Bee

You wake up tangled in Ben’s jacket. For a second, still half asleep– it doesn’t register– Just warmth, heavy fabric, the faint smell of smoke and worn cologne. Then reality catches up all at once. “Oh my God” You groan quietly, dragging the pillow over your face like it personally offended you. Bits of last night flash through your brain in humiliating little pieces– Jackson laughing beside you, the fire’s warmth, Ben standing over you with that look on his face that you still couldn’t properly explain without sounding insane.

Worst of all? The way you’d barely thought before curling deeper into his jacket every time the wind picked up– like some lovesick idiot.

You stare up at the ceiling for a second before finally forcing yourself upright. Your head hurts a little, though that might honestly just be from overthinking yourself into a coma sometime around three in the morning.

The house is quieter than usual when you shuffle into the hallway. None of the usual yelling, no music nor the sound of your dad arguing with inanimate objects like they can defend themselves– weird. Still clutching the jacket around yourself, you make your way toward the kitchen. Once you get there, you stop by the doorway.

Ben.

Already awake, already dressed, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in one hand, standing with the confidence of a man who owned every room he stepped in. And unfortunately? He looks surprisingly good for a man that drank half a lake’s worth of beer last night. His eyes lift the second you walk in, only to immediately drop toward the jacket still wrapped around your body. Something unreadable flickers across his face. “There it is” He says after a second, voice rough from sleep and alcohol. “Thought y’stole my damn jacket”

You let out a soft huff of amusement– trying your best to brush it off despite the lingering embarrassment from him calling you out. “Says the one who demanded I wear it”

The man scoffs– the closest thing to a smile you’re gonna get out of him this early in the morning. “Ain’t demand anything, just said you’d get sick if y’stayed like that” That makes you chuckle softly, glancing at him as you go to grab a mug for your tea. (He’d already put water to boil specifically for that reason)

Once you finally have your morning tea, you lean against the counter, facing Ben who’s still lounging like he’s got all the time in the world. “You remember much from last night?” The question slips out before you can stop it.

Ben’s eyes lift toward yours slowly. “Enough”

Your stomach tightens– caught between reluctant amusement and utter embarrassment. It’s not like you did anything, but the whole situation was still weird for some reason. “That so?”

“Mhm” The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, like he knows exactly which parts you’re hoping he forgot. Asshole.

“Acting mysterious all of a sudden are you?”

“Ain’t mysterious” He replies easily, shrugging one shoulder while taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re just easy t’mess with”

You can’t help but huff, rolling your eyes in reluctant amusement. “Oh, screw you”

“That’s usually the idea” The words leave his mouth before either of you can properly process them– his mouth (like always) working faster than his brain. Zero brain to mouth filter. Silence. Your eyes widen slightly over your mug while Ben goes completely still for half a second– like even he is surprised by what just came out his mouth– and when Ben’s surprised you know it was out of pocket. Then he mutters a rough: “Christ on a cross” Under his breath and drags a hand down his face.

Heat immediately rushes up your neck so fast it almost hurts. “Well” You manage weakly, staring very hard at your tea now– trying to avoid his eyes so as to not further embarrass yourself. “That's one way t’start the morning”

Ben lets out a low groan that sounds halfway between embarrassment and annoyance with himself. “Y’know what I meant”

“Did I?” It’s a soft, breathy chuckle in an attempt at humor– but it feels funny in your chest– testing him like this. That finally gets him to look at you properly again, and there it is. That look– the same one from the bonfire– heavy, focused, lingering just a little too long to still feel harmless. For a second, neither of you say anything.

Ben’s fingers tighten slightly around his mug before he clears his throat and pushes himself off the counter. “Need another cigarette” He mutters, already turning toward the back door like retreating is the only reasonable option left.

