Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Rey/ Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Word Count: 6,602
Warnings:Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Self-Medication, Panic Attacks, Ben Has a Less Than Wonderful Trip, Mildly Dubious Consent, see author’s notes, Implied/Referenced Mental Health Issues, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Vaginal Fingering, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Alternate Universe – Modern Setting

A/N: 

This fic is about smoking marijuana and a general warning that one should probably know what certain strains of drugs are going to do to you before you take them. (You know, not based on personal experience or anything like that… ) Ben trips pretty hard and nothing bad happens to him, but it’s tagged panic attacks for a reason so be mindful of that. Also, dubious consent is because Ben and Rey are both baked and experience an altered state of consciousness that would bring into question their capacity to consent if this were the real world. But it’s not, so we’re leaping right over all the possible issues and landing straight on “they’re both definitely into it”. Still, the tag is there in case you’re not into it.

Read on Ao3

“Rey, this isn’t a good time,” Ben says. Rey’s standing in his doorway, arms crossed over her chest like she’s the one who’s being inconvenienced. Regardless, he opens the door and steps aside.

“You look like hell,” she says, tossing her purse on the couch.

He’s sure he does. He hasn’t gotten out of his pajamas in two days and hasn’t bothered to look in a mirror in the same length of time. If he had to guess, though, he’d say he probably looks like a raccoon that’s been stuck to the bottom of a dumpster for three days – which is about what he feels like.

“This is why we can’t leave you alone for more than seventy-two hours, I hope you know,” Rey says.

“Not so loud,” he hisses, pressing his fingertips to the swollen base of his skull, “I have a headache.”  

“Again?”

“Yes, again.”

Rey frowns, eyeing him up and down. “Have you been drinking water?”

“Yes.”

“Taken your medicine?”

“Yes.”

“Slept?”

“Yes, mom,” he says.

She punches him in the shoulder for that one. “You’re the idiot who can’t remember to feed himself so I don’t want to hear it.”

“Only when I’m in the middle of a chapter,” Ben says.

“Or when you’re depressed. Or sick. Or if you just don’t feel like it.” She marches into his apartment, kicking her flats off and nudging them under his coffee table. She acts like she owns the place, walking into his kitchen and clearing his unwashed pots and pans off the stove so she can heat a kettle. She’s probably going to pour tea down his throat. That’s fine, though, that’s what it’s there for. He sure as hell isn’t going to drink it on his own, but he keeps it because she likes it. It’s the same reason he uses detergent she’s not allergic to, and put that scraggly little succulent in the living room window, and got an overstuffed couch instead of the leather one he originally wanted. She might not actually live with him, and they might not actually be more than friends, but it feels wrong to have a home she can’t be happy in. They’ve been best friends since they were children – well, Rey was Ben’s best friend. Ben was that weird older kid who hung around trying to figure out how to make friends while they called each other names and stole each other’s lunches until they were old enough to behave like normal people and not brats. It’s only natural for her to have a place in his home. And if that means he keeps tea he’ll never willingly drink in his cabinets, or buys a different couch, then that’s just going to be the way it is.

“I don’t want tea,” Ben says, flopping face down on the makeshift bed he’s set up there. He’s been laying like this for the better part of a day, face smooshed so far into his pillows that he’s sucking in the pillowcase when he breathes.

“You don’t want it, but it’ll help,” Rey says.

She comes back in sometime later with two mugs, pressing the bottom of one against the base of his neck. It’s almost a little too hot but it feels great. He should really look into getting one of those hot compress bags.

“How bad is it?” She asks.

“It feels like my brain is trying to escape through the wrong side of my skull,” he says.  

“Your medicine isn’t helping?”

“No,” he grumbles.

She sets the mugs down on the coffee table, then brushes his hair away from the side of his face and tipping his face until he’s forced to squint up at her. “If I had something that could help, would you take it?”

“I don’t want tea,” he says again.

“Not tea. I’ve got weed in my purse.”

“Since when do you smoke weed?”

Rey rolls her eyes. “Who doesn’t?”

