never in a million years would grayson davenport hawthorne be caught smoking.

or at least… not by the press. but alone with you? that was a different story.

the two of you were parked in one of his lavish sports cars in a hidden outlook. the open sunroof showed the stars above, and occasionally he would point out a constellation or a planet.

…not that you were paying much attention anyways. not when he tilted his head back, the cigarette between his fingers and his lips parting to exhale the smoke into the air. his blonde hair caught the moonlight, making him look rather ethereal.

he didn’t allow himself to smoke often, especially not as a swimmer. he needed his body in good shape. but he couldn’t deny himself- or you- when you would ask him to go for a smoke.