smoke leaving his mouth and filling Dave's. It tastes peculiar, or rather, it tastes like tobacco, but the thought of it having been in Neal's mouth first kind of makes Dave's head feel all fuzzy and weird.
"Yeah?" asks Neal and Dave just nods dumbly, the smoke still in his mouth. Then he lets it go, a soft tiny grey sky of smoke leaving his mouth and filling the air until it, too, finally finds its way out of the car through that tiny opening of the window like before. He nods again, not entirely sure what to say. His eyes flicker down to Neal's lips, and for a second he wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips against his best friend's.
"Yeah," he finally mutters. Neal smirks, and Dave's fingers itch to reach up and run his fingers through the red strands of hair. He doesn't though, because it's just wrong and… he totally blames the alcohol. "Um, again?" he blurts, surprising himself. Neal doesn't look surprised though, more like he's okay with the idea of giving Dave another hit of shotgun. He swallows, his mouth feeling dry, his cheeks colouring ever so slightly.
"Okay," says Neal, inhaling another drag of the cigarette and leans closer to Dave to share. This time, Dave opens his mouth without any prompting from Neal, and Neal kind of just looks at him for the longest time before leaning even further into Dave's space to blow the smoke into his awaiting mouth. Again, he holds the smoke in, though this time it's due to the fact that he can't seem to look away from Neal, who's watching him intently, almost as if he wants to say something.
He opens his mouth, the smoke escaping his parted lips and then he coughs, because Dave is so not a smoker, and the smoke is actually kind of scratching the back of his throat in this really uncomfortable way that make him want to reach in and maybe scratch at it. And then Neal is moving back in his seat, opens the window and throws out the remaining piece of the cigarette.
"Dude," he says and clears his throat, embarrassed that he just coughed Neal in the face like some rookie trying out his first cigarette ever. "There was still enough for another hit or two of that thing."
Neal just looks at him and grins, his shoulders rising slightly into a lazy shrug.
"Maybe so," Neal says, after a couple of long seconds in silence. Then Neal's hand reaches out and grabs the back of Dave's head, fingers curling around the strands of Dave's hair and tugs at it before proficiently guiding Dave down and closer, until Dave is the one to lean over Neal this time. The hand stays at the neck, cupping the back of his head, the other cradling his cheek and their lips are less than an inch apart. "But this is kind of better without the smoke, yeah?"
Dave doesn't get a chance to answer before Neal is pressing their lips together in an awkward, dry kiss. One of the snakebites is biting into the corner of his lip and it kind of hurts and it's all enormously thwarting. But he doesn't mind that it kind of hurts, because this is Neal kissing him and oh.
"Yes," he utters when Neal lets go of him, slightly confused, his mind all fuzzy. The alcohol, he thinks, though he knows that regardless of how much of that foul shit he's been drinking, kissing Neal has definitely sobered him right up again.
"I mean, it is better without the smoke," he explains quickly, feeling the urge to do so for some reason, smiling warily.
Neal doesn't answer that, just smiles that lazy smile of his, and Dave finds himself relaxing. He's contemplating leaning down, without any guidance from Neal, when a hand smacks loudly against the window.
"For fucks sake," says Andy, leaning down to look through the window. "Stop fucking kissing already and come help me with Kyle. He's had like three beers already and now he's playing hide and seek, apparently, and who the fuck knew he would be so good at hiding, eh?"
Neal just sighs and gets out of the car. Dave lingers behind a bit, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and he's pretty sure that he can still taste Neal on his lips. Or possibly the smoke. When it comes to Neal though, that's kind of the same thing. He crawls out of the car and kind of loses his balance when his foot somehow gets tangled with the seatbelt.
"You know," says Neal, suddenly appearing next to him, holding his arm while he somehow tries to detangle his foot without actually using his hand to free himself. "Maybe we could try the shotgun again."
Dave momentarily forgets his foot, which remains stuck, and Andy, who's watching them impatiently. "Yeah?" he asks, looking curiously at Neal, ignoring the way something seems to be fluttering inside his chest again. Neal looks kind of indifferent, and Dave can't really tell if by shotgun Neal means more kissing. He stares, and then slowly but surely, he spots a small quirk right at the corner of Neal's mouth that kind of resembles a smile.
"Yeah," answers Neal, eyes glinting with amusement and maybe also a bit of desire.
"Sure, I'd… Err, I'd like that," he says, and pulls at his foot, which slips free without problems. "Definitely," he adds, fighting to keep the smile back, because honestly, right now he kind of feels all excited and nervous and scared at the same time.
