Drugs N Hella Melodies c. loveland
summary ✮ smoking weed has colston realizing you’re his favorite drug.
inspired by this + this
warnings weed, cockwarming
word count 3.6k
from lia ✮ been in the studio cooking this up (staring at a blank doc). In my head this is how I imagine fwb!colston and his girl would be on an off-season night if they ever locked in but that’s just a thought this is a random fic lolll anyway I locked in at 3 am to make this happen in time for hump day so I hope u guys enjoy
It’s one of those days where Colston wants to live inside of your skin.
Hands subconsciously reaching for you whenever you pass by him in the kitchen. Following you around the house like a lost puppy while you clean. Now, he’s been literally glued to you for the last hour — body sprawled over yours like a weighted blanket as you watch Gossip Girl on the couch. His nose is buried in your neck, arms engulfing your waist and trapping you beneath him like he’s worried you might disappear.
“Colston,” you whisper.
He doesn’t budge, no sign of acknowledgement that he even hears you.
“Colston,” you try, louder this time.
“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” he grumbles.
You giggle at the feeling of his mouth moving against your skin, rubbing his back as he somehow manages to sink further into you.
“Baby.”
“Hmm?” His arms squeeze around you when he gets his proper recognition — a title he worked very hard to earn. He drags his nose up your neck as he presses a featherweight kiss below your ear.
“I need to take a shower.”
He whines at that, fingers starting to play with the hem of your shirt. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. I smell all stinky like you.”
“I don’t stink,” he complains. “And I like when you smell like me.”
“Well, I don’t. So move,” lightly pushing at his shoulder even though you know it’s useless. The only way to get Colston off you is if he chooses to. And he’s acting like a petulant child who refuses to give up a toy he found at the store, holding onto you even tighter.
“Uh-uh.”
His defiance makes you tug at the hairs on the nape of his neck, and he lets out a small, “Ouch.”
“Get off me, then,” you laugh.
“Will you come back?”
It’s how earnest he asks that pulls at your heart strings.
Your voice is reassuring, softer, when you say, “Of course I will.”
He pauses, deciding what to do. Then, “Okay, fine.”
When Colston rolls off of you, you’re finally able to breathe again. He’s looking at you like you just asked to break up, not take a brief shower. Which, to a clingy Colston, is basically the same thing.
You bend down to pepper kisses all over his face — forehead, chin, cheeks, nose, jaw. Everywhere but his lips to apologize for leaving him.
His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back.
“You forgot something.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He doesn’t respond. Just sadly stares back at you, lips curving down into a slight pout.
It almost works on you — something about seeing the same man who bodies people for a living treating your kisses like oxygen nearly makes you fold every time. But you don’t give in.
Instead, you bring your hand to his face and dig your fingers into his cheeks before saying, “Fifteen minutes.”
Any protests he has is drowned out by your footsteps making their way towards the bathroom. You’re quick to undress, tossing your clothes into the hamper and turning the shower on.
Steam clouds settle over the bathroom as the boiling water cascades over your body. All mechanical movements as you go through your routine. Massaging shampoo longer than necessary, conditioner sitting as you bathe in the heat. You know Colston is outside waiting, patience stretching thin and counting down till you return.
After dragging everything out — lathering more lotion on than usual, letting each skincare product soak into your skin, working each product through your hair to define its wave pattern —, you pad down the hallway into the bedroom.
Inside, the album cover displayed on the TV casts a red hue over the room. Music softly playing in the background mixes with noise of metal scraping. Colston is sitting on the left side of the couch, a rolling tray resting on his right thigh.
The familiar scent of weed hits your nostrils, awfully skunky and earth-like, as you click the door shut. He doesn’t pause his movements when you appear in front of him. The tray simply slides from his thigh to the armrest in one smooth motion, outlines of his muscles sharpening with the movement.
“C’mere,” Idaho drawl evident due to the late hours of the night.
Colston doesn’t look up, doesn’t even wait for you to move first. He wraps his arm around your waist and guides you down into his lap like it’s the only place you should ever be. Adjusts your position so you’re straddling him, hand resting on the lower curve of your spine as he pulls you flush against his bare chest — body molding perfectly with his. The proximity dampens the smell of the weed with the mahogany from his skin.
“Better,” he hums. You can feel him relaxing underneath you.
He brings his nose back into the crook of your neck to breathe you in again. Slow, drawn out, slightly exaggerated. Like he wants part of you to reside permanently in his lungs. Warm vanilla and honey from your hair products invade his senses.