“I haven’t,” he says.

“Really? Never? Not even in college?”

“Rey, you knew me in college. I was boring.”

Rey frowns, running her fingers through his hair. Her nails feel wonderful against his skin, but it’s not enough to make the pain stop. “Do you want to try it? I’ve heard it can really help with headaches?”

“At this point,” Ben says, rolling on his side, “you could tell me snake bites were good for headaches and I’d run out to get bitten by a snake.”

Rey shakes her head, grabbing her purse from where it’s wedged between the couch and his knees. “So dramatic,” she says.

She pulls out an orange prescription bottle with the label scraped off and a blue glass pipe that’s about as wide as his finger. She twists the med cap and immediately the smell hits him. It’s the phantom smell of skunk on the highway, long after the skunk has already vanished. Only it’s… less awful. It’s still strong and musky, but it’s not enough to make him gag.

Rey tips the bottle into her hand, like she’s pouring out pills, and scoots it into the bowl of the pipe. “This is strong,” Rey says, “and it creeps up on you. So take it easy, okay?” She sets the pipe down on the table, digging through her purse for a lighter. When she finds it, she lights up sucking in air and making the dried buds glow orange. She passes it off to him, and Ben doesn’t bother asking how to do it. It seems intuitive enough.

The first hit makes him hack. The smoke is hot and acidic against his throat, and it burns. “God, that sucks,” he says, holding it at arm’s length as if the smoke trailing off will physically hurt him.

Rey lets go of the breath she was holding. A few tendrils of smoke flow past her lips, but nothing like he’d expected. “Yeah, this one’s a little… harsh,” she says. “It gets easier.”

“Are you sure this helps?” He asks.

“It can’t really hurt,” she says.

He tries again, this time actually able to hold it in his lungs, now that he knows what to expect. Rey takes it back, taking another hit while he lets his breath go. When it’s his turn again, he pulls as much as he can into his lungs, sucking a little too hard on the glass. Rey puts her hands over his when he tries to light it again, not completely satisfied that he’s got enough.

“Slow down,” she says, “it takes a while.”

“I thought this was supposed to be instant,” he grumbles.

“Some strains take longer.”

“What strain is this?”

“Purple… something. It’s a creeper weed.”

“That sounds innocent and not at all concerning.”

Rey snorts, reaching for the pipe. He surrenders the pipe and lighter, which she sets on the table. Eventually, he breathes out, then in again, still half on his stomach on the couch.

“How long until I’m not in pain?” Ben asks.

“Fifteen minutes, I think?” Rey says. She makes herself comfortable on the floor, sitting criss-cross with the mug of tea between her legs.

Ben rolls over on his back, hands on his stomach. His head is still throbbing with no sign of stopping. “Has it been fifteen minutes yet?”

Rey snickers. “You’ll know when it’s been fifteen minutes.”

So they wait, mostly in silence. The television is on at a low volume, the same it’s been for the past few days because Ben can’t sleep in silence and he hates sleeping in his room when he’s sick. It’s some kind of science documentary, one he’s pretty sure he’s caught parts of late at night when he should be sleeping but is actually writing. It’s space-related, that much he knows. He likes those ones best, even if the idea of a vast cosmos that could be full of life or nearly empty scares the hell out of him on a deep level. Somehow these programs always mention how the universe is going to wind up in entropy, but the scientists aren’t ever sad about it. The universe is headed in slow decline and someday it will all be hot, dead balls of super-dense gas and rock, but they seem to think it’s cool and much further away than any human will ever live to experience. Maybe there’s a comfort to knowing everything dies, from people to the whole fuckin’ universe. Maybe that’s why Ben likes this channel so much.

Or it could be that the scientists are blatant dorks who reference Star Trek at every opportunity and the shows about “unexplained” satellite images always give real explanations, not just aliens and government conspiracies and bigfoot.

Ben’s left arm begins to tingle and he’s aware that he’s been absent-mindedly stroking his stomach. It’s not something he usually does, but it feels nice. He wears soft clothes and they feel really good against his skin. The tingling though, that’s new. That only happens when he lays on it wrong. He flexes his fingers, bringing them up to his face for inspection. They’re… normal but sharper… somehow.

