Cigarette Lips

I watched as the smoke drifted passed his faded lips, curling in the air to create a swift circle before vanishing into the faded smoky atmosphere of our bedroom. He took another drag from the cigarette before tapping the stick gently to discard the burnt ashes into the glass tray placed neatly beneath it on the bedside table. He inhaled one last draw before stubbed the Marlboro out, letting its corpse extinguish the flame and join the rest of the faded grey butts.

He crossed his left leg over his right and relaxed back into the chair. He was facing the window where the dim light from the off-white moon could highlight each flaw of his skin to form his outmost perfection. His little pink tongue would peak out through his smoke tainted lips to slick the skin after the nicotine dried them out. He stopped his tongue on the silver hoop that pierced the left side of his lip, twirling it slightly, making the wet steel shine with the moon's light before his tongue darted back within the safe confines of his mouth.

It seemed like an entire eternity before he turned around in his chair, uncrossed his tightly clothed legs and adored my existence. A playful smile trickled across his pierced lips as his eyes shined brightly with their Christmas-tree olive. His tattooed fingers travelled up to his face so he could brush his fringe aside and see me more crisply.

"Why so quiet, darling?" His voice rang through my eardrums and hollowed out my brain. I loved the sound of his voice, the curve of his lips and the silk of his tongue while he formed each spoken word.

My answer was neither rehearsed nor complex.

"Thinking."

His gorgeous smile quickly faded from my unannounced simplicity. He reached over to the beside table again and picked up his packet, retrieving a cigarette from within. He placed the butt at his lips then pulled out his lighter from his front jean's pocket. He cupped his hand over the end of the cigarette and flicked the flame on inside of his fingers. His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked in the nicotine, making the end burn into embers and distribute more second-hand smoke into the enclosed area.

He stood up, letting the fag dangle from his lips while his fingers toyed with his jean's button. He opened the hap then pulled down the silver zipper. I watched his every move, starting with the quick pace of his fingers as he undid his jeans to the clothing hitting the floor and the burnt ashes following suite.

He took the cigarette between his two fingers, right between the 'w' and the 'e', while he straightened out his boxer-shorts since they were crumpled up beneath his pipe-legged jeans.

"Wanna ride?" he asked me, the tattooed fingers of his right hand motioning to his crotch, while the other hand was feeding his lungs with deadly toxins.

I accepted the invitation with a brief nod of my head.

"Gerard, Gerard, Gerard," his voice echoed my name throughout the room as he paced slowly towards me. His cheeks stole another draw from the fag before he reached back and placed it in the moulded curve of the ashtray, allowing all the smoke to drizzle up into the air and dilute. "Never could deny yourself sex, could you?"

I knew the question was a serious one, and he deemed to retrieve an answer. The question was repetitive and asked every time we fucked, and the answer was always bound to be the exact same as the time before.

"Never," I admitted.

The smirk that wallowed from his face sent shivers down the curve of my spine. I brought my pale bony hands up to unzip my hooded sweater. I left the cotton hood up, though, I found it much more arousing to keep up.

After dismissing the contents of my wardrobe minus the sweater, I waited for Frank to discard his boxers. Once he did, it all began, it all went the same, just like a broken record, stuck at one place, repeating itself, over and over.

At first, his body was all over mine, then I was all over him. His hands tugged at my hood, making sure it stayed up as he laid back on the bed's blankets, clamping his eyes shut like prison gates as I took him within me. The pain of anal-intercourse was nothing to me after the short years we've been one, but it was the explosive pleasure of the giver that always took our breath away.

Dampened skin slapping against more dampened skin filled our atmosphere as heads titled back and bodies rocked. No sounds of sexual pleasure could be heard, we both agreed that they were too fake, and we only let some escape if it was entirely necessary. Don't get me wrong, our sex was amazing and it was hard to hold back sometimes, but he wanted to save those sounds, use them on special occasions, more or less.

Then it was over, just like it always was.

Our bodies convulsed like they were merged into one, spilling our seed on one another; inside of me, and on his chest. I recoiled away from him, crossing my legs in an Indian style as he used his old tossed shirt to stroke the mess away from his skin. Tossing the cloth over to me, he moved from his place on the bed to go back to the chair.

His naked body stared at my half naked one. His fingers that I happened to be all too familiar with reached over to his packet, exposing another cigarette. His sweat slicked forehead furrowed down as he looked around for his lighter before he remembered where it was.

"Hand me my lighter, would you, cupcake?" he asked me, his voice worn out and sugary sweet.

I nodded, leaning over the edge of our sex-stained bed to grasp at the metal zippo in his front pocket of the jeans on the floor. I tossed it over to him and he returned the favour with one of his award-winning smiles.

I had to last every day of my life, watching him eat away at those cigarettes. Each one took at least ten days away from his life. In reality, I was watching his body fade away with the nicotine craving, but I never did have the guts to mention it to him.

The fact remaining was that every night that he fell into a welcoming slumber, it was the strong smell of the smoke stained kisses from his cigarette lips that reminded me who I had fell in love with so long ago.