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[untier]

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[pietas]

[ The arm around his shoulders is heavy, warm, and he sighs leaning into it, soaking up the words a little idly with the joint hanging close to his lips like an afterthought. He laughs a bit, looking into Wolfgang's eyes with more amusement than anything, though he could be preening a bit too--it's always hard to tell with Tris.

He presses a little closer into the crook of his shoulder and focuses on taking another hit, sucking air in through his teeth as he pulls back. ]

Oh, I like that one.

[ He leans back against his arm. The smoke escapes out his nose a bit, leaks into the air past his tongue and he feels that slight burn against everything inside of him, enough to close his eyes. He tips his chin up a little, like he remembers that touch (and he does) warm and firm and fond and he basks a little in remembering it just right. ]

Wish there were actual rules like that, though. "Can't have a shitty night, you're too bright, you win." Would make things a lot easier for us, don't you think?

[ He rests his free hand leisurely on Wolfgang's thigh, drumming softly. There's a beat somewhere downstairs, someone playing something hard and fast and he keeps easy timing with it on the tips of his fingers. ]

[untier]

Yeah? [ wolfgang snorts a laugh, half muffled by the joint held between his lips, while easily accepting tristan's weight leaned into his shoulder, and the boy's snuggling up close. such open physical affection wasn't always something wolfgang managed easily, but over four years with these boys, it's something he's come to relish.

tilting his head, wolfgang's temple comes to lean against the top of tris' head, relaxing as he takes another deep inhale, holds it, and breathes the smoke out in a slow exhale, languid and loose. ]

When God hands over rules for this world to me and Marco, it'll be you and Dani spending your days lounging around, doing whatever the fuck strikes your fancy at the moment.

[ as if god would hand control of anything over to him or marco, though. hahaaaa. but hey, it's nice to dream.

he feels tris' fingertips tapping out the beat of music somewhere on the floors below them, and wolfgang's thumb, hand relaxed limply where its flopped on tris's shoulder, hooks into the collar of his friend's shirt, an idle motion having him trace the line of a collar bone on his skin. ]