Smoke lies thick in the air, curling grey wisps drifting up to the ceiling. The battered speakers strewn on the floor blast hard guitar chords, the air around them buzzing in time with the singer's croons.
"Come on, baby." she says, wicked smile curling her lips. They're the color of deoxygenated blood, sharp and soft at the same time. "Come on." she insists again, pushing the leather jacket off his shoulders. He bares his fangs in a half-hearted snarl and she laughs, delighted.
With a palm flat on the center of his chest, she pushes him back until his knees hit the couch. It's worn-black, patches and stains and clothing rumpled over its arms. "For all that tough talk," she says with another shove. He allows it, falling back onto the couch in a sitting position. "Your leather jackets and— tattoos," she swings a leg over his, settling into his lap. A slender finger traces heated red triangles, and she smiles, other hand already reaching towards the side table. "I can't believe you've never done it."
Her voice drops to a whisper, eyelids falling to half-mast. He sticks his tongue out, silver stud glinting in the low light. "Watch yer teasing, Yamanaka," he warns, and his voice shudders down her spine. Ino grins again, presenting him with the rolled-up paper and lighter. He eyes it, lip curled in a derisive sneer. "What do you want me ta do with that." His voice is flat, but his eyes are wild, a rough hand finding the curve of her hip.
Ino laughs and the sound is like honeysuckle and smoke, the bared edge of a blade against wood. "I'll show you," she proclaims haughtily, and puts the tip of the joint in between her crimson lips. The lighter comes up, and with a flick of her thumb the cherry's glowing red, and she's inhaling long and slow. His gaze follows the rise and fall of her chest, the lazy satisfaction in those robins-egg eyes.
"I'll make it easy for you," she murmurs, leaning in close. A pale hand slides up to cup his face, delicate fingers smoothing along his cheek as she presses her lips to his, working his mouth open with tongue and smoke. He can feel the gentle exhale of air and smoke from her lungs into his, and he breathes in instinctively, eyes slipping closed as a pleasant buzz builds in the back of his brain.
"Mm." Ino pulls back, the last wisps of vapor spilling past her lips. Her blood-lipstick is smeared on his mouth, his cheek, but he's too intoxicated with the taste of drug and her to care. "That wasn't so bad, was it, baby?" She offers him a wink as he breathes out, their shared smoke a single grey plume.
Kiba grins back, crookedly, ivory canines poking past his lips. Reaching up wordlessly, he curls a hand around the back of her neck, and pulls her in, breathing in her smoke.