Chapter Text
For the fact that the piece is 100% illegal, Flame thinks it’s coming together pretty nicely. He steps back from the wall to get a better view of the mural: red, orange, and white spray paint layered to form the illusion of the wall being on fire. The finishing touch would be a little white tag near the bottom.
All of a sudden, to his right, he hears this agitating, grating voice.
“Hey uhm, actually, you know you can’t be doing this here, right?”
When he looks to see who the fuck is talking to him, the first thing he thinks is holy purple.
The guy’s hair is dyed bright purple, and almost everything he’s wearing from head to toe is some shade of purple, from the amethyst sweater to the lavender Nikes. The skirt he’s wearing is white, and also too short on him, like he just discovered boys can wear skirts last night and put on the first one he could find. Everything is completely mismatched, and the outfit is objectively ugly. The guy wearing it only manages to pull it off because he’s hot, and tall.
“Fuck off bro,” Flame responds cheerily.
He does not fuck off. He swoops forward and grabs a can of spray paint from Flame’s bag on the ground—the white one, the one he needs to finish the piece. Purple Dickhead comments, “Isn’t this like, super illegal?”
“What are you, the feds?” Flame jumps forward to grab the can from him but he just jumps back and holds it out of his reach, laughing and shaking it tauntingly.
Okay. What the fuck.
Flame goes to lunge at him, completely down to give this guy whatever fight he’s looking for, when a cop car comes peeling into the empty parking lot, sirens blaring.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
The dude freezes, and Flame bolts for his bag; just as he makes it there, two police officers jump out of the car, and he’s pushed up against the wall by one of them. Flame gets a good look at the name on his badge: Lieutenant K. As he’s cinching a pair of handcuffs around Flame’s wrists, Flame laughs and bites, “It’s literally just some paint on a wall bro, are the cuffs really necessary?”
The officer growls back, “If you’re gonna try to run, then yeah, they are.”
Flame shrugs. Fair enough.
The other guy is getting cuffed as well, whining loudly about doing nothing wrong, and the officer points to a giant, bolded NO TRESPASSING sign across the lot.
They’re both unceremoniously shoved into the back of the car. The officers continue poking around the scene, taking pictures and examining the contents of Flame’s bag he left behind. Which left him alone in the back of a cop car with some dumb fuckass stranger who probably led the cops right to him. The dumb fuckass stranger who is really hot, and also actively wigging out.
“There’s no way we’re getting arrested right now bro,” he says breathlessly. “I cannot get arrested.”
Jesus, how old was this kid?
“Dude, fucking breathe for a sec, Jesus,” Flame says. “What’s your name man? How old are you? You’re probably a minor, right? It’ll be a juvenile charge then. Chill.”
The dude turns to look at him angrily. “I’m literally nineteen bro, what the fuck? Also there’s no way I’m giving you my actual real name, I don’t even know you.”
“Okay, I’m nineteen as well. So, basically we’re both fucked,” Flame says. “Yeah I also didn’t ask for your real fucking name, idiot. You think I’m gonna ask for your social and the numbers on the back of your card too? Jesus, get a grip. Learn how to give a fake name then, like literally everyone else on planet Earth. I’m FlameFrags.”
The guy gives him an unimpressed look. “That’s the dumbest fake name I’ve ever heard.” He pauses for a second, then says, “You can call me Wemmbu.”
“Yeah, right,” Flame laughs. “As if that’s not also dumb as shit. Okay, man.”
They just kind of glare at each other for a second. Something about the way the blue and red police lights shine over Wemmbu’s face makes him look strangely beautiful. Flame bites the inside of his cheek and plays with his snake bites for a second, running his tongue over the two silver rings on his bottom lip.
“So,” Wemmbu pipes up. “How long do you think it’ll take before they realize I have a warrant?”
“Dude, what the fuck? You have a warrant? For what, being illegally annoying or somethi–”
“Assault with a deadly weapon. It was literally one time okay? And the guy definitely deserved it, trust me. It was a total misunderstanding anyways, I wasn’t actually gonna kill him or anything.”
Flame stares at him blankly.
“Also, I can pick handcuffs,” Wemmbu randomly blurts.
“Okay bro, next time, lead with that. If we can get out of the cuffs, I have a bike around the corner,” Flame says.
“What,” Wemmbu snorts. “Like, a bicycle?”
