Work Text:
In the early days of June, the first real heatwave of summer hits Harlem with a vengeance.
The shiny black tarmac of the streets shimmers like a desert, and the scent of sweat permeates every inch of air. Looking out the window reveals exposed skin galore, as people try to beat the heat in the skimpiest clothing they own.
As Luke’s mother used to say, it’s a real scorcher out there.
His new apartment, above a Jamaican restaurant that lets him wash dishes on the weekends for a little extra cash, is sorely lacking in air conditioning, and there’s only so much that a few strategically placed fans and open windows can do. Even though the place doesn’t get much direct sunlight, it’s still hot enough that, even in the bedroom, which is the coolest room by far (except for the bathroom, but he doesn’t exactly want to spend the whole day in there), he’s still sweating, nearly as bad as the times when he was a child in church, buttoned up in his Sunday best and so damn hot that he thought he was going to pass out right there in the pews.
Still, heatwave or not, it isn’t all bad.
At least he has some good company.
“Sweet Christmas,” he rumbles, a cloud of smoke pouring from between his lips, “that is good.”
“Please, feel free to share with the rest of the class,” Claire says, poking him in the ribs. She’s lying cross-ways on the bed, head resting on his stomach, feet dangling over the edge of the mattress. She’s wearing one of his t-shirts, big enough to cover her to mid-thigh, and her legs are bare and gleaming with a faint sheet of sweat.
“Sorry.” He takes another drag, holds the smoke deep in his lungs, and exhales out another cloud of smoke towards the ceiling before he passes her the blunt. “It’s been a really long time.”
“I bet.” Her cheeks hollow as she takes a hit, and her eyes flutter closed as she exhales. “It’s good stuff.” She passes it back to him and sits up, stretching her arms above her head. “I need some water.”
“Wait.” Reaching for her wrist, he takes another deep hit, lets the smoke linger behind his closed lips. Before he has to tug her closer, she takes the hint and slides over, throws one leg over his so that she’s astride his thighs. He sits up so that they’re face to face, thumbs at her bottom lip and leans in to press his lips against hers, exhaling all the smoke from his mouth. Even after she’s pulled it all in, she doesn’t lean back right away; she keeps her lips curled around his bottom one, just resting there, the heat of her mouth unbearable in the best of ways.
When she does move away, her eyelids are still closed, and she brings one hand up to the side of his face, thumb dragging along his cheek.
“I wish it wasn’t so goddamn hot,” she groans. “Otherwise I’d be doing a lot more than kissing you right now.”
Trust me,” Luke says, flicking his eyes down to where she’s straddling him before returning his gaze to her makeup free face. “The feeling’s mutual.”