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Hell and Heroin

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Zeke was too lanky to play sports, but he rushed that nigga like a linebacker. A quick embrace that didn't allow Shao to put his guard up. It quite literally took the wind out of him.

"You know I have fucking asthma, right? Get yo big body ass off of me!" Shao wheezed, fronting like he wasn't melting into his MC's touch. He wiggled out of Books' grip and floated gracefully onto his red satin covers, while it seemed like his canine-lamia counterpart simply flipped the switch on his abilities. He crashed down next to Shao, his weight compressing the springs and making the conductor roll into the depression his body made in the mattress. They were face to face this way. Closer than they'd ever allow themselves to be in public, with the rest of the Get Down Brothers, even in their own thoughts most days. Zeke broke the tension first.

"You just woke up? Your skin's all hot from those showers you take," Zeke mentioned, hands and eyes mindlessly wandering over Shaolin's, frankly, fantastic muscles. "I don't know how you stand that shit, doesn't your skin get dry?"

"Does my skin feel dry to you? Since you keep touchin' up on me."

"I- uh, no. I guess not." The poet took proper stock of Shao's skin in that moment: smooth, dark, deep, rich, cocoa butter scented, covered in scars he wanted to press his lips to-

"Okay, okay, damn! I know I'm gorgeous, but stop staring." Shao scoffed, barely hiding his nerves under the guise of cool amusement. He got up to pick a record to play from the other side of the room. His back was turned to Zeke, so he couldn't see his MC take in his features to memory, couldn't feel his best friend's gaze heavy on him.

If he could, he wouldn't dare mention it.

A Get Down Brothers remix of Pussy Talk flooded the room with a warm, relaxing ambience. Most of "the wackness" had been cut out, spliced, and reapplied to the track in a way that was optimal for the chill-out session they had planned together that night.

The hopeless romantic took no time removing the suffocating button-down, but folded it neatly next to his work shoes, since he only had a few really good pieces. Discomfort is temporary; drip is forever. Shao took his spot flush against his mans body like it was his birthright. Wasn't it? It was definitely his destiny, being by Zeke's side. He held down the button on his dab pen, letting the smoke mask any anxious feeling he may or may not have been ignoring. Just two men basking in each other's radiance in the descending afternoon sun.

"Whatchu got planned, Conductor?"

"Samo, samo. Babysitting yo ass tonight, keeping it pimpin', and we can make breakfast before you have to go be a show pony for those corporate niggas." Shao grated as he watched wisps and billowing clouds float past his lips.

"You promise?"

"I'm always here when you wake up, aren't I?" Shao crooned, giving in to his poet's big puppy eyes. He passed the pen through the space between them and waited for the receiving hand. It wasn't electricity when they touched, but a magnetism. When they got too close, they were inseparable, and it was always painful to let go.

Zeke held the tip up to his mouth like he did over a thousand times at that point and took a long, even breath. Memories of every morning spent in that bed flashed behind his eyes and he looked over to Shao. Noses almost touching. Smiling. There, alone. Together.

"Yeah. I guess you have."