realmrider

12:47 a.m. That’s what the clock reads when I finally look up from my phone. First night of spring break, and I’ve spent it bedrotting and doomscrolling instead of studying—fully aware exam season is lurking just around the corner.

I sigh, peeling myself off the bed, and wander downstairs for a glass of water. That’s when I saw him.

Through the kitchen window above the sink, out on the back patio deck, sits Caleb. A black hoodie pulled low over his head, his face dimly lit by the flicker of a lighter as he shields the flame from the late March breeze. A blunt rests between his lips.

My Caleb.

He’s smoking? Since when does he do that? Is this his first time?

He checks his phone absentmindedly, the glow illuminating the underside of his face. For a second, I just watch him; at least 3 minutes pass like that, with me watching him scroll through whatever has his attention on his phone, smoking like it’s just another night. All I can wonder is, how long has he been smoking? When did he start smoking? Who taught him how to roll a blunt? The thought of him smoking out girls at parties or in his dorm at the DAA creeps into my mind.

I forcefully slide the back patio door open, suddenly feeling enraged by my own thoughts. Caleb jumps a little, surprised by the noise, and sees me standing there. He gives me a look of a kid who just got caught doing something they aren't supposed to.

"Shit, Pipsqueak, you scared me," he says with a smile tugging at his lips, and sets the blunt down onto the ashtray in front of him. "Since when do you smoke?" I say, pulling his hood down and crossing my arms, the irritation in my voice undeniable. “Why are you mad?” Caleb asks, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into his lap. He smells like weed and cologne, his eyes red and his lids heavy from the high. "`You ask like I just committed a crime," answering my previous question. "I don’t do it that often, just… when my brain won’t shut up," he continues.

"So you're out here smoking alone? And what's keeping your mind racing this late anyway?" My eyes flicker to his phone; I can’t help but wonder if someone at school—a girl— is influencing my Caleb.

“Pipsqueak, relax,” he says, voice low. He seems to pick up on it immediately. He always does; Caleb could always just read me like that. He runs a hand slowly down my leg like he’s trying to calm whatever displeasing thoughts were buzzing under my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Yeah, uh… guess I didn’t expect to get caught by you, of all people." He scratches his head a bit, clearly trying to play it off, but embarrassed from being caught red-handed. "So you are embarrassed." Unable to resist teasing him in a state like this. “A little." He says, tips of his ears visibly red, "I mean—you’re like the one person I didn’t wanna see me like this.”

A dull pang of guilt settles in my chest.

He didn’t say it in a way that was defensive or ashamed—just honest. Like he really cared what I thought. And for some reason, that hits me harder than I expect.

“Why won’t you try taking a hit? It’ll be fun,” he suggests, leaning in a little, eyes still low. “Let me show you how to let go for a second."

It wouldn't kill me to try it once, right? Plus, I'm with Caleb, and he wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.

Sensing I’m close to giving in, he grins just a bit wider. “There she is,” he murmurs, reaching for the blunt. He relights it, it had gone out sitting untouched in the ashtray—and brings it to my lips.

“Just breathe in slowly,” he says softly. “I got you.” The first inhale burns. I cough—hard. Caleb lets out a quiet laugh, clearly amused. “Damn, Pipsqueak,” He pats my back, his palm warm through the thin fabric of my shirt "I didn't think you'd hit it that hard"

"Holy shit, do you get use to that?' I asked in between smaller coughs. Lungs still stinging from the smoke, his touch lingers, his hand gently rubbing in slow circles. Comforting. Casual. Except it’s not, not to me. "Eventually," He says

Goosebumps race down my spine as he takes the blunt back, fingers twisting the ends of my hair—almost absentminded. The closeness wouldn’t usually faze me, but it feels different now. Caleb takes another hit and turns his head away to not blow the smoke in my face.

Maybe it’s how his shoulders have filled out in the past year. Or maybe it’s Tara, my dormmate, constantly pestering me about how I need to catch a dick.

She was always saying things like, "How have you been living with a guy that hot and haven't jumped him in the laundry room already?" I always rolled my eyes, swore it wasn’t like that. But now?

Now he's sitting here with smoke curling out of his lips, his hoodie riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin and the faint line of his happy trail disappearing beneath his waistband, twisting my hair between his fingers like it’s a habit, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. And now I can’t stop noticing how his hand looks resting on my thigh—bigger, steady, and familiar, but not in the way it used to be.

I can feel my heart start to race after this realization, but I'll blame it on the THC entering my bloodstream before I acknowledge my attraction to my childhood best friend. “You’ve changed,” I mumble before I can stop myself.

Caleb raises a brow, exhaling smoke as he glances over at me. “That a good thing or a bad thing?” "I don't know," I admit, a bit too honestly. He gives me a look I can't quite decipher. "Tara's been getting to you, hasn't she?" My head shoots up to give him a look. “Shut up.” “I’m right, though,” he grins, all smug and a little too satisfied with himself. “She’s been planting ideas in that pretty head of yours.” His hand trails up from my back to massage my neck as he offers the blunt back to me.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I take it from him and confidently take another hit. He laughs softly, eyes still on me. “Look at you, getting high with me on the back porch like we’re in a coming-of-age movie.” I look away, trying to hide the blush that found its way to my face, but he can feel the heat creep up my neck anyway.

His fingers find the ends of my hair again, rolling a curl around his knuckle. This used to feel safe. Simple. But now... with his thigh pressed against mine and that look in his eyes...

I feel a heat start to build between my legs, and I shift awkwardly, squeezing them together in a weak attempt to ease the tension. Sitting in Caleb’s lap definitely isn’t helping physically or otherwise. He picks up on this, too. "Are you uncomfortable?" voice low but cautious, like he’s not sure if he should move or stay perfectly still.

