Content: substance addiction, drug dealing, withdrawal, afab reader, teasing, mutual masturbation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (but he does not come), cussing, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, the usual lol.
The air in the hallway of the building is thick with the smell of bleach and marijuana. But it’s oddly comforting. Within these walls is the one thing that makes you feel better. Makes everything better. And it isn’t drugs.
Tristan Smith, or Tryst, as he likes to be called. He’s been your dealer for two years now. Over the last two years, you’ve shut everybody out, except for him. To you, he was your best friend. You told him everything. But to him, you’re just another regular who spills their life story as if they need to give a reason to justify their addiction. That’s what you think anyways. They’re already giving him their money, and that’s good enough for him.
Despite Tryst seeming like a badass, you’ve noticed that he gives calm and caring vibes as you got to know him more.
Your heart thumps as you approach his door. Torn between knocking and just running away. On the journey to his place, you were determined to tell him the truth about how you’re feeling. But now, standing here, your shaky fist hovering over the wooden door, you’re having second thoughts.
You’re two months clean today. In the last year, you’ve fallen for the man feeding your addiction, fallen for the man who is slowly helping you kill yourself. You can’t do it anymore. You can’t keep denying the feelings that are eating away at you mentally. You can’t keep stuffing them down with the crap you put in your body. Getting clean only seemed to make it worse, because you know now that your feelings are real.
You don’t want to die wanting him.
Fuck it. You’re chickening out. You’ll text him or something. You feel like you’re about to pass out from the nerves. As you turn around to leave, his door suddenly opens. Tryst gasps upon seeing you, his eyes wide like he’d just seen a ghost.
“Y/n, where the fuck have you been? It’s been weeks! I thought you were dead!”
You say nothing. The words form as a lump in your throat, but nothing comes out as you open your mouth.
“You look like shit,” he says with concern in his voice. “You high?”
“Looking to be? It’s been a minute.”
“I… I’m not here for that,” you finally whisper. “I’m… trying to stop.”
Now he’s the silent one. Tension builds. You expected him to just slam the door in your face, because if you’re no longer a paying customer, then you’re just wasting his time. He doesn’t do that. But he doesn’t speak either. He just looks at you, his blue eyes slightly widened with surprise.
“I’m serious. I’m two months clean now. It fucking sucks. I’m shaking. I can’t sleep. I sweat like hell even when I’m just sitting down. My body needs it, craves it. But I can’t do it anymore, Tryst. I can’t.” You’re crying now, sniffling and wiping the salty tears from your face with the back of your hand.
“You’ve been coming to me every Friday night for two years, y/n. I didn’t see you for two months and I… Fuck, I thought you fucking died, and I felt guilty as fuck.” His eyes drop to the floor as he runs his fingers through his bleached blond hair.
His voice is low. Careful, like his words are a brick about to be thrown through the window of your emotions and break you. He didn’t tell you to fuck off or shove you away and slam the door in your face. You take a step closer to him, and he doesn’t back away.
“I had to disappear, Tryst. I thought it would make it easier.”
You take a deep breath. Then it all spills out of you, and you’re powerless to stop it.
“One night I was lying on my bathroom floor, shaking and sweating and I thought I was overdosing and about to die, and I thought about you. Not the drugs. You. And I realized I didn’t want to be high anymore. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to die like that, with a handful of pills in my stomach and you in my head. I don’t want to die wanting you. Because that’s what it was turning into, Tryst. Not just addiction. Not just chemicals. It was you. The way you looked at me when you handed it over. The way you never told me to stop, but you never asked me to stay, either. I kept chasing the high, and I can’t do that anymore. I love you, Tryst. And that terrifies me more than withdrawal ever did. But I put myself through it anyway. But, fuck, I had to tell you. Because if I don’t say it now, I’ll always wonder if I could’ve saved myself by telling the truth instead of swallowing it down with whatever you sold me. The best part of this addiction wasn’t the feeling I got from being high. The best part of it was seeing you and it has been for the last year."