“No, you fucking moron. A sports bike. A motorcycle. It doesn’t have a plate. I don’t think they’ve even realized it’s there yet. If we can get to it, we can get away. This is a no-chase state. They can’t follow us.”
He watches as Wemmbu’s eyes bug out. “You’re actually fucking crazy. Why do you even have a bike with no plate, isn’t that like, illegal?”
Flame glares at him. “My brother got it for me for– Okay, bro, nevermind. What’s with all the questions bro? Does it matter? Like, why do you know how to pick handcuffs bro? Why do you have a freaking warrant for assault with a deadly weapon?”
They have another short staring contest until Flames sighs in defeat. “If you help me get out of here, I’ll help you get away. C’mon bro.”
Wemmbu’s eyes dart around nervously for a second, then he sighs loudly—so dramatic—and rolls his eyes. “I can do it with one of the safety pins in my skirt, if you can reach it.” He holds up his hands, cuffed behind him, and nods to Flame’s, which are cuffed in front.
Flame smirks and huffs a laughs in disbelief. “You don’t wanna give me your real name but you want me to get in your pants right now? What a freak, bro.”
All he earns is another glare and an elbow to the ribcage. Wemmbu scoots across the seat, closer to him, and turns so that they’re face-to-face. “It’s in the front, on the waistband. And I swear to god if your hands go any further than necessary I will fucking kill you bro.”
He shuffles forward, tugs Wemmbu’s sweater out from where it’s tucked into the front of his skirt, and brings the edge of it up to Wemmbu’s mouth. “Hold onto this for me, yeah?”
Wemmbu glares with the force of a thousand suns, but dutifully bites down on it, holding the baggy sweater up and out of Flame’s way.
His fingers slip under the elastic of the skirt’s upper edge and feel around on the inside until he locates a spot of cold metal pins. Despite how careful he is when going to unhook one of them, he barely brushes against the top edge of Wemmbu’s underwear, feeling lace on the back of his knuckles. He jerks his hand back quickly, letting the elastic snap back loudly, safety pin successfully acquired.
Wemmbu releases the edge of the sweater from his mouth and reaches his cuffed hands out from behind his back, swiftly accepting the pin and slotting it into the keyhole of one of his cuffs. He gets it open fast, freeing one hand then bringing them around to his front to undo the other side. As soon as he’s done, Flame holds his hands out for Wemmbu to start on his.
As he works at it, Flame hurriedly asks, “Have you ever ridden a bike before?” Wemmbu shakes his head no, and Flame swears as Wemmbu clicks the first of his cuffs open. “Okay, some quick advice. You’re gonna ride on the back, okay? Put your feet up on the pegs, do not let your legs touch the exhaust, or it’ll burn you. And just lean when I lean, but not like, a lot. Oh yeah, and hold on. Tightly.”
The last cuff unhooks from Flame’s hands and he rubs his wrists as they’re freed. Wemmbu looks at him with wide eyes. “Do you have a spare helmut or anything?”
Flame gives him a crazy look and wonders if he’s kidding.
“Right, yeah, no, sorry. Obviously you don’t have actual biker gear. Because why would you.”
“Can you just shut the hell up bro? Are we doing this or what?”
“Yeah,” Wemmbu says. “Let’s go on three. Okay one–”
“Three,” Flame says, and yanks his door open. Wemmbu rushes out of his side right away as well, and they sprint for the bike. They make it all the way around the corner before they hear the officers start shouting, finally noticing they had escaped. When they round the corner and find the bike sitting right where he’d left it, Flame almost cries tears of relief. It’s solid black, with a singular thin, dark red stripe down the length of it. He’s never been so grateful to see his own bike in his life.
Flame throws his leg over the seat and quickly turns the key he’d left in the ignition. Wemmbu places a hand on Flame’s shoulder to pull himself up and sit behind him, then circles his arms tightly around Flame’s center, clinging to his back like a koala. He flicks the kill switch down, pushes down on the starter, and kicks the kickstand up to get it standing; the engine roars to life. He spares a quick glance back to make sure Wemmbu is on right before leaning forward, pulling the clutch in, kicking down on the shifter, and then slowly pulling the throttle back as he releases the clutch. The officers yell after them to stop, and Wemmbu lifts one arm to give them a very friendly parting gesture as they disappear into the distance.
—
Flame speeds down the open highway—almost totally empty, given that it's just past midnight—delighted that they had actually escaped; Wemmbu was literally a wanted felon, he probably couldn’t care less about the potential speeding ticket. He weaves in and out of traffic and can hear Wemmbu laughing in his ear. They pass through a tunnel and the roar of the bike’s engine reverberates around the walls loudly.