“Miss me?”
“Mhm,” he murmurs into your neck. “Thought you forgot about me.”
Threading your fingers through his hair, “I only took thirty-ish minutes or something.”
“That’s more than fifteen. I started thinking I made up having a girl.”
You let out a puff of air through your nose at how dramatic he is.
“Hair wash day will do that to you.”
Despite him removing his face from your neck, he still isn’t looking at you. His mouth drifts down to your collarbone. The edge pokes out of the collar of his shirt you’re wearing, and his lips brush across the exposed skin.
Once.
“I don’t like hair wash days.”
Twice.
There’s no pressure behind it, it’s purely absentminded movements. He hardly even registers that he’s doing it. But the faint tingle following the trail of his lips feels like it’s burning your skin.
“I won’t leave again,” you promise, continuing to play with his hair as your nails scratch at his scalp.
He doesn’t answer, just lets his mouth linger over your collarbone as if the conversation comes second to the taste of you. And, for a moment, that’s all there is — the slow drag of his lips heating up your damp skin.
Then the grinder taps against the tray, metal clanging loud enough to overshadow the music. His hand slips from your spine to work, and the loss of warmth makes you shift without meaning to.
His mouth stills at the movement, but he doesn’t pull away. Pausing. Waiting for you to settle before pressing another absentminded kiss above your collarbone — some semblance of an apology for taking his hand off you — and pinching the filter into place. The paper folds between his fingers with practiced precision, eyes focused somewhere over your shoulder while his lips wander back up into the hollow of your neck.
There’s no way for you to tell how far along he is in the process. All the work he’s doing is behind your back, and you know better than to turn around before the joint is fully wrapped. You slightly pull away to look at his face. Forehead creasing under the warm light, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration.
If it wasn’t for his lips on you, you’d think he doesn’t realize you are right there.
And it’s the way he’s gone silent that makes you antsy. The lack of any real attention. Like he’s suddenly the master of self-restraint — that the need to be physically intertwined with your soul has passed, deferring the clinginess to you.
Your fingers come down to play with his silver chain. The jewels reflect the color emitting from the TV. You twist the chain until the clasp sits at the back of his neck, smoothing the cool metal against his chest.
Colston keeps his focus on the joint.
He neatly tucks the paper behind the bud, thumb sliding along the seam to crease it flat. A little spills out at the end from pouring too much, and he sighs before stabilizing the joint.
Your hands drift lower as he packs everything in to rest on the smooth expanse of his stomach. Muscles tense up under your touch, and your fingers lightly trace over the ridges. Testing, searching for what’s going to make him falter.
There’s not a word that comes from him. Not even a glance.
Your mind starts rummaging through options.
Pressing your knees tighter against his hips.
Nothing.
The paper just rolls gently between his fingertips, careful movements keeping everything in place. He’s finished rolling within minutes before — always been effective and efficient; however, he’s taking his time tonight.
And it’s done with intention.
So you settle your weight lower into his lap, hips pressing down until the heat has nowhere else to go except him.
His right hand lands on your waist before his brain can catch up, squeezing once out of muscle memory. His jaw tightens, but his grip isn’t rough — meant to steady, not hurt you.
“Stop moving.” It’s terribly calm. Like he’s telling you to watch your head, not ruining your life.
But the contact is brief before he’s back to rolling. The wrap has become too compact, so he loosens his hold. Has to restart when the fold comes undone. Simple details that can easily be overlooked, but he’s handling like something fragile.
You rock your hips once. It’s enough to make his breath hitch — make him adjust you back into place like a trophy he’s displaying on a shelf. All deliberate and controlled.
“Messing me up,” he mutters.
“You’re being mean.”
He lets out a small laugh. “You were mean first.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” you mumble into his ear.
“That’s not gonna work.” But he tilts his head to press a chaste kiss on your cheek anyway.
You drop your forehead onto his shoulder and groan in desperation.
Colston clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Nah. Don’t start with that.”
“You’re the one treating me like I committed a crime.”
“Not kissing me is a crime.”
“Not paying attention to me when I’m all up in your lap is worse.”
He stays silent, but the pace picks up. Perfectionism forgone as he tightens the roll. You watch as Colston brings it to his mouth, tongue tracing along the gum line to seal it before twisting the end shut. It sends electricity coursing through you, and you shove your face back into him to force the sight of your mind. Lifting the joint into the light to inspect his work, he pats your thigh in satisfaction.
