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Seb loved how Sam got when they smoked together. Always so earnest and needy and sweet, nuzzling his stubbly jaw against his boyfriend’s chest and kissing at his cheeks.
Always tried his luck, too. Would run his big, calloused hands up Sebastian’s thighs with this huge grin, as though he was trying to keep a secret. He’d always fail, though, always leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially about how much he wanted to be touched. His hand would always brush against Seb’s erection, and he’d let out this surprised, breathy chuckle, like it was unfathomable to him that his teasing could have such a quick effect. Like he wasn’t quite literally the most handsome man on planet Earth.
It was actually becoming quite a fucking problem. Sebastian would park himself at his desk every morning (okay, afternoon) to work, and immediately be plagued by visions of Sam, all stoned and submissive, in every position they’d ever tried. On his knees under the desk; bent over the side of the bed; lying on his back while Seb sat on his face. It was like his basement lair was full of a thousand phantom-Sams, all vying for his attention over his freelance coding work.
Then it infiltrated his life outside of work. He’d be on a call with friends, playing Call of Junimo or something, when suddenly he’d think about impaling himself on Sam’s cock while he laid there all cute and subby, and then he’d eat shit in-game and have to justify his loss to a furious Abigail. Something about how pliant and hazy-eyed his boyfriend got when they smoked together had taken hold of him like a disease, and he didn’t have a clue how to be normal about it again.
And then they had the conversation.
Sam had long-since stopped being nervous when he asked about trying new things in the bedroom. Would just come right out and say it, too straightforward to bother with any beating around the bush. I like it when you call me a good boy. I just learned about edging. Can we try choking?
As a chronic overthinker, Sebastian really appreciated that about him.
As a chronic overthinker, it was making him nervous that Sam seemed a little scared to ask whatever it was he wanted to ask.
“Out with it,” he demanded. His boyfriend, who was sitting opposite him on the bed, fiddling with a loose thread on his jeans, threw his hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay!” He laughed a little breathlessly. He was so fucking cute. “Sorry. Dunno how to phrase it.”
Seb raised a brow at him. Doesn’t usually stop you, it challenged, and Sam let out a deep exhale.
“Right, fuck, basically. You know how smokin’ makes me really, uh-“ he flailed his hands around, like he was trying to catch a word out of thin air. Seb’s nerves settled into something else - something deeper, more primal, in his gut - as he realised where this talk was going.
“Slutty?” He supplied.
Sam swallowed loudly at that, Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat. He hadn’t shaved, and his jaw was prickly with a five-o-clock shadow, and Sebastian had to fight the urge to run his fingers over it as his boyfriend spoke.
“Sure, slutty,” Sam breathed in agreement. “Well. I was wondering. What if I got like, really stoned, like- you know. And, uh, while I was, you…”
Even though he knew exactly what was coming (and was very, incredibly into it) Seb just couldn’t resist being a tease. He loved this part, the buildup; loved making sweet Sammy squirm. He raised his brow again. “I?”
“You fuck me,” Sam admitted, turning pink. He gnawed at his bottom lip, waiting for a response. He must have known it would be a yes - how could it be anything but, when all Seb could think about these days was fucking him until he cried - but he still seemed nervous, like out of all the things they’d tried, this was somehow a hair too far.
It was a little different than their usual routine, sure. But Sebastian was by no means an idiot. He knew Sam loved any excuse to give up control and let someone else pull the reins, knew he existed exclusively to play and push boundaries and discover. Seb was more than happy to indulge him, every time. And the idea of gently coaxing Sam to smoke over his limit, of taking him while he was so pliant and needy and begging for it, made heat curl in his stomach. He finally reached out to stroke that stubble.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
*
After their initial talk, they waited a couple of weeks. They couldn’t just jump into a scene: there was organising to do. Impulsive as Sam could be, he understood that Seb took kink planning and negotiation very seriously, as he did everything, and that their sex life was better for it. Sebastian was thankful for that. He liked to do things properly if he was going to do them, and Sam’s safety during intense scenes like this was paramount to him.
Once they’d checked Sam’s schedule, they set a date. A nice, lazy Tuesday where Sebastian’s family would be out, and Sam had a couple days off work. Low-pressure.
It dawned bright, clear, and brisk, with an invigorating chill in the air that left cheeks rosy and lips chapped. Sam and Sebastian were sitting together by the lake - Seb cross-legged, rolling a joint in his lap; Sam sprawled out across the grass - watching the autumn leaves dance across the surface of the water.