When they get far enough away, he yells back at Wemmbu asking if he wants to be dropped off at home or something. Wemmbu bites sharply into his ear, “No, I don’t want to go home.”
Flame shouts back, “I guess you can come to mine for a bit or whatever, my brothers won’t care.”
Despite saying they were headed back to Flame’s house, he drives them around the city for awhile, taking the scenic route; the city lights were so beautiful at night, and he was kind of enjoying riding around with someone on his back. He was having too much fun to go home yet. Wemmbu was a good passenger. And it’s not like he could tell the difference on whether they were really headed home or not. Seriously, Flame could just be straight up abducting him right now, for all Wemmbu knew. How messed up did your home life have to be to prefer riding around the city with a complete stranger to returning to your own house? Flame almost didn’t want to know.
Eventually, when he can no longer justify the amount of gas they’re burning, he takes them back to the house.
—
Despite the fact that it’s two in the morning when they walk in, several of the guys are sprawled out on their huge sectional in the living room. The clattering of pans, distant shouting—sounding suspiciously like Spoke and Mapicc—and the smell of something burning drifts through the doorway leading to the kitchen. Wemmbu’s eyes widen at the number of empty liquor bottles collected on top of their kitchen cabinets as decoration, probably well over one hundred by now; it was tradition to save them.
As they pass through, a few brothers pipe up to say hey to Wemmbu. Flame pauses to sneak up on Mane from behind and reach over his shoulder to shut his laptop with a laugh, interrupting whatever assignment he was working on.
He scurries up the stairs laughing—dragging Wemmbu behind him with one hand on his arm—as Mane yells at him, a phrase containing absolutely zero words found in the bible. Flame yells back at him to fuck off, but he’s smiling as he does it.
Wemmbu whispers at him angrily, “This is a frat house. You live in a frat house. You’re a fucking frat guy?”
Flame just shrugs. “Yeah bro, so what? The guys are cool, I promise.” Wemmbu shakes his head in disbelief.
They push into Flame’s room and he drops the keys to his bike on his dresser. Wemmbu follows him in and spins in a circle, checking it out. He starts poking around, and raises an eyebrow at the rolling tray and freshly-rolled joints sitting out on Flame’s nightstand. He holds one up and looks at Flame judgementally. “Seriously?”
Flame laughs. “Do you smoke?”
“Uhm, yes,” Wemmbu lies, very obviously full of shit.
Flame laughs harder and falls into the giant beanbag by his window. “Okay well if you’re gonna lie, you should start by not holding it like a cigarette bro, kinda gives you away.” He claps and holds his hand out.
Wemmbu makes a very guilty face and tosses the joint to him. Flame pushes up on his window to crack it open and says, “Grab a lighter bro, I’ll smoke you out as a treat for your first time.”
“D’aaalrighttt, let’s not make it sound weird like that,” Wemmbu laughs, snatching a lighter from the tray and making his way over. He pauses at the window. “Uhm, hello? Do you not have another chair? You’re kind of a shitty host.”
Flame pats the side of the bean bag next to him. “Just sit in here bro, I promise I don’t bite.” He puts on a silly cowboy voice. “There’s room enough for both of us in this town, partner.”
Wemmbu squints at him suspiciously.
“We just ran from the cops together and you’re seriously gonna get all prudish now? C’mon bro.”
Finally, Wemmbu just rolls his eyes and sighs, falling into the other side of the seat. By the nature of it being a fucking beanbag, the chair obviously immediately shifts to push them together in the middle, glued together side-by-side. Flame just holds his hand out for the lighter as Wemmbu shifts around, watching the way his pale legs slide together as he tries to get comfortable. He finally gives up and accepts his fate, leaving them pressed up together.
While Wemmbu struggles next to him, Flame lights the joint and takes the first hit, inhaling deeply and exhaling smoothly, blowing the smoke out the open window.
He goes to pass it to Wemmbu, and the poor guy looks at it like it’s actually going to bite him. Flame pulls it back and laughs at him. Turning so that they’re face-to-face, he says, “Okay bro, lemme help you out here. Ever heard of shotgunning?”
Wemmbu glares at him. Okay, so probably not.
“So basically, I’ll inhale first, and then you breathe in as I breathe out, and then because I already hit it, the smoke won’t affect you so bad right away. Sound good?”
