
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/387729.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Bro/John_Egbert
  Character:
      Bro_(Homestuck), John_Egbert
  Additional Tags:
      Highstuck, Recreational_Drug_Use, First_Time, Illustrated
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-04-20 Words: 2046
****** feel like flying too ******
by EK_(ilyat), Laylah
Summary
     "You don't have to," he says. "I'm not here to be your after-school-
     special leering drug pusher trying to get you hooked on cocaine and
     put you on a street corner. It's just hospitality. Bong's here if you
     want it." He lights up the weed in its little bowl and takes a hit.
     You are watching somebody do drugs in real life. Wow.
Notes
     Fic by Laylah, art by EK -- a pinch hit we did for
     fuckyeahhighstuck's Secret Stoner exchange!
     So yeah, happy 4/20 from two kids who can't actually smoke, I guess.
     XD
It is so, so stupid late right now. Like, hours past your bedtime late, even
taking the time zone thing into account. You should be sleeping. Dave (you
check again) is passed out and drooling on his pillow like a nerd. You should
be too! It's been a long day. But you're still just too wound up to sleep. You
fidget a little more. This is so awkward. Maybe you'll just get up and go out
to the living room. You can turn the volume way down and play some Xbox or
something until you're ready to actually sleep.
You get up and go slouching out there and then stop, honestly a little
intimidated by all the cables and wires and blinky boxes that make up the TV's
fort. You chew on your lip, studying it, wondering if there are booby traps in
the mess somewhere—from the way Dave talks about his bro, it sounds possible—or
if you'll accidentally set everything to blare through the speaker system and
wake up the entire apartment building.
"Can't sleep?"
You jump about a foot in the air, and you clap your hands over your mouth too
late to stop the "Eep!" noise from getting out. Wow, you feel like a dork.
"Um," you say.
Dave's bro just nods, like he knows exactly what you wish you had said, which
is a good trick because you're not totally sure yourself. "Happens sometimes,"
he says. "Hard to relax in a strange place, yeah?"
"Yeah, exactly," you say. "I mean it's really nice here! It's just not
familiar." And there are smuppets everywhere and the apartment smells...not
bad, but definitely not like home? And you're pretty sure you don't want to say
that out loud.
Dave's bro does that flash-step thing and suddenly he's in front of the couch,
snagging a remote control you didn't even see and flipping the TV on, starting
up some kind of concert recording with weird thrumming beats that aren't quite
like the stuff Dave likes. "So come chill out," he says. "I got something here
that might help you relax, if you're down."
"Um, really?" you say, and then he's pulling this orange glass bulb thing out
from behind the couch and for a second you're afraid it's some kind of smuppet
sex toy and then you realize that no, dude, it's a bong, which is a thing you
have never before seen in real life, only in those youtube clips of Cheech and
Chong that Dave tried to convince you were high art (ha ha) a few years ago.
"Holy shit."
That actually makes him smile, and you thought there was a rule against
Striders smiling. "It's just weed, man. Isn't Washington one of the states
where you can smoke it medicinally?"
"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean that everybody does it, or anything." You're
watching him fiddle with the bong and you have this kind of tingly feeling that
you identify after a second as your getting-away-with-stuff senses on high
alert. Your lip is caught between your teeth again as you watch.
"You don't have to," he says. "I'm not here to be your after-school-special
leering drug pusher trying to get you hooked on cocaine and put you on a street
corner. It's just hospitality. Bong's here if you want it." He lights up the
weed in its little bowl and takes a hit. You are watching somebody do drugs in
real life. Wow.
He holds it for what feels like kind of a long time, then exhales smoke in a
slow stream toward the ceiling. You can smell it, and it's...kind of nice. You
sort of imagined it smelling a little like your dad's pipe (which smells really
different than other people's cigarettes, even though they're both tobacco, so
go figure) but it's not. The smell is kind of sharp and savory and...brighter,
maybe? Can you use words like that to describe smells? You can now. You watch
him take another hit and then sigh like everything is right with the world.
"Okay," you say, sitting down next to him, "I think I want to try."
"Cool," he says, nodding slowly, and a tiny part of you dies because Dave's bro
is like the epitome of cool and he approves of you and this is probably exactly
why there are all those lectures about peer pressure and you don't care.
"Here." He shows you where to hold it and presses the lighter into your other
hand. "Don't take too big a drag the first time. You've never smoked anything
before, have you?"
You shake your head. "Cigarettes smell gross," you explain. And maybe there was
that one time you tried to figure out how pipe-smoking worked but that was a
disaster and it doesn't count.
"Right," he says. "So take it slow. Breathe it in, hold your breath for a
couple seconds, and let it go."
You feel a little shaky and nervous but you do your best to play it cool. The
smoke tastes weird in your mouth and is a little prickly in your throat and you
feel weird about holding your breath, but at least you manage to not cough all
over the place like people do on TV when they've never smoked before. By the
time you breathe out you think maybe your head feels a little funny.
You try to pass the bong back, but he shakes his head. "Go ahead and take
another hit or two," he says. "Get the full experience."