“I think I’m starting to feel something,” he says.

“Does your head feel better?” Rey asks.

“I dunno,” he says, inspecting the ridges of his fingerprints. There’s a scar on his middle finger that goes right through the little spiral in the middle. He’d never noticed that before. Maybe he should start paying attention to that. Do people fingerprint themselves like they track their height as kids? No, that’d be weird. Also, it might make it easier to frame him for a crime.

“I’m thirsty,” he says. “I’m getting a coke. Do you want a coke?” Ben asks, pulling himself off the couch.

Rey tips her head down to her lap. “‘M good, thanks.”

Ben doesn’t say anything. He means to, it just doesn’t get out of his mouth by the time he’s in the kitchen. He pulls open the fridge, intent on getting to the vanilla coke he’s got in the back when the high hits him like a freight train.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, clutching the molding of the fridge. It’s like someone put a weighted blanket over his entire consciousness. His body is heavy, and everything feels like it’s moving at about three miles an hour. His vision doesn’t get darker, it just gets… heavy. Everything is really heavy. And he’s fucking exhausted all of the sudden. Like he could just shut his eyes and fall asleep with his head in the fridge. Shit, is he breathing? He can’t feel himself breathing.

Ben gasps, drawing in as much air as possible. “Oh my god, I’m dying,” he says. He’s got to keep focused on breathing. He can’t fall asleep. If he falls asleep he’ll stop breathing and he doesn’t want to die like that. His mother would never let him live it down.

“What?” Rey calls out.

“I’m dying, Rey.”

“No, Ben, you’re just high,” she says.

Right. He’s just high. Just really, really high. But what if that weed was laced with something? It could’ve been right? No. Rey wouldn’t do that to him. She wouldn’t smoke it if it was. She’s not stupid. But it feels like when he takes sleeping pills. Would someone really lace weed with sleeping pills? That seems like a stupid idea.

You always think you’re dying when you take sleeping pills.

Yes, every time. Because no matter how much his brain is on fire if he takes the sleeping pills he’s supposed to take everything mellows out and he’s not used to being so mellow. Plus he’s not supposed to take them with aspirin and he almost always does. He’s always sure he’s overdosed because of it. And this feels exactly like that.

You’ve never overdosed on sleeping pills. You’ve never even gotten close. This feels like that because you’re tired. You’re okay. It’s just panic. You’ve had panic attacks before. You’re the king of panic attacks. This is nothing new. You’re okay. You’re okay.

He grabs a coke, snapping the pop top before making his way back to the living room. He sits on the couch, across from Rey, who’s still staring at her tea mug.

You’re okay. You’re just high. You’re breathing. It’s fine. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

“Ben, shut up,” Rey says. “You’re freaking yourself out.”

“Was I talking out loud?” He asks.

Rey snorts. “Uh-huh. Just go with it. You’ll feel better.”

Ben’s a little dizzy, so he leans back against the couch. Yeah, overstuffed was a great idea. It’s a lot comfier than leather would’ve been. Also, it doesn’t get hot and your thighs don’t stick to it when you wear shorts. Not that he would wear shorts; his legs are too pasty. Maybe if he wore more shorts that wouldn’t be an issue.

He sits up straight again, gasping, because he was letting himself drift and think about shorts and not think about breathing so there’s no guarantee he was doing it.

You were. You aren’t usually aware of your own breathing. You’re fine. Relax. It’s not possible to overdose on weed.

Unless it was laced with something.

It’s not. Rey wouldn’t do that to you. You’re okay. You can’t overdose on weed.

Right. That’s not possible, is it? The worst he can have is like, a bad trip right? Maybe that’s what’s happening right now. At least he’s not hallucinating. Sure, colors are a little… more… but he’s not being chased by shit so that’s a win. It’s a good thing this isn’t LSD.