Thick and suffocating silence stretches between you two. He feels so close, yet... so far. He says nothing. You can barely look at him. You’re trembling, not from the withdrawal, but from the weight of everything you just spilled out.
Then Tryst exhales, long and slow. He backs away, through his apartment door, but gestures for you to follow him. Stepping inside, you click the door shut behind you. The scent of him immediately envelopes you, sharp and musky like leather and cheap cologne. Not too strong but enough to bring you comfort. You’ve been inside his place many times, but God, every time, you’re reminded why you keep coming back.
And you can’t stop thinking about how this may be the last time you ever see him, see the inside of his apartment, breathe him in.
“Aren’t you going to say anything? Tell me that I’m crazy or that I must be high or scream at me to fuck off? That you pulled me in here only so you don’t make a scene out in the hallway?”
“No,” he says, “I’m not, because I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m the crazy one! I fell in love with the person who I was selling drugs to, and kept doing it, instead of trying to get them to stop.”
You gasp. That was unexpected. Did you hear him correctly? Does Tryst have feelings for you too?
He crosses the room and cups your face in his hand. Not rough. Not hurried. Just… steady. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the trail of a tear that didn’t make it all the way down.
“You shouldn't love me,” he says softly. “I’m the reason you almost didn’t make it out.”
You shake your head. “But I did make it out. I chose me. And if I get to choose you too, then that’s just me finally wanting something good.”
His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t pull away.
He leans in, his breath hits your lips, and you both freeze. Everything in you aches. Not the way it used to, the sick, desperate craving, but with need. You need him.
“Tell me to stop,” you murmur.
Your hand finds his chest, fingers twisting into his hoodie like your body’s already made the choice your mind is still afraid of.
“I’m not high,” you whisper. “I’m not confused. I know what I want.”
His lips crush against yours before the words have even faded.
It’s not careful. It’s not slow. It’s like a year of silence breaking all at once.
You gasp into him, and his hands are on your waist, pulling you flush against him like he doesn’t trust himself to let go. His mouth moves over yours like he’s trying to devour all your desire.
Your fingers move up into his hair, tugging lightly, and the groan he lets out is low and raw, his chest vibrating against yours.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.
“Withdrawal,” you breathe, eyes fluttering. “And you.”
Without a word, his mouth is on yours again, hotter this time, deeper… and there’s nothing but hands, breath, heat, the sweet taste of finally indulging in the thing you’ve been craving for so long.
You both collapse on the worn-out couch in his living room, never leaving each other’s grip. His hands are on you, on your hips, your thighs, your back. Like he’s trying to take in every inch of you, piece by piece. You let him, because you’re not chasing the feeling of being numb anymore, you’re chasing exactly this.
“I’ve been wanting this too. I want you. I want this,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips causing every nerve ending to ignite. “You’re sure about this?”
“I hope you know, after this, I’m not letting you go,” he speaks softly into your ear, his voice low, making you shiver. You simply nod at him as he stands up, offering his hand. Taking it, you stand as well and follow him into his bedroom. The door is slammed shut behind you. His room smells even more like him and holy shit, it’s… intoxicating. That, combined with the feeling of his hands on your hips as he leads you to his bed, is addicting just by itself.
You gasp as Tryst immediately begins to work on pulling your clothes off your body, like he must have you right this second or his whole world is going to end. He’s swift, but gentle with you as each garment is tossed in a neat pile on his floor.
“Tryst,” you whine as his fingertips contact the bare skin on your thighs. Thank fucking God that you showered before you came over. Because the look in his eyes tells you that he wants to devour every inch of you. And you’re totally inclined to let that happen. He looks at you, his pupils wide like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. His fingers feel like heaven, tracing lightly on your bare skin.
Your breathing becomes more ragged as his fingers brush up against the waistband of the only remaining piece of clothing on your body.
“Tryst… I want you and only you…” You mutter under your ragged breathing. Accepting your words as encouragement, Tryst proceeds to slide his fingers between your legs, over your lace underwear to find your arousal. You see a primal look in his eyes, wanting more, and that he is willing to do anything to just make you desperate for the bulge that’s forming in his pants.
