TheUltimateFixx
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2021
- Messages
- 3,420
I'm staring at the cooker intently, willing the contents to heat up. To my right I hear a sharp swift intake of breath, and the same breath let out again slowly, then seconds later there's the faint clatter of a syringe being tossed onto the table-top.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as he leans back, lids half-closed. He's sorted; I'm getting impatient with the damn lighter that won't work properly and the endless drawn-out seconds this all seems to take. 'c'mon c'mon C'MON', I snarl under my breath, trying to coax a steady flame. He gives a single chuckle like a hiccup, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in that lop-sided, not-quite smile of his. 'Here.'
He slides his lighter over to me and I snatch it up. Much better.
Within moments, the mixture is bubbling away nicely and I can smell it now, that familiar scent of hot vinegar.
... draw up. Flick the syringe. Pull the belt tight. Cool touch of the alcohol wipe on my skin, like a fleeting kiss. Nearly there. And shit , that angle is fucking awkward. Not sure I'll be able to get a clean hit like this.
'You do the honours', I say and hold the rig out to him.
He nods affirmation and moves forward languidly, like he's moving through treacle, or underwater.
I feel the brief touch of his fingers, cool and sure. Then the sharp tight second the needle slips in, that sweet little pain; the slight pull as the blood is drawn back, and then the rush and the warmth and an end to desire as my body folds itself heavy and weightless onto the worn-out couch.
'Alright now', he looks at me, pupils sharp as pinpoints in the artic blue of his eyes. It's not really a question but I answer. 'Fuck yeah.'
I watch out of the corner of my eye as he leans back, lids half-closed. He's sorted; I'm getting impatient with the damn lighter that won't work properly and the endless drawn-out seconds this all seems to take. 'c'mon c'mon C'MON', I snarl under my breath, trying to coax a steady flame. He gives a single chuckle like a hiccup, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in that lop-sided, not-quite smile of his. 'Here.'
He slides his lighter over to me and I snatch it up. Much better.
Within moments, the mixture is bubbling away nicely and I can smell it now, that familiar scent of hot vinegar.
... draw up. Flick the syringe. Pull the belt tight. Cool touch of the alcohol wipe on my skin, like a fleeting kiss. Nearly there. And shit , that angle is fucking awkward. Not sure I'll be able to get a clean hit like this.
'You do the honours', I say and hold the rig out to him.
He nods affirmation and moves forward languidly, like he's moving through treacle, or underwater.
I feel the brief touch of his fingers, cool and sure. Then the sharp tight second the needle slips in, that sweet little pain; the slight pull as the blood is drawn back, and then the rush and the warmth and an end to desire as my body folds itself heavy and weightless onto the worn-out couch.
'Alright now', he looks at me, pupils sharp as pinpoints in the artic blue of his eyes. It's not really a question but I answer. 'Fuck yeah.'
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