Well, Sam was watching the leaves. Sebastian was far too busy thinking about how Sam would look splayed on his back atop them, legs spread, pleading to be fucked. He was so distracted by it he tore the rolling paper, swore under his breath, and had to pull another from their communal weed tin.
Thankfully, his boyfriend was too stoned to notice. Seb had given him a fairly strong edible when he’d first arrived, and it had properly kicked in now; eyes hazy and unfocused as he stared out across the lake. It was taking everything in Sebastian’s power not to pounce on him.
Finally, the spliff was rolled. Seb lit it and took a perfunctory couple of hits before nudging Sam.
“‘M already high,” his boy laughed, taking it from him. “How much was in that brownie?”
“Oh, not that much,” Sebastian lied, watching Sam close his lips around the joint. He inhaled with practiced ease, chest expanding as he drew it deeper - and then white smoke curled from his mouth and into the cool air.
When he went to pass it back, Seb shook his head. “Have another, baby.”
Sam’s cheeks went from rosy to scarlet, and he gazed up with wide eyes as he took another hit. It was quite something, how wrecked he looked before the joint had even properly kicked in, and God Seb couldn’t wait to ruin him even more.
He kept trying to pass it back between hits, but Seb kept plying him with excuses.
I smoked before you got here. (Categorically untrue).
C’mon, Sammy, you’re barely even high. (100% lie).
I just took one, baby, it’s your turn! (Blatant gaslighting).
With every breath he took, Sam got sweeter and stupider, believing every word Seb said in the way a religious fanatic believes a prophet. The look in his eyes, all adoring and dazed and trusting, sent Sebastian’s blood rushing south. They’d planned this, of course, and he knew what his boyfriend wanted, but he kept thinking about how Sam would probably let him do anything in this state - and that made him feel a little lightheaded.
“Let’s go inside,” Sebastian told him, when only the roach remained.
His boy just nodded dumbly, content to be led back to the house by the hand. They slipped in through the little side door, and down the steps to Sebastian’s basement room.
The door clicked safely shut behind them, and Sebastian finally let himself get a really good look at Sam. He’d been looking before, obviously, and fantasising for weeks, but now that the fantasy was realer than ever before, and in right front of him, he barely knew how to act. Every detail was mind-scrambling: the blown-out pupils, slurred speech, full-body flush. Tent in his sweatpants. He looked such a treat like this, ready to be devoured.
“Seb,” Sam whispered hoarsely. He’d sat down at the edge of the bed in a daze, and his bottom lip was caught beneath his overbite.
Seb took a seat beside him, ghosting a hand across his lower back and delighting in the shiver it elicited. “Yeah, baby?”
“‘M so-“ he gasped, as Seb’s hand moved to fiddle with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “So hard. Hurts, baby, Seb, please.”
“Oh, Sammy,” Sebastian breathed. “C’mere.”
And then he was pressing his big, strong boyfriend into the grey sheets as though he was made of porcelain. Gently leaning him down, kissing at his jaw, helping him out of his trousers. No underwear, of course - Sam hated underwear, only wore it to work and other special occasions - and fuck his cock looked about as desperate as the rest of him. All pink and hard and leaky, twitching against his thigh, begging wordlessly to be touched.
He was about to reach for it when he was struck by some divine inspiration; pivoted, instead, for his nightstand, where he kept his weed pen.
“Here, baby, have another hit,” he encouraged soothingly, using his other hand to rub circles into Sam’s thigh. “It’ll help.”
Wide, wet eyes met his gaze, blinking dazedly at him beneath charcoal lashes. “Seb-”
“Shhhh, I’ll help you. You just gotta breathe in, okay?” Sebastian assured. Leaned in to press a soft kiss against his boyfriend’s temple before taking a sizable hit from the pen himself. Drew it deep into his lungs, enjoying the familiar, bitter sensation of smoking; letting it ground him for a moment as he admired his boy
Then he pressed his lips up against Sam’s and exhaled, watching the white smoke tangle between them. Well-behaved as ever, Sam breathed in, holding it in his own lungs for as long as he was able. When he finally released it, Seb rewarded him with a hand around his cock.
The whimper which wrenched itself from Sam’s lips was enough to send Sebastian halfway to orgasm without even being touched. It was a high-pitched, guttural sound, almost a cry, which resonated in the room around them like a prayer. This experience sure felt fucking holy. Seb thought he’d recite the feeling of Sam’s hot breath against his cheek every night for the rest of his life. He let go of Sam’s cock, just for a second, to uncap the bottle of lube he kept on the nightstand.