"Hey guys, Kyle, remember?" asks Andy. They both look at their dark-haired friend who now looks a bit confused.
"Let's find that little fucker," says Neal, and starts to walk towards the house, leaving Dave and Andy to trail behind him. They get separated once they get inside, the house completely filled with horny drunken teenagers dancing wildly around to the music blasting from the speakers. Dave gives up trying to catch up with Neal and Andy, and instead heads over to the keg to grab a cup of beer. Not that he feels like drinking right now, but more so because he doesn't know what else to do.
"Dave," says Kyle, grinning widely as he waves enthusiastically for Dave to come closer to the keg, which Kyle is apparently manning. Dave frowns, a bit surprised that someone actually trusted Kyle enough to be the one to do this job, but he still can't help but smile as Kyle hands him a half-crushed plastic cup that only contains a few drops of beer. "For you," says Kyle, sounding pleased. Dave looks at the cup amusedly.
"Thanks?" he answers, not entirely sure what to say. Kyle grins proudly in return.
"Kyle!" says Andy, as he and Neal walk towards the two of them. Andy stops in front of Kyle, looking like he doesn't know what to do or say now that he's actually found Kyle. Neal just stops next to Dave and throws his arm around Dave's shoulder like he always does. Still, Dave can't help but feel like this is different. Like they are different, maybe. He looks at Neal almost diffidently, and Neal looks back at him, smirking slightly, his snakebites glinting bleakly in the dim light.
He looks away, eyes searching the room determinedly for something and, ahh yes, there. He steps away from Neal who looks weirdly at him, but grins when he sees what Dave's now holding in his hand.
"I could try this time?" he offers, holding up the pack of cigarettes, grinning.
"Maybe, yes," says Neal and takes the pack from Dave's hand. "Or we could try without again." And yeah, Dave thinks. They are definitely different, but in a good way. He nods, and smiles and Neal smiles back and he awkwardly punches Neal's shoulder, because he doesn't know what else to do.
fin.
Pairing: David Cook/Neal Tiemann
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~3300
Prompt: experimental - shotgun @ my kissbingo table.
Warning: Underage drinking and smoking, language.
Summary: Dave is not much of a smoker. True, he sporadically smokes when he's at a party, but it's usually only when he's had a beer or five too many that the craving starts to build up inside him to such a degree that he automatically leans over to grab a cigarette from the nearest package lying about. HS AU fic.
Disclaimer: David Cook, Neal Tiemann and et al. belong to themselves. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Thanks to yehwellwhatever for the beta! All remaining mistakes are my own. Title is from Needtobreathe's song Through Smoke. You can also read this fic over at AO3, if you prefer that!
through smoke.
The party is already in full swing when they pull into the driveway, Kyle behind the wheels, glaring accusingly into the rearview mirror at Dave and Neal. Andy reaches out, pats Kyle on the shoulder before taking a swig of the bottle of home-mixed alcohol that they made hours earlier back in Neal's parents' basement. Dave watches as Andy makes a grimace, tongue darting out as if to chase the bad taste away and he can't help but laugh amusedly.
"Fucking foul shit," says Andy, and hands it over his shoulder to Neal who grabs it, pale fingers curling around the neck of the bottle.
Dave turns his attention to Neal just as the other boy puts the bottle to his lips, snakebites gleaming dully in the dark car. Dave waits for the grimace, but Neal doesn't make one. Instead, he just takes another remarkably large gulp of the bottle and smacks his lips together as if he doesn't mind that it without doubt tastes like shit.
"Oh gross, how can you even drink that?" asks Andy, now turned completely in his seat and looking at Neal. Neal just smirks and shrugs and Dave accepts the bottle hesitantly when Neal trusts it into his open hand.
"I don't give a fuck how it tastes," says Neal, voice calm and quiet, almost like he's sharing a secret, "as long as it has the intended effect, then I'm all good."
Dave lifts the bottle and takes a sniff, trying his best to contain his grimace, but judging by the snickering from Andy and Kyle from the front seats and Neal's low chuckle - which makes something inside Dave's stomach twist and turn - he doesn't succeed. He drinks it, the brownish - almost dish-water colored liquid - filling his mouth before he swallows. Then he coughs, not expecting it to taste as nasty as it looked.
"Shit Dave," exclaims Kyle, looking at him with big, wide eyes. Innocent eyes, Dave thinks, and holds the bottle close to his chest when Kyle holds out his hand to get the bottle.