Marijuana can cause mild visual hallucinations and delusions, but you’re fine. It’s not that bad of a trip. Could be way worse.

Leave it to you to be the dumbass who overdoes it and has a crisis the first time. You’re always so fucking pathetic.

Stop talking. It’s not a big deal. Everyone screws up and this isn’t even that big of a deal. You’re just high.

Yeah, it’s not a big deal. That logical voice is really smart. Too bad it can’t be around all the time, even when he’s sober.

I am. I’m you. We’re the same person.

Oh, shit! Right. He has the power to control his thoughts and be logical about things. He’s the one who can talk himself down from things. He’s the mean voice and he’s the logical voice, too! His therapist would be proud. Or maybe annoyed, because she’s been saying that for a while, too.

“Oh my god. I know why high people thought they were having a religious experience,” Ben says.

Rey snorts. “Are you talking to God, Ben?”

“No! Rey, I’m the mean voice!”

Rey lifts her head. She squints as she focuses on him, her body swaying back and forth. “What mean voice?”

“The one in my head that says I’m worthless and that mom doesn’t love me. That’s me, Rey! I’m the asshole. But I can tell it to shut up because it’s me and I control it.”

“You’re not worthless. Why do you think you’re worthless?”

“I dunno. Why do I think I’m worthless?”

“You don’t like yourself very much,” Rey says.

“No, I don’t,” Ben says.

“Why not? I like you,” Rey says.

Ben can’t help but giggle a little bit. “I like you, too.”

She smiles at him, loose and happy. So he does what seems like the best decision, he reaches over and pokes the tip of her nose. She bats him away, swaying to the side as she does.

“You’re a dork, Ben,” she giggles.

“Yeah, I know.” He’s laughing, too. How long has it been since he’s laughed? Couple days, probably. Seems like longer though. He sure as hell hasn’t felt this light in a long time.

“I think it’s wearing off,” Ben says. The fog is starting to lift a little bit, and everything feels a lot more solid.

Rey shakes her head. “This round, yeah. It comes back.”

“Seriously?” He finally gets around to taking a drink of his coke. It’s so crisp and sweet and vanilla-y. Being high makes soda taste so much better than usual.

Rey nods, sipping her own tea. She misses and dribbles a little down her chin. “I told you, it creeps.”

“How much more of these is it going to do?”

Rey shrugs. “I dunno. Never really kept count.”

At least Ben doesn’t think he’s dying when the second wave hits. He still finds himself rubbing his fingers together, though, because that feels nice and the more he’s aware of his own body the more he’s sure he’s not going to stop breathing. Apparently, that’s still a thing he’s worried about.

He runs his hands up and down his arms, enjoying the way the long sleeves of his nightshirt pull against the hair on his arms. But it’s too repetitive after a bit so he starts rubbing his face instead. If he keeps himself alert and doesn’t fall asleep he’ll be fine. He’s pretty sure of that.

“Are you cold?” Rey asks. “You’re rubbing your arms a lot.”

“If I touch myself, I won’t die,” Ben says.

“You’re not going to die, Ben!” Rey’s voice is odd. It’s shrill, like she’s annoyed or worried but she’s laughing at him, doubled over on herself. Of course, it makes Ben laugh, too, because it’s hilarious when she laughs.

Their laughter dies down eventually, and Ben finds himself in and out of awareness. He tries to alternate the parts of his body he touches, but after a while, it all seems to blend together. There’s a pleasant tingle under his skin wherever he puts his hands, but he still finds himself slipping under that fog. It’s simultaneously wonderful and awful. It feels good. His body feels just feels good. He hasn’t had this much fun just feeling his skin outside of masturbation possibly ever. The only thing that sucks is the slight disconnect in his mind. It’s like his soul is floating an inch outside of his body. It’s still there, at least enough that he can feel things, but definitely doesn’t feel like he’s inside his body. Being inside his body feels more physical and less enjoyable.

Or maybe he’s inside his body more now and usually, he’s not? Maybe this is what it would feel like all the time if he was more aware of himself as a wholly physical being instead of just a mental one. Is this what being grounded feels like? Like you’re… not grounded at all? Is this what Buddhist monks feel like? That’s probably why they’re so zen all the time. Maybe meditation is like getting high but controlled.

