"Jus' gimme th'stupid smoke, Wisdom."

Pete sighed deeply, and scratched his chest. The swollen red lines along it -- nailmarks, and wouldn't he feel those tomorrow -- tingled.

He tingled. Still.

Not that he'd admit it.

"Git your own." He knew the face LeBeau would make, even with his eyes closed, and it made him smile. It was sometimes too easy to tease the man.

"That *was* mine, homme."

Pete grinned wider, and took the spongy filter from between his lips. He eyed the markings on it, and the paper was rumpled. He'd been gripping it a little too tightly. But yes, he recognised that logo; not one of his.

With satisfaction, he touched it, feeling the smooth, white paper. And hell, did it burn pretty. He put it back in his mouth, and couldn't resist tonguing the end, gently, just once.

It tasted like everything he'd ever wanted.

It's catching, that look of longing; Pete felt that little tremble go through him, and parted his lips. The filter paper was wet enough to stick to them, and he trembled a little more.

With reverence, he pinched it in just the right place. He couldn't resist tonguing it, just the tip and just for an instant, before passing it off to LeBeau.

LeBeau grasped it, and stuck it in his mouth. Lines of worry, and anxiety, disappeared around his knuckles as he inhaled. Pete shivered, knowing that feeling of bliss, and was halfway to coming just watching LeBeau before he ruined the mood. "Y'gettin' as excited as last night?"

Hell, YES, he was.... his legs had shifted a little bit instinctively, and he already had his mouth open. But did LeBeau have to say it?

"Yeah, you could say that."

He muttered, "Bastich," under his breath, but moved over to his body anyway. LeBeau held the fag in the hand away from Pete, but shuffled over. He managed to throw the blanket off himself. Pete kept his eyes away from the body, and fixed firmly on that hand, that lovely hand with salvation.... "Am I ever gonna get that back, mate?"

LeBeau smiled, a quiet thing that just might have been a smirk, except it was far too dark and they were far too close and naked. "I guess. If y'beg."

Pete watched him close his eyes, and bring it to his lips. He wasn't going to suck back again, oh God, was he--

But he did, and the brief flare of burning tobacco sparked in his loins. "Gimme that. Now."

LeBeau shrugged elegantly, and handed it off. Like a dying man, Pete sucked, and tasted LeBeau's breath in his mouth. It was bitter, and he hacked once, then twice. The motion jolted him, and created friction where there was already more than enough heat being diverted anyway.

He sucked in again, deeply, and got a mouthful of moistness that tasted like LeBeau.

He moaned under his breath, feeling the shaking, as the filter started burning and his lips got warmer from the fire. He licked the filter, in his mouth so LeBeau wouldn't see, and the tingle travelled all the way from the tip of his tongue down.

"Y'don' have t'chew on that, Wisdom. We've got plenty more."

Pete smirked as he flicked it away. "Course we do."

And they did. But it was far more fun to share. And he loved that taste, because he was addicted.

He couldn't help it -- he rolled over, and down between LeBeau's knees. That stomach was so tight. That hair was so curly. He passed up another cig, and just sat there for a while, waiting for him to inhale, do that ritualistic tug of breath and muttering in French--

"Hurry up, mate. You're killing me here." He didn't like begging; it was demeaning somehow, though LeBeau never mentioned it in the morning, or during the day.

And then, it was there. He put it to his mouth again -- Lord, LeBeau had a full mouth, and it always looked slightly wet. Pete felt his chest rise, and several other things too, with that little breath. LeBeau always made such interesting noises.

Pete reached over for the lighter, and put it on the table beside their bed. If they lost it, they were lost. It connected them, tied them down, gasping, and made sure everything was okay.

LeBeau inhaled again, and the ash fell to his chest like a dream. Pete braced himself against the bed, and bent his head to--

*Inhale, LeBeau. That taste, always watch him as he inhales. He can see him shiver, you can hear him moan. You can imagine what that cigarette tastes like, because you can taste him right *now*...*

And Pete swallowed, and LeBeau scrabbled against the sheets, and the smoke twirled around them both. And Pete licked his lips expectantly, getting ready, and there was just one more second, and then the cigarette was in his hand.

And he brought it to his mouth. The cum was fresh in his mouth, and LeBeau was limp, and staring away from him. Pete rested his head on the quivering stomach beneath him, and put a hand through LeBeau's dark, curly hair, soaking up the sweat in it.

He rested the filter to his lips, feeling it stick to them a little, and then he closed his eyes and inhaled.