Who: Marijuana, Dave, Cam, Matt, Wes. What: Reconnecting, one by one. Where: The Highway, apartment building across the street. When: Friday morning/afternoon. Warnings: Drug use, language, violence, very minor sexuality.
Marijuana walked into the Highway, Wes immediately attached himself to his side and Marijuana glared at him for only a split second before the bodyguard retreated and Dave launched himself from behind the counter to attempt to burrow into Marijuana's chest, clinging to him tightly.
Marijuana just clinged right back, nuzzling in Dave's hair and crooning at him in Spanish. Words of comfort, love, peace, friendship tripped over Dave's ears as the young man sniffled against Marijuana's shirt, running hands down his chest, up his sides, through his boss' hair, fingertips over his face only to slide back down his chest again to rest his hands on Marijuana's hips.
"Love you, love you." They murmured in unison; Dave in English and Marijuana in Spanish, their mental connection strengthed by mere proximity.
Finally, Marijuana forced himself to pull back and tug Dave into the back room where they snuggled up on the couch, Marijuana holding Dave's back against his chest, stroking through his mortal's hair lightly. "Hey, Dave?"
"Mmm?" Too blissed out on the fact that Marijuana was back, that Marijuana was touching him, telling him he loved him, Dave's voice sounded groggy, dizzy, and utterly happy.
"I wanna have a middle name. Well, two middle names. I want yours to be the second." It was said simply because there was no need to be flowery with his words when it came to Dave, a rather simple being himself and his words had his second turning completely in his arms, blinking back honoured tears and pushing his lips up against Marijuana's desperately, offering his mouth up to be devoured by the only god, being, person, he ever wanted to love.
Marijuana froze; half in need to take what was being so willingly offered, half in the need to shove Dave away. Careful, careful. He thought to himself even as he slowly, slowly pulled back with a light groan of reluctance. "Dave." He whispered, his voice sounded desolated.
Dave merely nodded dejectedly. "I know, I know." He slumped against Marijuana, closed his eyes and tried to hold back tears. "You said mine was going to be your second middle name. What's the first?"
Marijuana bit his lip. "Hazel."
"Of course," Came the empty whisper as Dave just tightened his arms around his former lover, his reason for living, his addiction. "Of course." ---------------------
"I am not putting a gap in the loop ramp." Cam glared up at Marijuana from his seat on one of the piles of lumber that had taken over the parking lot. Marijuana just cracked open a can of beer and looked at him innocently. "Come on." He whined, giving Cam his best pout, but his third just shook his head.
"First of all, there is the issue of the architectural headache. Secondly... just... no. I may be okay with the twenty-foot high vert ramp and the dangerously curved quarter pipe and I'm considering what you mentioned about the drop from the roof, but no way in hell am I building something that unsafe."
Marijuana just sighed and dropped down next to the mortal, winding a friendly arm around his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Alright, alright, alright. But you can't blame me for wanting it, man, you've seen me on a board." Cam had to admit, his boss had a supernatural ability with a skateboard but he just sighed.
"I know. But you understand my worries?"
Marijuana simply nodded, took a gulp of his beer as Cam did the same, stroking his fingers over his mortal's shoulder slowly. "You okay, man?" Cam shifted uncomfortably before he nodded, glancing down at the ground and speaking slowly. "Craving every once in a while." Marijuana sighed, scratching at the inside of his elbow where unhealed track marks displayed his love and addiction for heroin and Heroin. "Once an addict, always an addict. You'll crave forever, Cam-my-boy, but I trust you."
Cam smiled and lit up a joint.
Marijuana smirked. "Now. How was your birthday party?"
Cam instantly went a rather unnattractive shade of tomato red. "Now that, I don't want to talk about."