Or maybe he’s actually dead and his soul is trying to leave his body.

Ben sits up, ramrod straight and gasps again. It clears the fog a bit this time. Maybe he really is forgetting to breathe.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Rey asks. “Are you really freaking out or what?”

“I have to remember to breathe or I’m gonna die,” Ben says.

Rey snorts and bursts into laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Ben says, through laughter. “It’s not! I could die, Rey.”

“You are so fucked up,” Rey says. She stands, wobbling a little and nearly falling right on to the coffee table. Ben reaches out to help her, but she’s stable by the time his hands are even close to her. She plops down on the couch next to him, practically sitting in his lap. “Here,” she says, laying her head on his shoulder. “I’ll stay here and make sure you don’t stop breathing. I’ll listen to your heart and make sure you don’t die.”

“You’d do that for me?” Ben asks.

“Yeah,” Rey says. “I gotta take care of you. Since you suck at it.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“No.”

“Besides. I like it. I like you.”

“I love you,” Ben says. It’s probably the wrong thing to say but Ben can’t be bothered to care. It’s true. He loves Rey and he has for as long as he can remember. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let her fuss over him and force him out of the house when he’s been staring at the computer too long, and he certainly wouldn’t stay up until daybreak, talking to her on the phone because she has insomnia and is still a little afraid of the dark. If he were less of an awkward dork he’d tell her, but up until this point, he’s been better at putting his foot in his mouth than actually asking her out.

Rey snorts. “You’re really gone, aren’t you?” She snuggles closer, though, rubbing her cheek against his chest. She’s warm and soft and sweet and all of it radiates off her and sinks into his skin.

“No, I think I’m mostly okay,” Ben says.

Rey giggles but keeps rubbing herself on him like a cat. Ben sighs, stroking her arm as she does. Unlike him, she’s not wearing long sleeves, so her skin is much more accessible. And touching her feels even better than touching himself. Granted, it always does because she’s really soft but now she’s extra soft and his hands tingle as he runs them over her body.

The high hits again and Ben finds himself in and out of awareness. Rey’s hands are wandering across his stomach, under his shirt, and up his chest, but he’s not really in the moment. He’s in a haze thick enough to swim through but it’s not bad enough that he feels like he’s drowning. He just wants to roll around in it, really. If he could bottle this feeling and take it whenever he’s down he’d probably never have to choke down another Prozac again. He could just stay like this, floating in the free feeling of touching and being touched, of reality that feels like a dream. He’ll probably never get anything done again in his life, though.

Rey shifts, swinging her leg over his in the clumsiest jerk he’s ever seen her manage. She grunts, sinking down into the couch as her hands fumble on his chest while she looks for something to grab on to.

“What are you doing?” Ben asks.

“‘M tryin’ to – “ Rey grunts, finally hefting herself up on one awkward elbow and swinging the rest of her body over Ben’s leg. He reaches out, a little quicker this time, to steady her with his hands on her waist. “There!” She says with a smile.  

“You’re on top of me. Why are you on top of me?”

“Better angle,” she says, “I’ll hear your heart better like this,” she snuggles down with her ear pressed close to his chest.

Ben squeezes her middle, just a little and she squeaks. He leans down, nuzzling into her hair. He can’t for the life of him pick out what the hell her shampoo is supposed to be but it’s pretty; light, fresh, and maybe fruity? He’s not really sure. He likes it though. It’s the same one she’s had forever, and he knows that because when she stays over she leaves the scent on the pillows she borrows. He doesn’t like… sniff them or anything because that would be weird. If he does manage to maybe forget to wash the pillowcase and sleep with it next to him, though, that’s only human.

Rey sighs, nuzzling into his sweater in return. “You’re so warm,” she mumbles into the fabric, “like a furnace.”

“You smell good,” he says.

“Are you sniffing me?”

“Not intentionally.”

