Title: Cigarette Kiss
Author: Ponderosa (email@example.com)
Pairing: Johnny Depp/Orlando Bloom
Summary: A cigarette burns as a memory lingers.
Disclaimer: Pure fiction. Don't claim to know them. Etc. etc.
Johnny is standing behind the open door of a car, arms propped along the top of the window. Crossed at the wrists, his hands dangle lazily. A cigarette slowly burns its way to ash, thin wisps of smoke licking their way up his knuckles. The skin across the back of his hands is thin, nicked here and there with the little marks that life leaves on a man. Veins show clearly across delicate bones that twitch as he moves his thumb to some beat running through his head.
Like everything about Johnny, his hands possess a mesmerizing sort of beauty, one that very nearly succeeds in hiding the man's subtle practicality. He has slim fingers, gently tapering, with nails not too long and not too short. There's still some dark left on them, just as there's a little dark left under his eyes. Little shadows of Jack that he has yet to discard.
It's almost difficult for Orlando to believe that those fingers have touched his neck, felt the pound of his pulse, pulled him close. But he remembers the callused tips pressing into the skin beneath his jaw far too clearly for the experience to have been anything but real.
As Orlando watches, Johnny's hands come to life. Silver and gold flash as a quick flick sends a rain of ash and sparks to the pavement. Then those beautiful fingers sweep upwards to an equally beautiful mouth and the tip of the cigarette glows an angry orange.
Orlando finds it strange that he recalls more clearly the man's touch when it had merely been a precursor to a kiss. But the kiss itself had been strange. It hadn't been exactly passionless - as Johnny doesn't do anything without passion - rather it was a kiss more smoke than fire. It had twisted about in Orlando's mouth and crawled its way down his throat to purr in his chest, only to dissipate when contact was broken.
The man's fingertips though, they scorched his skin, left some sort of invisible tattoo on him that has yet to fade.
"Back there," Orlando says, swallowing his nerves, "what was that for?"
Johnny takes one last drag and casts his cigarette to the ground. Life sputtering out, it skitters a few feet to join two more broken and bent remains. He turns and levels his dark eyes on Orlando, smoke snaking out his nostrils before he exhales. Johnny gives him a small shrug and a small smile. "Just wondered what it would feel like."