“Oh, fuck, Sammy,” he exhaled, reverent as a priest, and took another hit from the pen. Shotgunned it across to his boyfriend again in a haze of smoke and desperation; anchored him, lighthouse in the dark, with a slick finger against his hole.
Sam moaned wretchedly. He really was so fucking high now, eyes red and teary; slow and dazed and forlorn. A deer in the headlights, in Seb’s all-seeing eyes, waiting to see what would happen to him next.
The finger breached, and he whimpered again, all breathless. He wanted this bad.
Sebastian grinned and told him he could have it, if only he’d take another hit by himself like a good boy.
He did, all bleary, and Seb rutted impatiently into his thigh. He’d never thought of himself as impulsive - Type A to his core, even when it was drowned beneath a tidal wave of depression and nicotine dependence so heavy he couldn’t breathe - and he could drag out a scene across multiple days if he really wanted to tease. But today he was exercising never-before-seen levels of restraint to stop himself from just yanking his jeans down his thighs and sliding home. Felt like he’d all but die if he didn’t get his cock inside soon.
One finger became two, and Sam took another hit from the pen. On the exhale, he whined so delicious, sensitive, needy. Sounded so so good. Was almost certainly going to override every fantasy Seb would ever have: one part of him had hoped that once they’d fucked it out he’d be normal again, but he knew with blinding clarity that this was going to take over every waking moment forever. Thank God.
“Wanna be inside you,” Seb gasped against Sam’s neck. “Help me with my jeans, Sammy, yeah? So good for me.”
Sam obliged, letting Seb pull him up to his knees, and grasped ineffectually at the button on his trousers. He was so fucked up he was having trouble using his fingers (not a problem he usually had!) and didn’t seem to know what to do. Sebastian was, not for the first time, totally overwhelmed by how cute he was; by how hard he was trying even as he was so stoned he could barely see straight.
“Oh, baby,” he cooed, and undid the button himself. His jeans were down his thighs at lightning speed, didn’t care how desperate he looked. Just needed to be inside like he needed air to breathe.
He didn’t take them all the way off - how could he? - and they were about halfway down his thighs when he decided he couldn’t wait any longer. Shifted off his knees, so he was sitting on the bed, and grabbed blindly at his gorgeous boyfriend. Sam looked so dizzy, confused, beautiful, eventually got the memo and climbed into Seb’s lap. His cock was spilling with pre, movements all wobbly and uncoordinated; and he’d never looked hotter in his life. He was literally sex on legs as it was, but Seb loved him docile and subby the most.
When he was halfway-impaled on Sebastian’s cock, Sam made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob, clutching at Seb’s shoulders hard enough to bruise.
“Seb,“ he cried out, sinking all the way down. “Mmmph, baby, fuck, please.”
Sebastian laid a quite tender kiss to his collarbone, clinging to the last of his restraint by a thread. “C’mon, Sammy, just one more hit for me, ‘n I’ll help you move.” He promised.
Sam obliged, putting the pen to his lips - and as he inhaled, Sebastian angled his hips up, pushing impossibly deeper into his searing core, hissing through his teeth at the irresistible tightness coiling in his gut. Fuck.
As his boyfriend yelped and coughed, tears streaming down his face, he set to work thrusting in and out of Sam from below, keeping a hand on his hip to guide him up and down. He got the memo pretty quickly, started riding like his life depended on it, releasing a little punched-out moan every time his prostate felt some action. So fucking cute, God. It was almost unbearable.
With his free hand, Seb grasped Sam’s cock and started tugging at it; too desperate to be particularly coordinated but determined to get him off nonetheless. His tight little ass felt so fucking good that there was no way Sebastian was going to last long, and he’d be damned if his boy didn’t finish first.
“Oh, babe, like that, please, need’t’ come, baby, please,” Sam babbled, eyes fluttering closed, half-delirious, words slurring deliciously.
Seb sped up his strokes, slid a thumb over his boyfriend’s slit - and that was enough for the dam to burst. A broken cry tore from Sam’s mouth as he finished, painting Sebastian’s hoodie with ropes of white cum. He looked so fucking wrecked in that moment, flushed and tearful, all fucking high and hazy and beautiful as he convulsed around Seb’s prick. It sent Sebastian over the edge himself, biting down on Sam’s shoulder as he did so, filling him to the brim.
They stayed where they were for a while; until Seb’s cum started leaking back out and Sam started to sober up a little. He pressed a sleepy kiss to Seb’s jawline, whispered a little thank you into his neck, and it was so sweet Sebastian felt himself start to stiffen again. God.
Yeah, this wasn’t gonna help with his problem at all.