The Irrefutable Truth about Demons (2000)
“Lemme guess,” Jim says, folding his arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe, “it’s medicinal.”
Leo, three tokes in and not much inclined towards feeling defensive about it, just shrugs the shoulder that isn’t submerged in his bath and lifts the joint to his lips again. It’s still burning from his last hit, canoeing a little up one side but not enough to faze him; he sucks in a breath, sharp and fast, doesn’t pull his mouth away until a few ashes have fallen into the water. When he draws the smoke into his lungs he holds it there for a long minute, eyes closed, enjoying the tightness in his chest until it becomes unbearable before he tips his head back and exhales, releasing the smoke in a long, thin stream.
Jim is staring at him, at the joint, all his flagrantly faked nonchalance gone in favor of sharp-eyed interest. Leo grins at him lazily, says, “Guess that depends on what’s ailing you, don’t it?”
“Ha fucking ha.” Jim rolls his eyes but he’s moving, too, folding himself down on the floor next to the tub and leaning his head back just next to Leo’s elbow. “You’re a laugh riot, Bones, have I ever told you that?”
“Don’t pander,” Leo says. It’s not really the full sentence he was after, but the warm water’s relaxing and his skin’s starting to fit a little different, a little easier than it usually does; anyway, he knows Jim knows what he means. “And open up.”
“He shares,” Jim says, mock-wondering, but there’s a smile in the way his eyes crinkle as he tilts his head towards Leo, closes his lips around the joint Leo holds to his mouth. He inhales so hard that the burning paper creeps uncomfortably close to Leo’s fingers, but Leo doesn’t flinch and Jim doesn’t cough, just draws in a second, deeper breath before he moves to crouch on the bathroom floor.
“Oh,” Leo says softly, “so that’s how you want to play it,” and he lifts his free hand, dripping wet, and slides it into Jim’s hair, drawing him close. When Jim’s mouth seals over Leo’s he exhales, and Leo draws it in, everything Jim’s letting go; he’s just stoned enough that it feels staggering, monumental, to be to do this, to be able to hold in his lungs something Jim’s already breathed. When Jim pulls back and Leo releases what little smoke remains back out into the world, it feels like an ecstasy, like a loss.
“You are so fucking blazed right now, aren’t you,” Jim says, not a question, fondness tugging at his vowels and the corner of his mouth as he plucks the joint from Leo’s hand. “You degenerate.”
“Takes one,” Leo says, and watches through lidded eyes as Jim sits and hits the joint again, head resting against the rounded edge of the tub.