They shift around a little more, Wemmbu moving so they’re facing each other properly, and shrugs. “Yeah bro, sure.”
Flame hits it again and leans forward to blow it into Wemmbu’s mouth, and the idiot suddenly leans away from him, like a knee-jerk reaction. It’s so stupid, Flame laughs in the middle of the exhale, and starts choking on it. He’s laughing and coughing at the same time as Wemmbu makes stupid, confused noises.
Flame wheezes, “Dude, what the fuck, that was so bad bro. You have to get fucking close, dumbass. Breathe in from my mouth.”
“Ohhhh,” Wemmbu says. “Oh yeah that was my bad. Yeah let’s run that back, go again bro.”
He laughs one more time—it’s already hitting him now—and goes to take another hit. This time, he slips a hand under Wemmbu’s ear and pulls his face close. Their mouths get so close, they’re almost kissing. He exhales again—smoothly this time—and taps Wemmbu’s cheek with his thumb to tell him to inhale. He gets the cue, breathes in, and immediately starts coughing.
“Oh my god,” he wheezes. “What the fuck.”
Flame ashes the joint out the window onto the roof while patting Wemmbu on the back forcefully, encouraging him to cough it out.
“Yeahh,” Flame says. “We can work on that.”
Wemmbu continues to cough up a lung for another minute or so, and Flame starts coaching him on how to inhale without dying; inhale deep enough to get it into your lungs, but stop halfway, don’t swallow as if drinking water, and don’t breath in through your nose at the same time.
“Okay,” Wemmbu says finally. “Lemme try again.”
He shuffles his legs over Flame’s, allowing them to get even closer and transfer the hit better; he might as well be in Flame’s lap at this point. Flame holds the joint in one hand and reflexively runs his other hand up the bare thigh in his lap, stopping just before the bottom edge of his skirt. Goosebumps rise over Wemmbu’s skin and he leans closer, one of his hands sliding up Flame’s arm and tracing a single finger through the patchwork tattoos on his forearm, outlining the matching dagger he’d gotten with Mane. “Nice tattoos.”
“Thanks,” Flame says, then brings the joint to his lips again, inhales, then turns to Wemmbu and leans in. As he exhales, Wemmbu leans in to inhale, tipping a bit too far forward, and their lips brush together for a second; he inhales all the way, correctly this time, and leans back to blow it out the window, bending backwards but keeping his grip on Flame’s arm. He smiles triumphantly.
Flame nods in approval. “Bro’s a quick study.”
Wemmbu laughs back and says, “Yeah we should do like, reverse. Like, I should try it first.”
With an eyebrow raised in doubt, Flame holds the joint out for him, but Wemmbu still doesn’t take it from him.
“Uhh,” he says. “How am I supposed to like–” He swivels his hand around awkwardly, indicating he doesn’t know how to hold it.
“Here,” Flame interrupts, just bringing it up to his mouth for him. “Just barely put your mouth on it, yeah, like try not to get any spit on it. It’s usually like, impolite if you do.”
Wemmbu leans forward and his eyes look up at Flame as he hits the joint out of his hand. Which might be the single hottest thing Flame has ever seen. He rubs a thumb back and forth over Wemmbu’s thigh encouragingly as he inhales. After a few seconds, he takes the joint away, and leans in to replace it with his own mouth.
This time, they’re actually kissing as they transfer the smoke, lips pressed together firmly so that none escapes. Flame’s not sure who leaned in more, but they were definitely kissing, and it was definitely mutual.
Wemmbu gasps into his mouth a little bit when Flame pulls back to exhale, just letting the smoke drift out between them, not bothering with blowing it out the window. He asks, “How you feelin’?”
Wemmbu giggles and nods, “Good. Yeah, it’s good.”
Yeah, no kidding. He’s basically melted in Flame’s lap, with both arms thrown over Flame’s shoulders. His eyes are already slightly hooded and glassy.
“We should do that again,” Wemmbu presses. Flame just nods and holds the joint up to his lips again. He hits it, then pulls Flame’s face forward, blowing the smoke into his open mouth and kissing him again. Wemmbu bites down on his bottom lip and starts playing with his snake bites, licking over the metal inside his mouth.
Another hit, another kiss. He’s getting braver with it every time, sliding his tongue into Flame’s mouth eagerly. Flame allows it for a second, then bites down a little to sink his canines into Wemmbu’s tongue, who moans at the sharp pain.