She snorts and shakes her head. Her hands wander a little more, growing bolder as she slips them under his shirt and around until she’s running her fingers up and down his back. Her nails just barely scrape against the skin but it’s enough to shoot straight down his spine and right to his cock. Ben groans, unable to help himself.

It lasts… he’s not sure how long actually. It feels like she takes ages to scratch down his back and to run her fingertips down the knobs of his spine. God, it feels good. His hands settle on her hips, kneading and squeezing as best he can through the fabric of her jeans. The material is rough against his palms and that’s very much not okay at the moment. Also, he’s pretty sure it’s not actually doing anything for her and that’s even less okay.

Ben follows Rey’s example and puts his hands under and up her shirt, just stroking her back as he does. She’s so small in his hands. It’s not the first time he’s had this revelation, but it always throws him off every time he realizes just how much bigger than Rey he is. She’s always so much more in his eyes. Maybe it’s because she’s so bold and unwavering in everything she does and he doesn’t think of her as smaller or more vulnerable because of it. But of course, the fact that he can place one hand over nearly half of her lower back kind of puts it in perspective for him. He keeps bumping her bra strap as he rubs her back, eventually giving up and slipping his hand under the stretchy band. When he does, Rey lets out a deep, almost guttural moan.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Feels good,” she says, “‘s itchy.”

“If it’s itchy why don’t you take it off?”

Rey snorts. “You just want me out of my bra.”

“No, I just don’t think you should wear it if it’s not comfortable,” he says, scratching under the strap. There impressions in the skin, like when he wears socks that are too tight and the elastic digs in.

“You’ll stare at my tits,” Rey says.

“I can’t even see your tits.”

“You do it then,” Rey says.

So Ben does. It takes him a few tries, but he manages to find the hook and pops it open when two fingers. Rey sits up, wiggling and swaying in his lap as she tries to get the straps off her arms without taking off her shirt. She nearly topples over backward, but she grabs fistfuls of Ben’s sweater as they both devolve into giggles.

Eventually, she figures it out and lets her bra fall in between the two of them, but Ben pays no attention to it. Her hair is falling out of her bun and spilling over her ears and in front of her face. Her cheeks are pink from laughing and they make each one of her freckles stand out like tiny little stars in the twilight. He never noticed just how many she had before then. If he were more coherent, he might say something about how they were angel kisses and she was so beautiful that not even the hosts of heaven could keep from admiring her. He might even kiss her if he were bolder. As it is, though, he’s stuck on a silent refrain of admiration. She makes his chest ache and his brain stall and his tongue trip over his teeth.

Or maybe it’s the drugs.

Maybe it’s both.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asks.

“Like what?”

“Like you… like that.”

Ben frowns. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, not unlike a particularly stupid fish, trying to come up with a response. He doesn’t ever get anything out though, because one minute he’s staring at her and then next her lips are on his.

Shit, he must’ve actually died. There’s no way this is actually happening right now. Rey is kissing him? Or maybe he stopped breathing and she’s trying to give him CPR. But she’s not pulling away to try chest compressions so maybe she is kissing him. In fact, she’s pressing her body closer to his and he can distinctly feel the soft give of her breasts against his chest. He reciprocates as best he can, even if he’s probably a mess. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, because she keeps making him chase her soft lips. He’s dizzy as hell by the time he can finally taste her. The world is in freefall around him spinning and tumbling in time with his thoughts. The only thing that’s the slightest bit real is Rey and her breath against his cheek.

There’s no telling how long they stay like that. It could be an hour, it could be a year, it doesn’t matter. Ben could spend the rest of his life like this. He hasn’t gotten this lost in kissing since he was in high school. Everything but Rey and the places she’s pressed against him might as well not even exist. Frankly, he’s not even sure anything else actually exists. Rey’s lips on his neck though, those are definitely real. He clenches and unclenches his fists, helpless to stop the moan that spills out.

It’s rude to make her do all the work.