"Haha, wow," you say, "taking this hospitality thing pretty seriously, huh?"
"You know it," he says as you fumble with the lighter. You breathe in a little
deeper the second time and you're definitely feeling fuzzy by the time you
exhale. You blink at him a few times, feeling how your face just sort of wants
to smile right now. You take a third hit.
"Wow," you inform him gravely after that one. "I—yeah."
He nods. "Here, pass it over."
"Oh, right," you say. "Sorry." You hand the bong over and watch him take
another hit off it. Somehow that's totally fascinating now. "It's like
everything is the same but more," you say, and you're not sure you're
explaining yourself well, but it's like. Your head feels fuzzy on the inside
and colors are really neat and you feel just generally pretty okay with the
world. Not that you usually have problems with the world, but. Yeah.
You discover that the texture of your jeans is pretty neat. You discover that
rubbing the back of your head against the couch makes you want to giggle. You
discover that Dave's bro has a really great smile that makes you feel warm and
happy. You discover that when he ruffles your hair it makes you want to push
into his hand, and make a sound like a really terrible attempt at purring.
He laughs when you do that, and oh, that's a really good sound. He scoots
closer and you can feel how warm he is all along your side and that's pretty
nice, and when he says, "Makes you kind of touchy-feely, hmm?" you can't argue.
"That's okay, right?" you ask. "Wait, is that okay?"
He laughs again and this time he's close enough that you can feel his breath in
your hair. "Okay by me," he says. He drapes an arm over your shoulders and you
lean into him and he feels so solid and strong. His other hand is tracing
patterns across your thigh like he thinks your jeans feel neat, too, or like
he's writing you a secret message, wow, that would be so neat, and you squirm a
little but you can't decode it but that's okay too because it just feels nice.
Really nice. Oh. Kind of...really nice in a specific in-your-pants way, and
wow, the friction of your jeans against your developing boner is way more
interesting than usual. Should you not be thinking about it? Maybe this is
inappropriate. Okay probably yeah. But you can't help yourself entirely, and
then it twitches just as his fingertips trace a curve high up on your thigh and
he laughs.
"You doing okay there?" he asks. His other hand splays across your chest and
it's warm and you wonder if your heart is really beating as hard as you think
it is, and when his fingers start sliding back in the direction of your knee
again your hips come up off the couch a little. "Let me know if you need a
hand."
You're clutching at his pants, your fingers graspy and half-numb and when did
that happen? He's definitely tracing letters up your thigh now but you can't
concentrate enough to follow the message. When he gets to like pocket level
your hips do the thing again without waiting to consult with your brain. "If
you're offering, um, yes please," you say.
"Sure thing, man," Dave's outrageously irony-cool bro says and wow you have no
idea how he has the dexterity to get your jeans open one-handed when he smoked
more than you did and you're currently about at the "check it out, I have feet"
level. Also, rambling in your brain. But your jeans are open and he's trying to
tug them down without really letting go of you so you squirm to help him out
and check it out, you do have feet, and kicking them helps get your jeans and
your underwear more or less off and wow.
"Were doing this," you say, because it occurs to you that it fits, "where
making this hapen," and how do you even pronounce hapen anyway? You're probably
doing it wrong and it's still making you giggle.
He laughs, too, warm and easy, breath against your ear and really quiet because
that's right Dave is still asleep in the next room, jeez.
This time when his hand slides up your thigh it makes your leg hairs prickle
all funny from getting brushed backward, a little squirmy weird but good, and
then he's touching your balls, holy crap. You make another dumb little eeping
noise as he plays with them, as his fingertips trace really lightly up the
length of your dick. It feels great and you want more and oh man just really
seriously you want his hand wrapped around you, really a lot, and maybe you're
actually saying so?
Because he says, "Yeah, it's cool, that's exactly where we're headed," and you
think you might die. But then he lets go of you for a second and he's undoing
his pants instead, and he doesn't say anything about that, just raises one
eyebrow at you over the top of his anime shades.
       [http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2rf483Con1ro8lcyo1_1280.jpg]
So you stick your hand in his pants and wow okay that's his dick in your hand,
gosh, and it feels so amazingly smooth—okay, yeah, you guess it's not that
different from yours? But when you're touching yours you're thinking more about
how your dick feels than how your hand feels, or maybe it makes more sense to
say that the other way around, but either way you're touching him and that's a
little scary and a little thrilling, and then he gets his hand right where you
want it, wrapped hot around your dick and everything is awesome. Those rough
spots on his palm are sword calluses, aren't they? Man, that feels so cool.
You let your head fall back and your hips rock up and just feel, his hands and
his dick and his body heat and the roughness of fabric and the coolness of air
on your bare legs, everything, everything, melting into this blur of things-
that-feel-awesome, dreamy and spiraly and drifting, carried by the beat of the
music that's still going, that's been going all this time, hasn't it? And you
can feel the heat and tingling in your nerves that means pretty soon you're
going to come, and that's going to feel so good, but it all feels so good,
that's the really cool part, it's going to be just one more part of this
weightless whole, and you suddenly get it, why they call it getting high,
because right now, you're just. You're flying.
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