Yeah, this is probably one hell of a first high for him to be having. Wemmbu pulls back and licks his own lips, probably experiencing cotton mouth for the first time ever.
“Lowkey bro,” Wemmbu starts. “It works like, so fast. Like I did not expect it to feel so good.” He shifts around uncomfortably. “Dude, your belt and all the shit in your pockets is like, hurting me.”
Flame snuffs the joint out on the roof and sets it on the windowsill, then lifts his hips to take off his belt and everything out of his pockets, tossing them onto the floor next to them. When they settle back down, Wemmbu shifts further down into Flame’s personal space, with his whole ass pressed directly into his lap. He presses his thighs together, probably trying to relieve some kind of pressure. Flame wonders absently if he’s wet right now. The skirt isn’t long enough to cover underneath him; the bottom of his underwear is probably rubbing against Flame’s cargos. He tries to think holy thoughts and mentally begs his dick to not get hard.
He laughs and says, “Yeah bro, everything feels better when you’re high, swear.”
Wemmbu licks his lips again and grins, leaning in close like they’re about to kiss again. “Yeah? Like what? Like, what else?”
Flame grins back, “Why, you tryna find out?”
Wemmbu just smirks his stupid dummy grin and closes the last bit of distance between them, kissing him hungrily in a way that says he is definitely fucking around and trying to find out. Flame’s hand slides up the outside of his bare thigh again, and Wemmbu pulls upwards on his arm until it slides under the edge of his skirt and up to his waist. His knees fall open and he tries tugging Flame’s hand between his legs, and Flame stops him.
He turns his head to the side, breaking the kiss, and says, “Say it.”
Wemmbu glares at him and easily demands, “Touch me. Now.”
Flame just smirks and shakes his head. “I am touching you.”
If this were a cartoon, Wemmbu would have fucking smoke blowing out of his ears at this point. His little irritated face is kind of cute. Yeah, Flame has got to be high as shit.
Wemmbu seethes, “You are so fucking annoying, oh my god. Touch me more.”
He obediently lets Wemmbu tug his hand higher, his fingertips pressing between his legs over what is definitely lace, rubbing over the damp fabric. “Jesus,” Flame thinks out loud. “This shit is soaked bro.”
Wemmbu’s mouth falls open and he buries his face is Flame’s neck with a whiney, embarrassed groan. Flame keeps rubbing him through the slick-soaked lace teasingly and Wemmbu bites down on his neck hard, clearly frustrated. He presses his mouth to his ear and says, “This is touching you, technically. Maybe be a little more specific sweetheart.”
Wemmbu lifts his face out of Flame’s neck and—oh my god his cheeks are so red—glaring at him, grits, “Finger me, or else I will do it myself.”
Flame rewards him with a short kiss and teasingly asks, “See, was that really so hard bro?”
Before Wemmbu can say anything snarky in response, Flame just lifts him up and turns him all the way until they’re back-to-chest. He shifts down, leans back, and bends his knees up at a ninety degree angle, then lifts Wemmbu’s lanky ass legs up to rest on the outside of his own legs, so that he’s laying back on Flame’s chest and can’t close his knees. It also makes it so Flame can touch Wemmbu from the same angle he would touch himself, and shifts him so that all of his body weight is grinding back on Flame’s lap.
Wemmbu makes a slightly undignified noise, and Flame just slips his hand over the back of one of Wemmbu’s and guides it down, up under his skirt and past the edge of his underwear, forcing him to press his fingers into his own wetness.
He leans into his ear and says, “Go on. Show me how you do it.”
While Wemmbu fingers himself—dragging his middle finger over his clit and dipping down into his hole—Flame shadows his fingers over the back of his hand, taking mental notes of every little thing he does. He also ducks his head down and starts mouthing at Wemmbu’s throat, biting and kissing over the skin there. Wemmbu moans, his hand stutters slightly, and he tips his head to the side to give Flame more room to work. His free hand comes around to pull out on one of Wemmbu’s thighs, keeping his legs open.
With both of their hands stuffed down his pants, they’re definitely stretching out and ruining Wemmbu’s underwear right now, but Flame can’t find the motivation in his weed-addled brain to care.
Wemmbu focuses on rubbing his clit while Flame slips one finger up into his gushing cunt, curling it over and over in a come-hither motion. Wemmbu’s chest is rising and falling rapidly and his legs start shaking. He throws his head back on Flame’s shoulder, his free hand clenches in the loose fabric of Flame’s pants, and suddenly he’s leaking come all over their hands, his underwear, his skirt, and Flame’s lap. Flame knows what squirting is in theory, but is still surprised at how there’s just so much of it.