"Excuse me?" says Neal, sarcastically, and slaps Kyle's hand away before prying the bottle out of Dave's grip. Dave kind of wants to hold onto the bottle, if only because he knows that it will annoy Neal - and a small part of him wants Neal's full attention for reasons he can't even explain - but when Neal's slightly calloused hand runs over his own, he unconsciously lets go of the bottle.
"You guys suck!" cries Kyle, sourly, as he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Yeah well, someone's got to be the designated driver, and this week it's you," says Dave, grinning at Neal when the other boy elbows him and smirks amusedly.
"That completely blows. And it's always me. You say this every time," Kyle whines, and for some reason Dave can't help but laugh. It kind of reminds him to his younger brother, Andrew, when he tells him that he's too young to come to parties with them.
"Sucks to be you," is all Neal says. Soon Andy is laughing too, and Dave swears that he can see Kyle's mouth twitch in the rearview mirror.
"Fuck this, I'm going inside. You guys coming or not?" asks Andy, when the laughter has finally died down, nudging Kyle's shoulder and gesturing with a nod towards the house.
Dave puts his left hand on the door, about to open it, when he feels strong fingers curling around his right wrist and holding him there.
"We are going to drink this first," says Neal, holding up the bottle to show Andy that it's still half full, and Dave lets go of the door handle and falls back into his seat. It feels as though where Neal's fingers are touching him is burning in this weird way that makes him crave more.
"I can't drink more of that," says Andy, door now open and one leg out. "I'm going to go find a beer."
"Me too," says Kyle, sounding oddly proud as he slams the door before anyone has a chance to say anything.
"Andy," is all Neal says, voice low, and Andy nods understandingly before getting out and shutting the door close. They watch as Andy catches up with Kyle just before they disappear in the crowd of inebriated teens that are standing out on the porch, dancing and smoking.
"Um," says Dave, and scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, looking down at Neal's hand that's still curled around his wrist.
"Sorry man," says Neal, and lets go, and Dave now kind of wishes that he hadn't said anything at all, because as soon as the fingers are gone, he really wants them back. The burning feeling lingers for a couple of seconds before it starts to fade away.
"It's okay," he tries to say, part of him hoping that Neal will touch him again and then winces as he realizes just how fucking corny that sounded. He grabs the bottle from Neal and drinks from it, ignoring the taste and the way it burns as it runs down his throat. He drinks and he drinks, until he finally has to stop to breathe.
"Shit Dave," says Neal, sounding almost wistful, when Dave hands him the bottle again. It's now only a quarter full, or three-quarters empty, depending on how you want to look at it. Dave just glares out the window, looking at their fellow students. He has no idea how long he's been sitting like this, but when he finally looks at Neal again, the bottle is empty.
He feels like he should say something, maybe even suggest that they get out of Andy's car and go inside the house to find Andy and Kyle, but then Neal just spreads his legs a bit as he slumps down in the seat even further and suddenly their knees are touching just slightly. And Dave can't for the life of him remember what he wanted to suggest before, all he can focus on is how he can practically feel Neal's body heat from next to him.
His hand flies to the door handle in a hesitant attempt to get some air or cool down or whatever. His fingers curl around the door handle, seconds from opening the door when he looks back at Neal.
Neal raises an eyebrow at him, and Dave sighs as his fingers leave the door for the second time, and tries to relax. In the end he just slouches down in the seat further too, automatically spreading his legs as well to better fit into the backseat of the car, and now their knees are without doubt touching. For a second, Dave can't remember how to breathe properly, and he blames it on the alcohol, which he is definitely feeling now. Then Neal reaches out and squeezes his thigh, gently, and Dave starts to calm down at the feel of the warm hand pressed against his jeans. When Neal retracts his hand, Dave almost kind of want to ask him to put it back again. Almost.
Neal pulls out a cigarette, hunching over the bottle that lies empty in his lap as he lights it. Dave watches, entranced as the smoke kind of just floats to the ceiling of the car, moving along the surface before creeping out of the slightly opened window.
Dave is not much of a smoker. True, he sporadically smokes when he's at a party, but it's usually only when he's had a beer or five too many that the craving starts to build up inside him to such a degree that he automatically leans over to grab a cigarette from the nearest package lying about. That's the thing about parties; there are always available cigarettes when you need them. However, they are in a car, just Neal and he and there are no available packages just lying about - and now he wants one. Like really badly. Again, he blames it on the alcohol, which has definitely left him more drunk than a couple of beers too many would normally do.