You start reaching for the button on his jeans when he swiftly grabs your wrists with one hand, his other hand still resting on your heat. You whine and struggle, but his grip on you is like a vice, pinning your arms firmly above your head.
“Not yet, y/n,” he growls, “you’ll get my cock when I say you can have it, and not a second sooner.” His fingertips dance around the area, teasing you, close, but intentionally avoiding where you need him the most.
He watches your facial expressions attentively as he dips a single finger under the material, grinning as he brushes up against your cunt. You’re so sensitive that just that one light touch makes you moan.
“I fucking hate you, Tryst,” you whine as he pulls his finger back.
“You asked for this when you tried to reach for me before I said you could. Maybe you can make it up to me…”
With that, he stands up, looming over you. His dick is hard, straining against the material of his tight jeans, and you swear you can see the fucking thing pulsing under the fabric. Pulling off his hoodie, he bites his lip. You simply look up at him, wondering what he means by “make it up to him.”
“Take those off,” he points at your underwear, a huge grin stretched over his face. Your eyes widen. Lifting your hips up, you slowly start to shimmy the garment down your thighs, but he stops you.
“Not like that. Get on your knees.”
Tryst doesn’t have to say anything past that, but just by the way he looks at you, you know you’d better obey him, or he just might deny you further. You pick yourself up, kneeling on the bed as you pull the lace fabric off you, picking up your knees one at a time to pull it all the way off you. Tryst’s gaze drops to between your legs, at your arousal practically dripping from your cunt.
“Good girl,” he purrs as he takes the panties from your hand and places them on his bedside table. Holy fucking shit, you never had a praise kink before, but Tryst’s words practically make your knees buckle. You shiver with anticipation. You can’t take your eyes from the large bump in his pants.
“What… now?” you ask, nervous from the way he’s staring at you.
“You’ve definitely fantasised about me before, yeah?”
“Umm… yes,” you confess, narrowing your eyes. What is he thinking…?
“Show me.” He sits down at the foot of his bed. Just watching you. “Show me what you do when you think about me.”
Oh God. You’ve fantasised about him many times. But in the comfort and solitude of your own bedroom. Alone. Not when the subject of your fantasies is staring right at you. Shyness suddenly overtakes you, and you use your arms to cover your exposed body.
“Come on now. Show me how you touch yourself and tell me what you think about me doing to you.” His voice is low and sultry, and you’re thinking that you don’t need to think about him doing things to you, you can get off just to his voice alone. Fuck. You’re nervous but so turned on at the same time.
“Like… like this? Or laying down?” you inquire nervously, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly begins to unbutton his shirt. Tryst simply points to the bed behind you, signaling for you to lie down.
“I imagine you,” you begin as you shift off your knees and onto your back, “being really dominant and, um… you like to tease me. A lot.”
“Show me,” he says, a hint of sternness in his voice. He pulls his desk chair up next to the bed and sits down, not taking his eyes off you for a second.
“Like this…” you sigh as you use your fingers to play with your nipples, a soft moan escaping your lips as you arch your back. Fuck it, he teases you in your fantasies, so you’re going to tease him now until he can’t take it anymore, and completely ravishes you.
Trailing your fingertips slowly down the front of your torso, you glance at Tryst, licking your lips at him. Tryst stares at you, and you notice that he’s rubbing himself through his jeans. You can already feel your own arousal dripping between your ass cheeks, and you’ve only just started.
“Then you feel me… feel my body, kiss me… I can’t show you the kissing obviously, because I’m not a contortionist, but like, you get the idea,” you giggle.
As you continue to describe just how bad you want Tryst, you get lost in your own thoughts. You forget he’s there, and you’re just muttering to yourself your own fantasy about him. Two fingers are slick with your wetness as you pump them in and out of your dripping pussy. Tryst makes you keep talking as he groans, pulling his own cock out of his pants and slowly stroking it. This man is going to be the fucking end of you, you swear… You’d never masturbated in front of anybody before, but holy shit. For Tryst? You realise that you would do whatever this man told you to do.