“No,” I say, maybe too quickly. “just... adjusting.” He raises a brow “adjusting, huh?” “Don’t start,” I mumble, face flushed. He chuckles under his breath, teasing me. His hand settles lightly on my hips, fingers flexing just a little like he’s testing the waters.

“I mean if you wanna get up,” he says, quieter now. “You can.”

I don’t move. “You want me to?” I ask, in almost a whisper. His grip on my hips tightens just slightly—not enough to hold me there, but enough to say I don’t want you to. “No,” he says finally, voice rougher than before. “Not really.”

He takes another hit from the blunt—just a stub now—and something reckless stirs in me, probably fueled by my high or my jealousy issues. Or maybe it's the way I’m suddenly aching, clenching my thighs against the growing tension low in my belly.

Before I can even process it, I shift to straddle Caleb, now fully facing him, heart pounding in my throat. I can feel him—his clothed erection brushing perfectly against my core, sending a sharp wave of heat through me.

“Shit,” he mutters, his hand instinctively moving to my thighs. “What're you doing, Pipsqueak?” I don’t give an answer, I just reach for the blunt, and bring it to my lips. One long, slow inhale.

His eyes go wide, pupils blown and glossy. “Fuckk,” he breathes. And before he can say anything else, I cup his face in my hands, leaning in, and exhaling the smoke into his mouth, lips barely brushing. Caleb inhales the smoke like it’s second nature.

His hands slide higher, gripping my hips firmly, and he pulls me down against him—my whole body pulses at the contact, heart thudding so loud now I’m sure he can hear it.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice raspy from the smoke. “You have no idea what you're doing to me right now.” I bridge the gap between our lips and kiss him passionately, throwing my arms around his neck to pull us closer together. The blunt falls somewhere forgotten behind me as I grip his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered.

His lips are warm and a little dry from the blunt, and I can still taste the smoke on his lips. Caleb makes a soft sound in his throat, almost like a groan, and pulls me in tighter. His fingers dig into my hips, not hard, just enough to ground us both like he needs proof this is really happening. I feel the muscles in his thighs tense beneath me, feel the way his body presses up into mine.

The high makes everything feel softer but heavier. More intense. I can’t even tell if I’m breathing too fast or not at all.

His lips leave mine only to trail kisses along my jaw, then lower, stopping to whisper against my neck, “You’re driving me insane, Pipsqueak.”

Good.

If I could climb inside his skin, I would. I love that no one else gets to see this version of Caleb—the real him—the Caleb who laughs when I say something dumb, the Caleb who treats every bump and bruise like he’s my personal doctor. The one who lets me crawl into his bed after a nightmare and never says a word about it the next morning. The one that’s mine, even if neither of us has said it out loud..

Dragging him impossibly closer as I kiss him deeper, rougher, until our teeth bump and his breath shudders against my lips. His tongue slides against mine, and I groan into his.

I grind against him again, slowly, deliberately. Feeling just how hard he is, cock barely restrained by the thin fabric of his basketball shorts. Caleb's hands find their way under my shirt now, cupping my breast, and I arch into him shamelessly. His thumbs brush across my nipples a few times, now stiff under his fingers. I bite back a gasp, burying my face into his neck. The scent of smoke and skin feeling familiar and dizzying all at once.

“You feel so fucking good, baby” he mutters, voice rough and half-broken, and I can feel the tension in him—he’s holding himself back. His hands move down, gripping my ass, guiding me to rock against him again. Faster this time. Harder. “You don’t even know,” he says, the words thick with need.

I smile, just barely, drunk on power and weed and him. “Then show me.” He kisses me again, my hips rolling on instinct, chasing the friction that has my head spinning and my toes curling.

Neither of us says a word, but everything is loud—the sound of our breath, the low hum of music still leaking from his phone speaker, the rustle of fabric, the creak of the patio chair beneath us.

Every time his hips push up to meet mine, it gets harder to stay quiet. He drags my shirt higher, mouthing at my collarbone, then lower, lips grazing the top of my chest, leaving heat in his wake, he groans into my skin.

“You’re mine,” I whisper without meaning to.

Caleb pauses for just a second, breathing hard against my chest. “Yours,” he repeats, voice rough and low. “All fucking yours.”

My breath hitches, the words settling deep inside, and I kiss him again. ike I’m trying to brand the taste of him into my mouth. Our rhythm slips into something more desperate, more frantic. My hips grind down harder, slower, dragging out the friction that’s quickly unraveling me. His cock presses up, stiff and hot through his shorts, perfectly aligned against the ache between my thighs

Caleb’s hands slip beneath my ass, kneading the soft flesh, using his grip to control the movement—rolling his hips up to meet every grind of mine. I moan into his mouth before I can stop myself, and he swallows the sound like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Fuck, Pipsqueak,” he breathes against my lips, voice wrecked and loving. “You’re so wet—I can feel you through everything.”

“You gonna come like this?” he whispers, lips brushing mine. “Right here, on my lap, just from grinding on me?”

I nod, barely managing the motion, my whole body trembling with how close I am. “Caleb—” I gasp, digging my fingers into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor me.

“I got you,” he says, holding me tighter, pressing his forehead to mine again. “I’ve always got you.”

I roll my hips once more, and everything in me goes white-hot, crashing and clenching around nothing but need. I moan into his neck as the orgasm rolls over me, wracking my body with shivers and aftershocks.

Caleb holds me through it, never letting go, murmuring something against my temple—something I can’t quite hear over the pounding in my chest, but I feel it. Every word. Every touch.

When I finally come down, still trembling in his lap, he pulls me close, pressing a lazy kiss to my cheek. His hand strokes my back in slow, steady circles, grounding me again.

“You’re really not getting up now,” he says with a crooked grin, voice hoarse and smug.

And I don’t want to.