"Give me a cig," he demands and snaps his fingers impatiently, or at least he tries to. For some reason his fingers just fumbles awkwardly in the air, his coordination completely off the rocks. Neal just stares at him, and Dave refuses to back down even though he's kind of embarrassed by his lack of control, his eyes narrowing slightly to keep everything from spinning. It's not fucking fair, because Neal's had way more than him (or at least the same amount) and yet Neal seems to cope just fine with the alcohol in his system, whereas Dave can't seem to stop thinking about things he so shouldn't be thinking about.
"This was my last one," says Neal calmly and shrugs. Dave watches as Neal lifts it to his mouth and puts the butt of the cigarette to his lips, and for some reason he can't help but stare, his eyes transfixed to Neal's mouth and the snakebites, even when Neal lowers the cigarette to blow out the smoke.
"We could share though," says Neal finally, when nearly half of the cigarette is gone, flecks of ash on the floor and the seat. Dave looks down and then regrets doing so, because all he sees is how close their knees are. He twitches in his seat, silently telling himself to just get the fuck out of the car before he does something stupid.
"Sure," he says, slightly nervous, and looks out of the window briefly, trying to calm himself. His own reflection stares back, almost accusingly, and he swallows before wincing. Then he looks back at Neal, holding out his hand to take the cigarette, determined to take a couple of drags of it before getting out of the car. Neal just shakes his head, smirking softly.
"Nah, I've got a better way. Plus, wouldn't want you to burn yourself, right?" It's not as much the words as the way Neal says it that makes him unable to do anything but swallow and stare, eyes wide, as he looks at Neal, stunned. His tone is low and kind of husky, and Dave swears that the only time he's ever heard Neal use this kind of tone is when he's trying to convince some girl to sleep with him. Or at least blow him. He feels something inside his stomach coil at the thought.
"Um," he offers awkwardly, not entirely sure what Neal means. "How?" he asks, head tilting a bit to the side as he gazes confusedly at his friend, forcing himself to look away from Neal's snakebites.
"Shotgun," says Neal in this matter-of-fact kind of voice, as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Dave has no idea what the fuck Neal means. Or rather, he kind of does because he saw it once in a movie, but he can't fathom why Neal wants to try that with him.
"Sit still," tells Neal, and inhales deeply, the end of the cigarette glowing red as he does so. Dave looks as the smoke fills Neal's mouth, and he lets out a pathetic huff when his mind catches up with the fact that soon the same smoke will be in his mouth. Neal leans over, places the hand that's still holding the cigarette on Dave's knee (again), to keep it from twitching nervously, and the other on his face; strong calloused fingers touching his cheek, forcing him to move his head until they are looking at each other.
Neal nods and Dave opens his mouth a bit, and then a bit more when Neal raises an eyebrow at him. Finally, Neal leans over him until their lips are nearly touching and then he exhales soundly, the smoke leaving his mouth and filling Dave's. It tastes peculiar, or rather, it tastes like tobacco, but the thought of it having been in Neal's mouth first kind of makes Dave's head feel all fuzzy and weird.
"Yeah?" asks Neal and Dave just nods dumbly, the smoke still in his mouth. Then he lets it go, a soft tiny grey sky of smoke leaving his mouth and filling the air until it, too, finally finds its way out of the car through that tiny opening of the window like before. He nods again, not entirely sure what to say. His eyes flicker down to Neal's lips, and for a second he wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips against his best friend's.
"Yeah," he finally mutters. Neal smirks, and Dave's fingers itch to reach up and run his fingers through the red strands of hair. He doesn't though, because it's just wrong and… he totally blames the alcohol. "Um, again?" he blurts, surprising himself. Neal doesn't look surprised though, more like he's okay with the idea of giving Dave another hit of shotgun. He swallows, his mouth feeling dry, his cheeks colouring ever so slightly.
"Okay," says Neal, inhaling another drag of the cigarette and leans closer to Dave to share. This time, Dave opens his mouth without any prompting from Neal, and Neal kind of just looks at him for the longest time before leaning even further into Dave's space to blow the smoke into his awaiting mouth. Again, he holds the smoke in, though this time it's due to the fact that he can't seem to look away from Neal, who's watching him intently, almost as if he wants to say something.
He opens his mouth, the smoke escaping his parted lips and then he coughs, because Dave is so not a smoker, and the smoke is actually kind of scratching the back of his throat in this really uncomfortable way that make him want to reach in and maybe scratch at it. And then Neal is moving back in his seat, opens the window and throws out the remaining piece of the cigarette.
"Dude," he says and clears his throat, embarrassed that he just coughed Neal in the face like some rookie trying out his first cigarette ever. "There was still enough for another hit or two of that thing."
Neal just looks at him and grins, his shoulders rising slightly into a lazy shrug.