Marijuana's good-natured laughter could be heard all the way inside the shop. ----------------------
"You heard me. I filled these balloons with paint and we're going to throw them at the walls. It's art, man." Marijuana, dressed in a ratty white t-shirt and ripped jeans, holding a tub brimming with paint-filled balloons, grinned at his youngest mortal as Matt took a moment to fully comprehend what his boss was saying. "Seriously? The inside walls?" Matt was flabbergasted, but was already getting up from his post and eying the balloons.
"Yeah, Matty-boy. This place could use a bit of colour, yeah?" And with that, they both took a line of meth and went to work. Balloons flew everywhere, decorating the walls with splashes of bright neon colours, speckles landing on the counter before they turned their sights on that instead and within a few minutes, it was as bright as a Vegas casino sign. The door to Marijuana's apartment was done with a bunch of green and white balloons before they attacked the windows, splashed of neon pink and green splaying wide over the glass from the inside.
Finally, when there was no more space on the walls, they turned on each other.
And when Dave, Cam and Wes came back from their run, they stopped in the door, looking around at the glaringly bright walls and to the two giggling children on the floor, both utterly covered in paint.
Wes said it best. "You two are fucking insane."
All he got in response was a pelting hail of balloons from the floor before Matt got up, armed with the last two neon pink balloons, and smashed them over the bodyguard's head; red hair turning pink. -------------------------
What issues the bodyguard had, either the latent, sexually violent urges or the fact that he only spoke when it was important, which caused him to be seen as rather slow, Wes' loyalty to Marijuana was unceasing, primitive in a way that completely contrasted the loyalty Dave's complex bond with the god. Wes only wanted to protect Marijuana and when his boss had taken off on vacation and silenced any requests for Wes to come along as security, Wes had grown more tense and sullen by the day as he shadowed Dave closely.
The second Marijuana walked in the door, Wes was at his side even though it seemed his boss only had eyes for Dave. It took a glare from Marijuana to get him to leave. It took ten minutes to get Wes to stand twenty feet away as Marijuana and Cam discussed the ramps out in the parking lot. It took another ten minutes, and posting two guards at the door, to get Wes to leave to go on his run with Cam and Dave, leaving Matt and Marijuana at the counter.
But now Wes' scheduled time was at hand and, standing in a warzone of an extra apartment, the bodyguard grinned darkly at his boss as Marijuana took off anything unnecessary (primarily his shirt), taped his ring to his neck to ensure that the chain wouldn't break and stretched for a moment. And then Wes lunged. Sparring, for them, meant 'kicking each other's asses for the fun of it' and Marijuana laughed as he sidestepped his bodyguard.
Shaking his head, Marijuana bent, feet flat on the floor, before lunging back and slamming Wes hard against the wall. One, two, three brutal punches to the mortal's stomach and Wes caught him harshly across the jaw, causing a hairline fracture that Marijuana let remain as his knee connected with Wes' groin.
The bodyguard doubled over in pain but a few minutes later, was throwing Marijuana into a bookshelf, the lighter being flying into it and knocking out each individual shelf as he crashed to the ground, utterly dazed.
This continued for at least half an hour until, somehow, they ended up in the kitchen, Marijuana's head woozy from the chair that Wes had smashed over it, Wes' back aching from the chair Marijuana had smashed over it. Bleeding, broken, they both slumped down to the floor, leaning up against wooden cabinets as blood trickled from numerous wounds. Marijuana groaned, his wrist feeling like it was on fire as he opened the fridge with difficulty, grabbing two beers and passing one to Wes. At the exact same time, in the exact same way, barely realizing it, they both shoved the beer bottles between their back teeth, twisting and spitting out the cap.
Clinking their bottles together, guard and guarded merely contemplated their fight, the violence, the release of tension for a long moment before a slow, gruff and thoughtful voice broke the silence. "Bossman, you really gotta find a better outlet for your aggression issues."
Marijuana snorted lightly, feeling utterly at ease and rather honoured that Wes had even thought this important enough to deign him with a full sentence. "And this is coming from you?"
Wes grinned. "Touche." And they clinked their bottles together once more, continued to bleed, and were silent.