Oh, right. He doesn’t make the decision to slide his hands up her stomach, it just sort of happens. He also doesn’t decide to rub his thumbs across her nipples, but he sure as hell is fascinated by the way the soft skin stiffs under his touch and the way her breath trembles against the wet skin on his neck. And then she’s straddling his thigh and rocking her hips and it only feels right to lift her shirt and drag his tongue across the same skin he’s been playing with.

Should we be doing this?

Rey shudders, a heavy hand resting in his hair. He could probably take her whole breast in his mouth if he wanted to. Would she like that? He starts with the nipple to try it out and she digs her nails into his scalp.

We’re both very not sober right now. Is this wrong?

She hisses when he sucks harder than he intended to, but as far as he can tell it’s not a bad hiss. She’s rocking a little harder against his leg, so it’s probably fine.

You should say something. Make sure you’re on the same page at least.

Ben looks up at her, through the valley of her breasts. His hands still have a mind of their own, sliding down her hips on the way to her thighs. “Are we… do you want to?” Ben asks. He really hopes she understands what he’s trying to ask because words are not really working right now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I want to,” she says. She’s panting a little already.

He slips a hand between her thighs, cupping her cunt through her jeans. “God I want to,” he says.

“Are you gonna want or are you gonna do?” She asks.

He dips his head, licking a stripe from belly button to breast before taking the whole thing in his mouth. She sighs and grinds down on his palm.

She’s the one who finally winds up popping the button on her jeans, pulling his wrist away. His fingertips drag across her front and into the waistband of her jeans. Rey responds by slipping her hand past his pajama pants and into his underwear without preamble.

He’s not even fully hard yet but he’ll have no trouble getting there now because holy fuck she’s actually touching his dick and it feels awesome! Granted, it always feels pretty good but she’s doing it and it’s so much better when someone else is doing it. Also, Rey is doing it and he’s only been thinking about this since Senior prom when she wore a teal dress and went with him because he got dumped the weekend before. The only thing he’s been thinking about more is just a few inches below his fingertips. He slides his hand into her panties, past her coarse curls to play with her core. She’s deliciously wet as he runs his fingers through her folds, slipping inside briefly. She shudders in his lap.

Ben bites down on her collarbone, suckling the skin as she starts to stroke him. It’s awkward and he can’t really get inside her like he wants to with her jeans in the way, but they’ll make it work. She’s rubbing her thumb in a circle on the head of his and every little touch is like a soft buzzing in his skin that radiates out from where her hands are. This isn’t going to be pretty, or particularly skilled, and it’s probably going to be over quickly. At least on his end. He’s got to make sure she enjoys it, too, though.

He finds her clitoris but doesn’t touch it. Instead, he rubs around it with two fingers, brushing against it every once in a while. Occasionally, he has the good sense to touch it directly, pressing down hard and slow. That makes Rey groan and squeeze his shaft harder. He has every intention of teasing her, of dragging out the choked little gasps and moans she makes, but that’s just not going to happen. What little awareness he’d gained since his last reprieve from the weed haze slips away and all he can do is whatever makes Rey whine and rock against him.

It’s not artful in the slightest. Rey is panting, her hair sticking to her lip as she shuts her eyes and throws her head back. She’s just jerking on his cock at this point, but it doesn’t matter. It’s still tingling all and deep inside, and he’s still making awful grunts and groans into her chest. He can only move his fingers faster and hope she loves it as much as he does. He can only hope that it’ll be good enough that they can try again next time; that he can actually take his time bringing her to the brink over and over, frustrating her until she snaps and takes matters into her own hands, riding his cock until they’re both exhausted. He can only hope that next time he can explore her smooth folds with his tongue and taste the ridges inside her.

If he were more in the moment, he’d tell her all this. He’d breathe every dirty fantasy he’s had these past ten years into her ear. He’d suck his desire into her thighs. He’d leave his longing in fingerprint bruises across her hips and shoulders.