You feel his free hand slide up your back. Fingers weaving through damp hair, and he gently draws your head up from his shoulder. This time, he looks you right in the eye when you're face-to-face.
“You made me wait forever,” he says.
“One, it wasn’t forever. Two, it wasn’t on purpose.”
“It definitely was forever, and I know you did it on purpose.”
“So you get to ignore me because I made you use some patience?”
“So it’s fine when you do it, but not me?”
“Yes.” And Colston knows that’s final.
The conversation really is ridiculous: two needy people quarreling over who actually gets to be needy.
He stares at you, eyes roaming all over your face as if it’s a painting inside a museum that’s meant to be admired. The heat from his gaze makes you squirm, going right to your lower stomach, and his fist tightens around your hair.
“Baby.” Low, warning.
“Don’t look at me like that then.”
“Like what?”
You roll your eyes. “Stop acting stupid.”
“I thought you wanted my attention.”
“I want you to love me.”
“I do love you,” he says, bringing his forehead to rest on yours.
“Clearly, you don’t ‘cause you just spent the last—”
Colston doesn’t let you finish speaking, placing the joint onto the tray before lifting you up from his lap. The loss of contact draws a whine out of you.
“What the hell was that for?”
“I’ve been right here this entire time. I focus on something else for five minutes, now you’re acting like I don’t love you.”
“Well, you were way nicer earlier.” It’s how seriously you say it that makes Colston smirk. The way you act so unaffected by him smothering you, only to be irritated when you aren’t the center of his world.
He brings his hands to the back of your thighs, dragging you to stand in between his legs. Running them up and down before coming to settle around your waist. He hooks his thumb into the waistband of your shorts, but there’s no attempt to pull them down. It just rests there, teasing you.
“I can be nice now. Just gotta tell me what you want.”
The taste of metal floods your tongue, and you release your bottom lip from between your teeth. Shifting your weight from side to side while he looks at you expectantly.
“Come on, mama. Use your words.”
“You.”
“That all?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
Colston shrugs, pupils blown wide under the light. His thumb presses into your hip to coax what you really want out. You feel the tension boiling inside you.
“Quit acting like you don’t know what I want.”
“You’re only making it harder.”
You throw your head back in defeat and swallow the embarrassment down.
Refusing to look him in the eye, “Just want you inside.”
His tongue rolls against his cheek, thumb gliding along your leg as he pulls your shorts down. You step out of them when it pools at your heels. Before you can move on top of him, his hands stop you.
“You gonna behave if I let you sit on it?”
The huskiness in his voice sends another shot down your spine, thighs pressing together to relieve the slowly budding ache.
“Yes.” It comes out sharp, full of impatience from how much work he’s making you put in.
“Someone’s needy,” he teases.
Your knees fall back to brace each side of his body. He pulls your panties to the side, smirking at how soaked you already are when he swipes a finger through your folds.
“Look at you,” he tuts. “Got yourself all worked up because something else had my attention.”
The way he’s speaking to you sits heavy inside your chest, burying its way to your heart. You can feel your pulse hammering as he dips a finger inside. Instinctively squeezing around the intrusion to keep him in place.
“Relax, baby. I promise I’ll give it to you.”
His thumb circles your clit while he works your way up, fingers alternating between light strokes and small scissor movements. Your hips undulate with each change in rhythm, and you shove your face into his neck to muffle the sound of your moans. When he pulls his hand away to tug down his sweatpants and boxers, the sudden emptiness has you clenching down in search for relief.
Small pleas spill out of you. Colston cradles the back of your head, whispering, “I know, I know.”
The emptiness doesn’t last long until Colston’s running the head of his cock through your slick — nerve endings set ablaze as he bullies the tip inside of you. He draws himself out before sinking further into you, and you bite his shoulder to force your body to make room for him.
Each time he pushes himself back in, you flutter around him, body fighting back against the burning stretch as your arousal slides down your thigh.
He presses a kiss on your temple, “Almost there, baby.”
“It’s too big.” Tears start to prickle at the corner of your eyes, broken whimpers falling out of you. No matter how many times you’ve had him, the sensation always overwhelms you.
“You can do it,” groaning into your ear. “You’re a big girl.”
Once you’re fully seated against him, bodies connected into one, his hand comes up to rub your back. Small, soothing circles to calm you down as you adjust to his size. You focus on the heat radiating from his body. How his heartbeat picks up against your cheek.