"Maybe so," Neal says, after a couple of long seconds in silence. Then Neal's hand reaches out and grabs the back of Dave's head, fingers curling around the strands of Dave's hair and tugs at it before proficiently guiding Dave down and closer, until Dave is the one to lean over Neal this time. The hand stays at the neck, cupping the back of his head, the other cradling his cheek and their lips are less than an inch apart. "But this is kind of better without the smoke, yeah?"
Dave doesn't get a chance to answer before Neal is pressing their lips together in an awkward, dry kiss. One of the snakebites is biting into the corner of his lip and it kind of hurts and it's all enormously thwarting. But he doesn't mind that it kind of hurts, because this is Neal kissing him and oh.
"Yes," he utters when Neal lets go of him, slightly confused, his mind all fuzzy. The alcohol, he thinks, though he knows that regardless of how much of that foul shit he's been drinking, kissing Neal has definitely sobered him right up again.
"I mean, it is better without the smoke," he explains quickly, feeling the urge to do so for some reason, smiling warily.
Neal doesn't answer that, just smiles that lazy smile of his, and Dave finds himself relaxing. He's contemplating leaning down, without any guidance from Neal, when a hand smacks loudly against the window.
"For fucks sake," says Andy, leaning down to look through the window. "Stop fucking kissing already and come help me with Kyle. He's had like three beers already and now he's playing hide and seek, apparently, and who the fuck knew he would be so good at hiding, eh?"
Neal just sighs and gets out of the car. Dave lingers behind a bit, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and he's pretty sure that he can still taste Neal on his lips. Or possibly the smoke. When it comes to Neal though, that's kind of the same thing. He crawls out of the car and kind of loses his balance when his foot somehow gets tangled with the seatbelt.
"You know," says Neal, suddenly appearing next to him, holding his arm while he somehow tries to detangle his foot without actually using his hand to free himself. "Maybe we could try the shotgun again."
Dave momentarily forgets his foot, which remains stuck, and Andy, who's watching them impatiently. "Yeah?" he asks, looking curiously at Neal, ignoring the way something seems to be fluttering inside his chest again. Neal looks kind of indifferent, and Dave can't really tell if by shotgun Neal means more kissing. He stares, and then slowly but surely, he spots a small quirk right at the corner of Neal's mouth that kind of resembles a smile.
"Yeah," answers Neal, eyes glinting with amusement and maybe also a bit of desire.
"Sure, I'd… Err, I'd like that," he says, and pulls at his foot, which slips free without problems. "Definitely," he adds, fighting to keep the smile back, because honestly, right now he kind of feels all excited and nervous and scared at the same time.
"Hey guys, Kyle, remember?" asks Andy. They both look at their dark-haired friend who now looks a bit confused.
"Let's find that little fucker," says Neal, and starts to walk towards the house, leaving Dave and Andy to trail behind him. They get separated once they get inside, the house completely filled with horny drunken teenagers dancing wildly around to the music blasting from the speakers. Dave gives up trying to catch up with Neal and Andy, and instead heads over to the keg to grab a cup of beer. Not that he feels like drinking right now, but more so because he doesn't know what else to do.
"Dave," says Kyle, grinning widely as he waves enthusiastically for Dave to come closer to the keg, which Kyle is apparently manning. Dave frowns, a bit surprised that someone actually trusted Kyle enough to be the one to do this job, but he still can't help but smile as Kyle hands him a half-crushed plastic cup that only contains a few drops of beer. "For you," says Kyle, sounding pleased. Dave looks at the cup amusedly.
"Thanks?" he answers, not entirely sure what to say. Kyle grins proudly in return.
"Kyle!" says Andy, as he and Neal walk towards the two of them. Andy stops in front of Kyle, looking like he doesn't know what to do or say now that he's actually found Kyle. Neal just stops next to Dave and throws his arm around Dave's shoulder like he always does. Still, Dave can't help but feel like this is different. Like they are different, maybe. He looks at Neal almost diffidently, and Neal looks back at him, smirking slightly, his snakebites glinting bleakly in the dim light.
He looks away, eyes searching the room determinedly for something and, ahh yes, there. He steps away from Neal who looks weirdly at him, but grins when he sees what Dave's now holding in his hand.
"I could try this time?" he offers, holding up the pack of cigarettes, grinning.
"Maybe, yes," says Neal and takes the pack from Dave's hand. "Or we could try without again." And yeah, Dave thinks. They are definitely different, but in a good way. He nods, and smiles and Neal smiles back and he awkwardly punches Neal's shoulder, because he doesn't know what else to do.
fin.