As it is, he mumbles a garbled half warning as his orgasm reaches its event horizon. If she understands, she doesn’t care. His hips jerk of their own accord, and his cock pulses. He comes, head thrown back against the couch, groaning and staring at the ceiling. For the first time in a long time, there are no pesky thoughts clogging up his mind. It’s just warm satisfaction and Rey whimpering and panting in his ear, chasing her own orgasm on his fingers. He helps or at least tries to, until she shudders and stills, moaning like a dying animal.

He shouldn’t laugh. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s never had sex with anyone who sounds all that sexy when the orgasm, and he sure as hell doesn’t either. Still. He can’t help but giggle.

“What’s funny?” Rey asks, after a few deep breaths. She’s beet red and her hair is completely fucked up.

“Nothing,” he says, nuzzling the soft hair behind her ear.

She wraps her arms around his waist and they stay like that, headless to anything but the two of them.

—-

When Ben wakes up three things come to his attention immediately. One, he’s got dried come in his underwear. Two, his mouth feels like he’s tried to eat a bag of mothballs. Three, Rey is still snuggled close, clinging like a baby koala. He doesn’t want to wake her, really, but he’s not spending longer than absolutely necessary in come stained boxers.

“Rey,” he shakes her shoulder. She grumbles in response. “Rey, get up for a second. I need to change clothes.”

“No,” Rey rasps.

“Rey, please. It’s gross.”

Rey opens her eyes, glaring at him.

“I’ll come right back, I promise,” he says.

Rey frowns but rolls off him all the same. She practically lunges for his untouched mug of tea and downs it in three huge swallows. “Does your head feel better at least?” She asks.

“… yeah, actually. It feels a lot better than before.”

“Good. That’s great, Ben,” She smiled, but it wasn’t loose and happy like it ought to have been. She was upset, obviously, and he should do something about it, but if he had to spend five more minutes stuck to his clothes he was going to lose his mind. He just hoped she’d still be there when he got back.

It took fifteen minutes to scrub himself clean and get into fresh clothes. And also to stand under the spray with his mouth open and try to get the dry, fuzzy feeling off his tongue. Rey was still waiting for him on the couch, but she was curled up in a ball, knees tucked to her chest.

“You’re not mad at me, are you Ben?” She asked before he even rounded the couch.

“No. Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because I got you high and then we… and it was kind of… skeevy.”

“Skeevy?”

“Like if the situation were reversed…”

“If the situation were reversed I’d just stare at you like an idiot for twenty minutes,” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“No, say what you said. It’s okay, Ben. I can take it.” She stuck her chin up, her expression hard like it is when she’s expecting to be disappointed. It’s, unfortunately, a look she’s worn often.

Ben sits down on the couch next to her, prying her knee away from her chest. She lets him, but she’s still hunched over on herself.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he says.

Rey’s nose scrunches as she pinches her mouth, looking off to the side as if that will help her figure out what he means. “What did you say earlier?”

“That I love you.”

Rey snaps straight up, turning all her attention on him. “Ben -”

“You don’t have to say anything. But you should know that it’s true and it has been for a while. I’m not mad. If I had my way this would’ve happened differently but I don’t regret it. At least you had the balls to do something about it.”

“Oh. Ben -”

“And if you want to forget it and pretend we both hallucinated it I won’t hold it against you. But if you think you took advantage in any way, you didn’t.” And he means it. If she wants to chalk it up to a weird thing between friends, a funny story they can tell years down the road, or a thing to be forgotten, he can manage that. He’s loved her in secret for years, he can continue to do it.

But then Rey starts laughing. Hard. Well. That’s settled then, apparently.

“I’m sorry,” Rey says, through laughter, “I’m sorry I’m not laughing at you. Well, I am. But not just you.”

“O-okay.”

“We’re idiots, Ben.”

He’s not sure whether or not he should agree with that. He definitely feels like an idiot.

Her laughter settles down and she stands, putting her hands on his knees. When he finally looks up at her, she swoops in for a quick kiss. “Why do you think I’m over here all the time?” She asks.

“Because I’m terrible at taking care of myself?”

She rolls her eyes. “You are. But I don’t pay this much attention to people who I want to be just friends with.”

This time, he pulls her in for a kiss.