Otherwise it’s silent for a moment. Lyrics filling up the space, bass thrumming inside your skill.
“You okay?”
Your eyes are glossy when you look up at him to nod.
He studies your face for a second, searching for any signs of discomfort. You stare back at him, and you see the gears shift in his eyes. Concern softening as a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“She’s gripping me like I’ve never been inside her a day of my life.”
His words slice through the delirium inside of your brain, dropping your jaw in shock.
“Why’d you have to say that?”
“Because I can feel my blood circulation about to be cut off.”
“Are you really complaining about that right now?”
“No, no, no. I’m not complaining. I’m just saying that I can tell she missed me.”
“Stop talking about my pussy in third person,” you scold.
“Would you rather I say it about you?”
“I’d rather you stop killing the moment.”
“You’re the one moaning about me being ‘too big—’” He hisses when you tense around him, reminding him that you have just as much control over the situation.
“Exactly,” you say, smug. “Just get the joint.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The way he leans over causes him to brush against your cervix, drawing a small moan out of you.
“Don’t.” His mouth opens, then closes immediately.
He places the lighter and the joint into your palm before resting his hands onto your hips. “Do the honors.”
Holding the joint between the pads of your thumb and index, you light one end. The flames flicker around your hand as you roll it around. Turning it side to side to have an even burn.
Once the tip is glowing red, you bring the joint to your mouth and slowly inhale. The smoke burns down your throat, coating your lungs as you take another breath to keep it in. Your fingers come up to Colston’s jaw, firm, and tap it twice.
He parts his lips when you bring your mouth down to his. Eyes gazing into yours as you exhale into him. It’s the faintest brush of his mouth against yours that hits before the weed even can.
Enough to make your head feel dizzy while the drug is still working its way through your veins into your brain.
His inhale is shaky, already chasing after you before you can pull back. His lips crash into you — hard. Moving against you with reckless abandon, any composure he’s managed to hold onto splintering away because he doesn’t care about the joint. Doesn’t care that he spent an egregious amount of time rolling it.
All he can think of is you, and your other hand is still not on him. That has him pressing harder, fighting to be the one to take hold over your senses. Ripping the joint from between your fingertips like it’s poison and haphazardly stubbing it against a surface he can’t see.
The high hasn’t hit him — probably won’t at all — but it’s you, on his tongue, with him, in this moment that matters. It’s better than any toke he’s ever taken, anything that’s ever gone into his bloodstream.
And your mind is reeling as you kiss him back because he’s everywhere — stuffing you full, hands claiming you all over, knocking air out of your lungs. There isn’t a part of you that’s untouched. Head floating above your body, and you aren’t sure if it’s the high or if it’s Colston.
But it’s addictive, and you know that what you need is him to keep that feeling alive.
Every sensation is heightened, the subtle twitches of him where you're connected fogging up your brain. It sends dopamine leaking out into each synapse, and now you’re certain that you’re high on him.
The sound of both of you heaving echo around the room when you pull apart. Chest seizing in anger from how you’ve deprived it of oxygen because kissing Colston took precedence over being alive. And he’s watching you collect your thoughts like he wants that to be the image seared behind his eyelids every time his world goes dark.
“You know I love you, right?” His voice is quiet when he asks. Vulnerability seeping through.
Your arms wrap around his neck as you melt into him.
“I do.”
“Okay, just making sure.” Then, after a brief pause, “Do you love me?”
You have to gnaw at the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. He’s acting like the way you two almost passed out thirty seconds ago sends isn’t a clear enough sign.
“I. Love. You. Very. Much. Baby.” And you mark each word with a kiss to show how much you really mean it.
Colston’s beaming after that, teeth glistening as his smile practically touches his ears.
“Say it again.”
You pretend to bite his nose, lips curving around your teeth so you don’t actually hurt him. It’s the cuteness aggression that takes over from how soft he’s being.
“I love you.”
“I love you… what?”
“I love you, baby.”
His face has to hurt from his grin spreading impossibly wider. “I love you more.”
Another song occupies the background, lyrics incoherent from how you’re zeroed in on this moment. Colston’s greedy hands have found their way under your shirt — not because he wants to escalate anything, but because he needs the skin-to-skin contact.
Contentment drapes over the two of you as your body’s stay fused. No telling where one of you ends and the other one starts. And that in itself is a drug of its own caliber.
lia… again ✮ absolutely no weed was smoked in this 😭 sativa or indica???? Colston !!!!!