You watch him reach for the back door handle, shoulders tense beneath the old gray shirt stretched across his broad back. And before your brain can catch up with your mouth– “Ben” He pauses, doesn’t turn around immediately, just stands there with one hand still resting on the door. It feels weird– this is Ben, since when do you get nervous around Ben? “You gonna run away every time you say somethin’ embarrassing now?” You ask, trying to tease him despite how warm your face still feels.

A quiet scoff leaves him. “Wouldn’t have t’run if y’quit makin’ me say stupid shit”

“I didn’t make you say anything”

“That right?” Finally, he glances back over his shoulder– big mistake. Morning light spills through the kitchen windows just enough to catch the tired roughness in his face– messy hair, stubble dark against his jaw, eyes still heavy with sleep and something else you were trying very hard not to think about too deeply. It hits you suddenly (unfairly) that you’d never really noticed how handsome he was before– not properly. Sure, objectively? Obviously. Every woman in town with functioning eyesight had flirted with him at least once growing up. You remembered waitresses touching his arm too long, women at bars laughing too hard at things that weren’t funny, your dad groaning every single time somebody called Ben ‘charming’ as if he wasn’t a loud-mouthed asshole. But he’d always just been…Ben. Solid, familiar, constant. Not this. Not a man standing ten feet away making your stomach turn itself inside out from one look. “You thinkin’ too loud again” He mutters suddenly, voice gruff.

Your eyes widen slightly. “What?”

“That face” He gestures vaguely toward you. “Means trouble, m’telling ya”

Heat immediately rushes to your neck– because he’s right– of course he is. He knows you better than anyone. “You’re literally impossible to talk to before noon”

“Smartest thing you said all mornin’ kid” That doesn’t make the tension disappear, but it does help– it’s like him, rough and comfortable in a way you’d missed all that time you’ve been away.

You shake your head with a quiet scoff, bringing the mug back to your lips mostly to give yourself something to do besides stare at him. “Go smoke your cigarette, old man”

next thing you knew, he was harshly fucking his cock into you, pressing your face deeper into your mattress with his hand on the back of your throat. you can already feel the bruises around your neck forming. you sobbed his name, already having come twice around him. each of his thrusts were so precise, never faltering even as he was finally approaching his climax.

you’ve never heard his voice as raspy as when he began to taunt you, “you can take it, can’t you? i know you like me, or else you wouldn’t be letting me do this to you.”

“please, dex, dex, dex,” you blabbered like a mantra. you couldn’t tell exactly what it was you were begging for.

he held you down harder then, blocking your airway for a moment. “fuck, you’re so wet. you’ve thought about this, haven’t you? you ever imagined me knocking on your door and shoving my cock into you? oh, i can feel you squeezing me. you’d love that, wouldn’t you?

“mrs. miller said you were so helpful. she was right. that’s why you followed me around on my runs, didn’t you? just wanted to keep me company. you weren’t that dumb to think an fbi agent wouldn’t notice, were you? you wanted me to know with that little damsel-in-distress act of yours.”

you felt his weight press down onto your back, his fingers sliding from your sore hip to the center of your thighs. he smiled when he found your clit immediately, rubbing the overstimulated nerves with quick, precise movements. despite the mortification of being caught, you cried out in overwhelming ecstasy. your stretched walls clamped down so hard around his length, it was like they were trying to push him out.

but obviously, you wanted it. otherwise, your arousal wouldn’t be gushing out around his relentless cock like that, dripping onto your ruined sheets. each slap of his hips against your ass made such an embarrassing squelch inside the thin walls of your small room. hopefully poor old mrs. miller couldn’t hear any of this—she was terribly catholic.

dex spoke more in the last forty minutes than he had to you in the past three years he’s been living in this building. he teased you about your crush on him, praised you for being so good for him and his cock. it wasn’t long before your third release washed over you, milking him so hard that he spilled himself into you. you felt his hot cum flood your walls, shamefully (but blissfully) wondering if he’d slide himself out of you just to watch it leak out of your hole.

but despite his intense climax, he kept going, because dex was only a friendly neighbor cashing in on his neighborly generosity to you.