Marijuana had to stop himself from letting a groan of relief pass through his lips as he leaned against Heroin, trying to support his husband at the same time that he was being supported. The familiar fit of their bodies together, only made slightly painful by the press of Heroin's torso against his hidden left hand, had Marijuana trying to hold back a blinding smile, only half-succeeding. The sense of his substance spread throughout his husband's system was even better and, for just a single moment, he sent his consciousness skittering throughout the THC molecules, the message - I'm here, I'm here, I love you! and more along those lines - was everything he didn't want to say in front of Cocaine. And then he came back to himself, the bone-whispered question about his hand making him wince inwardly. "Upstairs," He replied, his own voice as quiet as the slither of smoke through the air. "Not in front of Tommy." Marijuana tilted his cheek toward the kiss, sighing lightly as the blanket of Heroin's presence settled over him, soothing even the wounds on his left hand, settling down even over circular bits of cauterized flesh and easing that pain.
Kiss received, blanket settled, Marijuana let his head dip a tad until he was nuzzling briefly at Heroin's neck, nipping slightly- and whether that was because he thought he sensed that his husband's attention was momentarily drawn away from him or because he simply wanted to taste his husband's flesh was up for debate. Marijuana shifted, keeping his right arm around Heroin's waist as he turned outward and settled inward, right side fitting up against Heroin's left so he could remain in contact with his husband and also see Cocaine at the same time. "I don't think either of us have injuries that require immediate medical attention, mi marido." Voice level, it was obvious that Marijuana was feeling more like himself now that he was back in Heroin's presence, a far cry from the weakened, shaking god that Cocaine had seen during their captivity. "But other things..." Marijuana trailed off, ignoring the urge to scratch at his inner arms. "Brother Cocaine, we have a pull-out upstairs if you don't wish to go back to Die Droge just yet." He didn't wait for an answer - Cocaine would do what he pleased - before pulling away from Heroin just enough to twine the fingers of his right hand with Heroin's. They passed Tommy, the young god at the front of the shop - "I'm not giving orders, I'm relaying them. Because I was here. No, I'm not trying to usurp your position, Father would kill me." - father and son sharing a look of exasperation before the Drugs climbed the stairs to the apartment Heroin and Marijuana shared.
It was only when the door had closed behind them that Marijuana took his left hand out from his pocket, stretching his arms upward as muscles shifted and cracked all down his back, before he fumbled with his jacket, trying to get it off with one hand. Maybe if he kept moving, Heroin wouldn't notice that, through the layers of gauze, the shape of Marijuana's hand simply looked wrong. But he didn't think about it too hard, eyes drawn to the heroin set on the coffee table, wavering between staying close to Heroin and reaching forward desperately for the heroin. There was no easy solution, so Marijuana pressed his right side against Heroin's left again, leaving his injured hand to dangle at his side. "Did it seem like Stoney missed me?" Marijuana asked, a piss poor substitute for what he really wanted to say; will you jam that fucking needle in my arm because I've been away for a week and, damnit, I missed you.