Pleasure's Golden Haze
content warnings: dubcon, drugs, smut
Light falls across the couch in thick golden beams, filtering in through dusty windows thrown open to catch the setting sun's warm breeze; there's dust in the air, and smoke, and the thick musky scent of slowly drying sweat. When you first got here the smoke was the woody stink of distant fires, but now it's just good clean weed and and the strangely layered perfume of vaped DMT.
The world doesn't feel real, hasn't for a long time; reality trickles away with each breath you take and each time your friend passes you the blunt. She's the only person you really know here, the only reason you were invited; usually you'd feel awkward, but everyone's so hazy and high and the couch really is so comfortable …
You want to stay here forever. To let the moment stretch like thick honey, like a flood of sap flowing across the world to catch time's steady march in an amber as golden as the falling sun; a single perfect moment you'll stay in forever.
Your eyes flutter closed as you luxuriate in that idea, in the warmth filling your body and the dopey smile spreading across your face; when you open them again she's kissing you, her weight pressing you down into the couch—you feel so small beneath her, so weak, body barely able to move enough to kiss her back.
That's all right, though; her wandering hands make it clear that she doesn't mind your inaction, doesn't mind that your mind is barely there. It's harder to think with every kiss, with every touch, with every drop of golden light that pools inside your mind.
You drink it all up.
Your body feels so hot …
You're practically burning up.
When she pulls away, when her lips leave yours and her weight shifts off you, you whimper like a fire without its hearth, like a burning engine suddenly bereft of its heatsink; you can't understand her words, can't think enough to understand, but that's alright. She's not speaking to you.
“See?” she says, “I told you it was a good idea to invite them. Poor little thing's needed this for a long time.”
You don't feel the eyes on you but you whimper anyway, because how can you not? Maybe whimpering will bring her lips back, maybe it will make her hands wander lower, maybe—
Lips meet yours again, cold and chapped, a warm tongue slipping into you to meet the golden light spilling out; the barest hint of stubble against your too-sensitive skin. It's not her, and nor is it her hand cupping your cheek, angling your face up into the kiss; they're more tentative, more careful, but their attention still helps soothe the heat growing in you even as every moment stokes it higher, their body against yours still reminds you of how weak you are.
They finally pull away with a laugh, fingers tweaking your nipple and sending lightning jolting through your body just a second before they fade out of your awareness. Their voice is excited as they speak, words rippling across your mind like so many silver tongues;
“Wow, yeah! Do you think I can fuck them?”
You whimper at that, and whimper again as she laughs, a bright cheerful noise like a crimson scarf fluttering in the wind. “Ha, you horny fucker! Yeah, go for it, just let me give them another hit first.”
There's cold metal at your lips and just a hint of burnt sweetness trickling into your nose so you inhale, because that's what you're supposed to do, right? And then the world is shivering around you as you cough, and there are hands tugging at your jeans and her lap beneath your head and that golden light falling into you from the setting sun as she rubs your cheek, as she helps guide your body into position, as she holds you steady as you squirm and moan and buck your hips at the warm air and their tongue tasting you and their hands holding your hips—
The world goes away as they pull you back onto them and thrust forward into you.
It doesn't feel like anything, and it feels like far too much: a sudden burst of sensation short-circuiting your mind, overstimulating you, setting your body ablaze, burning up your thoughts and leaving nothing but empty light.
For a long time you are nothing at all.
Not a person.
Not a thing.
Nothing at all.
A speck of dust swirling in the light.
When you come back to yourself they're curled around your back, groaning as your body shakes beneath them, as your hips press back to meet their every thrust; but what specks of attention you have, what fluttering neurons persist through pleasure's golden haze, are far more concerned with the scent filling your nose, that spicy musk dripping with wet heat—
She's slipped her pants off somehow, and your head is in your lap, and the soft skin of her thighs is pressing against your cheeks as she rubs your head and there's just a thin layer of underwear separating you from her, keeping your probing tongue from tasting her, and you can't figure out how to get around it—
“Eager, aren't you? Ha, just took the right encouragement …”
Her fingers move beneath you, body shifting as she pulls the fabric to the side, and then—
She tastes so fucking good, and the feeling of her filling your mouth and her hips bucking beneath you as your tongue works is almost as good as the thrusts filling you, making your body shake and your throat fill with keening whimpers and your mind explode with heat and light and the warm musky scent of sex, of all your smells blending together with the dying sun's light, of the dust dancing in the air with every panting breath that fills your ears and every muffled moan that spills out of you—
The sky is dark before they're done with you, the last beams of sunlight fleeing the approaching night; first they've finally had their fill and collapse onto the ground by the couch, then she shudders and moans and fills your mouth with an explosion of delicious slickness one last time. Her fingers in your hair pull you away, give her space to close her legs and let you rest your head on her soft thighs; you can still smell her, still feel the way your mouth moistens and your thoughts gum up, but it's done. They're done. They've used you up and wrung you out, but your body still shivers with sensation, with all the little shakes of aftershocks and phantom touches.
She's in the middle of relighting the blunt when you finally find it in you to speak.
“… fuck, I needed that.”
Her laugh is smugly satisfied. “Ha! Yeah, I knew you did. You've been wound too tight.”
“Yeah … but, uh. Ask first next time?”
“Will do. Didn't think you'd have said yes, though.”
“… I probably wouldn't, yeah. But still.”
“Mhmm.” She pauses for a moment. “Fuck, I'm hungry. Want to get pizza?”
Her friend's voice comes from where they're lying on the floor, looking as wrung out as you feel, and it blends with yours as you reply in unison. “Yes! Please!”