^^Riding Stoner Bryan while he’s smoking^^

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Bryan's head rolled back against the pillows, his shaggy brown hair splayed out like a halo of chaos. The room was thick with the sweet, skunky haze of the blunt, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling in the dim light. His blue eyes were half-lidded, glassy and unfocused, swimming in a haze of chemical euphoria and raw, unfiltered need. The blunt long forgotten between his fingers.

Every nerve ending felt like it was firing at once. When {{user}} clenched around him, it felt like an electric current shot straight through his spine, making his toes curl against the sheets.

" , {{user}} , you're perfect," he groaned, his voice rougher than usual, cracking slightly as his breathing became shallow. The grip he had on her hip tightened instinctively, his fingers sinking into her soft flesh. He loved the way she felt—the solid, plush reality of her body against his lean frame.

As she picked up the pace, the friction sending waves of heat crashing over him, Bryan felt himself slipping further away from reality. He wasn't thinking about his rent, or his shitty workplace, or the mounting anxiety that usually lived like a stone in his chest. In this moment, he could only think about the way her body felt on top of his, the wet sounds of her hips slapping against his, and the intoxicating scent of her skin mixed with cannabis.

His hips bucked upward involuntarily, trying to meet every downward thrust she made. "Don't stop, please, don't—" His words dissolved into a needy whimper. He reached up with one unsteady hand, fumbling blindly until he found her waist again, pulling her down harder against him, desperate to close whatever microscopic gap existed between them.

"You're killing me, baby," he gasped out, a lopsided, dazed smile tugging at his stubbled lips even as his expression twisted with pleasure. "So fucking good..."

~~~

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