And because Flame wasn’t born yesterday, he keeps going. Wemmbu is too gone to keep assisting, so Flame wraps his free hand around his wrist and pulls his limp hand out of the way. When Flame’s fingers slip through the new slick and continue sliding over his clit and fucking into his hole, Wemmbu starts letting out these sobbing moans, just breathlessly chanting fuck fuck fuck over and over.
After the first one, it isn’t hard to get him to come again. It takes barely two minutes before Wemmbu is shaking again and more slick is gushing over Flame’s fingers and palm.
Wemmbu clutches at Flame’s wrist tightly, clearly overstimulated. He finally relents, pulling his come-soaked fingers out of Wemmbu’s underwear and up to his own mouth, licking over them greedily. It tastes kind of good, actually. Wemmbu laughs as Flame leans over his shoulder to bring their mouths together, pushing the taste of Wemmbu’s own come on his tongue into his mouth.
And because Wemmbu is greedy as fuck, he laughs and says, “Eat me out?”
Flame laughs back happily and shrugs. “I mean fuck, why not?”
They scramble over to Flame’s bed; Wemmbu flops down onto it on his back and scoots up to the headboard to lean back on his pillows. Flame falls down over him with a nasty kiss before making his way downwards, rucking Wemmbu’s shirt up so he can kiss down the length of his chest. He briefly pauses to lave over each of his nipples, then kisses over the soft pudge of his stomach. Finally, he ducks his head under his skirt—not bothering to take it off—and presses his mouth to Wemmbu’s core over the ruined mess of his underwear. Wemmbu slips a hand over his dreads and pushes his head closer, clearly impatient. Flame sits up to slip the underwear off and tosses them off to the side, where they land on the floor with a wet smack.
He leans back down and uses two fingers to spread Wemmbu open, then licks between them and over his clit. Immediately, Wemmbu’s back arches off the bed and he’s pressing insistently on the back of Flame’s head, trying to grind his cunt down onto Flame’s mouth. Which is actually not a terrible idea, when he thinks about it.
Flame sits up suddenly and says, “Lowkey, do you wanna just sit on my face?”
Wemmbu pants, “Uhm, are you gonna be able to breathe or—?”
“Yeah yeah, I will, don’t worry about it,” Flame interrupts.
They swap places so that Flame’s laying flat, face up on his bed and Wemmbu swings his leg over Flame’s head, grabbing onto the headboard for leverage; his skirt settles to form a white curtain around his face. He curls his hands around the topside of his thighs and pulls him down to sit on his tongue.
As Wemmbu grinds down on his face, rubbing his clit across his nose and moaning when Flame licks up into his cunt, Flame thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven. His dick has been so fucking hard this whole entire time, and he doesn’t even care. He would stay here for hours if Wemmbu let him.
When Wemmbu comes for the third time, Flame closes his eyes and is absolutely drenched in it. He tries his best to lick up as much of it as he can, feeling insatiable. Wemmbu’s thighs are clenched tightly on either side of his head, shaking uncontrollably and also crushing him. Even when Wemmbu stops moving above him and goes slightly limp, Flame lifts his chin up to wrap his lips around his clit again and suck on it. Wemmbu jerks up and away, too overly sensitive for Flame’s over-eager nonsense.
He gets up and off of Flame’s face and falls down on the bed next to him, absolutely boneless. Flame climbs over him to press their mouths together, smearing Wemmbu’s own come all over his chin and mouth. Wemmbu pushes him off with a weak laugh and he falls back down to stare at the ceiling.
“If you’re gonna give me free weed and head every time we get arrested together, I have a few ideas for crimes we can start with.”
Flame nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’ve got arson on the top of my list. Let’s start there. Maybe a government coup or something, after that.”
“Yeah bro, we gotta get right on that,” Wemmbu deadpans.
They both burst into laughter.
“Bro,” Wemmbu gasps through his laughs. “I am so fucking hungry. Let’s make pasta or something.”
Flame sits up and does a little mock-salute. “Sir yes sir. Your wish is my command.”
Wemmbu rolls his eyes, shoving his face away with a fond, fucked-out smile.
Somewhere off in the distance, police lights are flashing red and blue with their sirens blaring, hunting for two delinquents they’ll never find.