Tryst’s cock is dripping with precum, and you want nothing more than to taste it. And the way he’s staring at you… you feel an orgasm creeping up on you. You slide in a third finger and begin pumping harder, faster, your palm slapping against your clit with each thrust.
“Fuck, Tryst, I’m gonna come!” you wail, your hips matching the rhythm of your hand, you are working your body to show Tryst just how badly you want him. But you don’t stop. You just keep going, bringing yourself closer and closer…
In a flash, Tryst is standing over you, ripping your hands away from your throbbing cunt. He holds your wrists together with one hand as he uses his other to push his jeans and underwear down, kicking them off haphazardly.
“If you come, you’re going to come on my fucking dick,” he growls, forcefully spreading your thighs, and kneeling between them. He’s fully unclothed now, and you can’t help but stare… He is so beautiful.
“Oh, you’re fucking wanting it so bad, aren’t you?” Tryst asks as he rubs the length of his cock up and down your cunt. You respond by lifting your leg up, placing your ankle on his shoulder as you grind up into him, desperately needing to feel his cock inside of you.
As if Tryst is reading your mind, he finally pushes in. You gasp at the intrusion, his girth stretching your walls, and you let out a loud moan.
“Such a slut,” he murmurs, sheathing himself to the base, letting you adjust to his size.
“Only for you, Tryst,” you whimper, “only for you.”
“Good girl,” he mutters as he begins moving slowly, so slow… He’s still teasing you, and you whimper in desperation. Feeling him push lightly against your cervix with each slow drag… You need more. Fuck.
“Please, Tryst,” you beg, “fuck me, please!”
“Y/n, I love hearing you beg,” Tryst smirks at you as he grips your ankle still resting on his shoulder.
But then he moves it away, spreading your legs far apart as he starts fucking you hard and deep, savagely punching your g spot repeatedly. Feeling yourself clenching around him, you yank a pillow over your face and shriek as he thumbs at your clit. Tryst is very vocal, groaning and muttering how good you feel and how perfect you are. Removing the pillow from your face, you make eye contact with him as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in as close as you can. You know Tryst was probably just caught in the moment, but nobody’s ever called you perfect before, and it fills you with a feeling that not even drugs can give you.
“Tryst…” you moan, feeling that familiar warmth pooling in your belly.
“Let it out, baby,” he groans, not altering his rhythm in the slightest, “Come for me.”
As soon as he says that, the waves of your orgasm crash over you. His name leaves your lips, followed by a string of cuss words as you literally see stars. Your body shakes and you dig your nails into Tryst’s back so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you broke skin.
“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” Tryst gasps as he slows his movements, dragging out the orgasm and the aftershock that leaves your whole body trembling. “Fuck, you look so pretty screaming my name.”
Tryst withdraws from your body, lean down to kiss your neck softly. Then your collarbone, your chest, just working his way down. You let out a giggle as his facial hair tickles your belly. Not breaking eye contact, his tongue slowly moves up and down your throbbing cunt, tasting the aftermath of your orgasm. He caresses your trembling thighs as he moans at your taste. Reaching down, you grab onto his blond locks and tug, eliciting a groan from his throat.
Tryst’s tongue is fucking magical. He grips your shaky thighs hard as if he never wants to let you go as he continues to devour you. Whimpering and moaning, you arch your back as you grind your hips into his face. Practically fucking yourself on his tongue as he slips it inside you, his nose rubbing against the sensitive spot above it.
The next orgasm has you hollering his name so loud that you would worry about if neighbors heard you, if you actually gave a fuck. But you don’t. All you can think about is Tryst. How you’ve been in love with him for so long. How you finally found a reason to get clean and stay clean.
And how you never, in a million years, would have thought that Tryst shared the same feelings as you.
“I can’t get enough of you,” Tryst says as he looks up at you, his pupils wide, his lips slick. Those words… you can’t get enough of him either.
If you could spend the rest of your life right here, with Tryst, you would be absolutely content.
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