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'Til Our Ribs Get Tough

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Miguel’s blue car pulled up in front of the Murphy house at 11:05 on the dot, and Connor, who had already snuck out of his window, gave a small smile as he pulled open the side door.

“Hey,” he said, getting into the passenger’s seat and closing the car door as quietly as possible.

The smile on Miguel’s face matched Connor’s own as he leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. “Hey,” he replied, voice soft. “You doin’ okay?”

Connor shrugged. He’d gotten into a fight with his parents earlier that evening, and had called Miguel in a moment of ‘get me the fuck out of this house’ desperation. And Miguel had come through and driven over with some of his best shit, a pipe, and grinder hidden in the glove compartment. It didn’t hide the smell very effectively, though.

“M’alright. Wanna drive before Larry spots a suspicious vehicle outside?”

Miguel laughed softly. “Sounds like a plan.”

The parking lot outside the old apple orchard was their usual hang out place. If the weather was nice, they’d get out and walk around, but it was cold and damp, so they would be spending their evening in the car.

Miguel pulled into a parking spot and immediately went scrolling through his array of Spotify playlists, eventually finding one that ‘fit the vibe’, as he said. Connor watched him, amused and oh-so-slightly lovestruck, observing him in such a mundane moment.

As The Front Bottoms came spilling through the speakers, Miguel turned to him with a smile, putting his phone on the dashboard. “I think it’s time for a good, ol’-fashioned hotbox, wouldn’t you say?”

Connor nodded enthusiastically, opening up the glove compartment and handing the bag over, which Miguel took with a nod of thanks.

The moment he pulled out the bud, Connor could have drooled. It smelt earthy and sweet, and it desperately tried to cling to Miguel’s fingers as he was placing it in the grinder. He always had the best shit. Just one of the many benefits of being his…friend? Boyfriend? Connor wasn’t sure what they were, but he had never been one for labels anyway.

The grinder made a ghastly squeaking sound, making them both wince, but it got the job done, and Miguel made quick work of packing the bowl. Although they were both experienced smokers, Miguel had steadier hands and more patience for things like packing, grinding, and rolling joints. Connor was usually a fan of pre-rolled joints or edibles, something quick and effortless, but there was something that felt strangely intimate about watching Miguel do it all, and smoking something he’d packed for the two of them to share.

It was the stoner’s equivalent to being cooked for, he figured.

Miguel passed him the pipe and lighter, and Connor took it and pressed his lips to the end, holding the lighter over the bud until it started to burn nicely, inhaling the whole way. He only coughed once when he pulled off, his lungs used to the abuse he put them through on the daily, and passed it back to Miguel, who also took a generous hit.

Connor leaned back in his seat, looking through the rain-covered windshield at the orchard. The trees had all withered, the grass unkept and full of weeds. How poetic, his favorite childhood place now unloved and abandoned. He almost scoffed aloud at the lame ass metaphor.

“What did you guys fight about this time?” Miguel asked softly, passing it back to Connor.

Connor shrugged. “I couldn’t even tell you. It just spirals from nothing.”

Miguel hummed sympathetically and passed the pipe back.

It didn’t take long until the two of them were high, scrambling into the backseat with laughter dripping off their tongues.

Connor pulled Miguel close, nipping at the birthmark on his neck.

Miguel shivered and let his head loll back, giving Connor easier access to his skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, pulling his partner close until Connor was essentially straddling his lap. He was already embarrassingly hard, and his sweatpants left so little to the imagination.

Connor’s eyes flickered down and noticed the bulge, and purposefully bucked his hips forward to grind their clothed cocks together.

‘We’re fucking in a car, shooting heroin,’ crooned Matt Healy’s voice through the radio.

The two of them burst out laughing.

“It’s sort of true,” Miguel said, hand gripping Connor’s thigh.

“Yeah, we forgot the heroin this time,” Connor replied, grinning.

“Oh, of course. Next time though, right?”

“Absolutely.”

The sarcasm was thick in their voices, and they dissolved into giggles once again, Connor burying his face into Miguel’s shoulder.

“Well, we also aren’t fucking, we’re just making out,” he muttered after a moment.

Miguel snorted. “We’re doing the diet version of that lyric.”

That brought them both into another fit of laughter.

To be honest, they hadn’t gone very far in that area yet, and they were both okay with keeping it that way. Hormones raged during these late night makeout sessions, but they always pushed it away due to nervousness or the understanding that a car was not the best place for such an event to take place.

However, just because they weren’t going all the way didn’t mean that they didn’t like to mess around. After their giggling had died down, Connor began to lazily suck a hickey into Miguel’s collarbone, causing some sounds of pleasure.

Desperate to get in on the action, Miguel’s hands wandered, grabbing at Connor’s hips and pushing their way underneath his sweatshirt, caressing his sides. He was surprised when Connor’s torso twisted away from the touch, the lips at his neck faltering and falling open in a little gasp.

“Are you okay?” Miguel asked, retracting his touch. “I’m sorry if that crossed a line.”

Connor sat back to look at Miguel, but he couldn’t quite meet his eye. “No, you’re fine. Your hands are just cold,” he replied.

Miguel raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got the heat blasting in here, there’s no way I’m that cold,” he said. “If you don’t want me to touch you like that, it’s fine, you can be honest.”

Connor sighed. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I just…It just kinda tickled.”

“Oh,” Miguel replied. The car was quite dim, but he could see the color rise in Connor’s cheeks. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“Neither did I,” Connor replied. “Well, like, as a kid I knew. I kinda forgot, though, I guess.”

Miguel’s hands cautiously returned to Connor’s hips. “Well, I can always jog your memory.”

Either Connor was just incredibly high, or he was incredibly sensitive. Perhaps it was a mix of both. Regardless, before Miguel’s fingers had even started to move, he was starting to giggle. But he didn’t protest, so Miguel didn’t stop.

“I’m barely touching you!”

Connor gave a little whine, half-heartedly batting at the offending hands. “But I know what you’re gonna do!”

“And what exactly am I gonna do?” Miguel asked.

“Tickle me!”

“Oh, you want me to tickle you? Sure thing!”

The hands darted beneath his sweater again and fingers danced over Connor’s stomach and sides, no particular strategy to the attack, just hungrily searching for spots that brought about more precious laughter.

Clearly frustrated that he’d fallen for such a juvenile trick, Connor groaned between that aforementioned laughter. “Fuck off!”

“That’s not very polite,” Miguel replied. “I’m just doing what you asked.”

“But I—that’s not what—” he tried to reply, but he was breathless and his mind was still muddy from the high, and Miguel’s touch was incredibly distracting, so he couldn’t get a clear sentence out.

As both their giggling filled the car once again, the faint sound of a Lorde song still trickled through the speakers.

‘You’re the only friend I need / Sharing beds like little kids / And laughing ‘til our ribs get tough’

And at that moment, Connor felt as though everything was going to be alright.