Britta woke up a little later than usual, meaning it was well past noon by the time she finally blinked her eyes open. Jeff left for work hours ago, but usually it took half the day for them to get out from under the covers. If there’s enough weed in the nightstand they’re likely to still be laying there when Jeff comes back.
“Your husband went off to fight in the war.” Abed tells her, though he’s the one sitting up, looking longingly towards their bedroom door.
“Oh did he?” Britta asks, grabbing the collar of Abed’s shirt, which is more likely Jeff’s, judging by the way it hangs off him, and pulling him down onto the mattress next to her.
Britta smiles into his chest, breathing in the smell of Jeff’s fruit loops cologne clinging to the fabric, and Abed’s skin underneath it, though she’s pretty sure he uses her body wash. He reaches a hand to her hair, running his fingers through it, a soft laugh ringing out when Britta starts to chuckle.
Early in their relationship, he told her he usually avoided laughing unless everyone else was, because his was too loud, and he didn’t always laugh at the right time, and when he did it sounded wrong. She’d told Abed that his laugh was her favorite thing in the world.
Since they’d all gotten together she heard it nearly every day, and it didn’t sound like anyone else’s, and maybe came at some inopportune moments, but that was what made it Abed’s, rare and different and beautiful in that way absolutely everything about him was. Her heart swelled every time she heard it, even though her jokes rarely landed with Abed (or anyone else, but still) and Jeff was usually the one actually making it happen.
“Is that shirt mine?” Abed asks, peeking under the covers at their bodies, limbs curled up next to each other.
“Well it’s not my dinosaur shirt.” Britta answers, looking down at it.
Since most of their clothes were all mixed together in the dresser drawers, putting things on without caring whose they are has become common practice. Abed stole Jeff’s sweaters and her Natalie is Freezing t-shirts, and Jeff wore Abed’s sweatpants even when they couldn’t cover his ankles, though her oversized hoodies usually fit him just fine. Britta wore pretty much everything the two of them owned, especially since Abed had a unique talent for finding the most comfortable possible clothes.
Abed hums contentedly, bringing his hand to top of her bare thigh, fingertips light over the skin. “I like it better on you.”
Britta grabs his face and pulls him into a kiss, and he laughs again when she swings a leg over his hip and rests it there, holding their bodies close.
“So what happened with my husband?” Britta questions, curious what sort of story Abed had made up for today.
“He wasn’t even drafted or anything.” Abed says, running his hand up her thigh. “Just left you here to go fight for glory. Or imperialism.”
“The second one.” Britta mutters, and Abed presses a kiss to her temple.
“You’re lonely without him here.” Abed tells her. “That’s why you brought another man into your bed. I was his friend before the war, or maybe his enemy.”
“Did you dodge the draft?” Britta asks.
“I was disqualified. Apparently the war will only be won by people who can read facial expressions and analog clocks.”
Britta pulls away from Abed’s chest to smile up at him. “Well I’m happy you’re here.”
“There’s one more thing.” Abed tells her, putting a finger up before untangling from her and leaving the bedroom.
“Abed.” Britta grins when he steps back in a minute later. He’s got a plate of fruit in his hand, and passes Britta a mug of tea. “You’re the best.”
“Don’t get too excited.” Abed says, settling on the bed next to her and grabbing a strawberry. “It’s apology fruit. I smoked a lot of your weed before you woke up. And we’re going to smoke the rest now.”
Britta rolls her eyes, but pops a grape in her mouth as Abed lights a blunt and passes it to her. The smoke spills from his lips, catching in yellow sunlight.
“This roleplay would probably be easier to do if Jeff wasn’t such a mushy bastard.” Britta says.
“He’s not exactly the ‘abandon us for the war’ type.” Abed shrugs. “He kissed me three times before leaving for work this morning.”
The high is settling nicely, Abed’s presence comforting as she leans closer to him, like their skin is melting together. She decides there’s no point in her wardrobe consisting of anything other than underwear and Abed’s t-shirts. He holds a pomegranate seed between his fingers, tilting his head and inspecting it for a moment before tossing it and catching it in his mouth.
“Any plans today?” Britta asks as she takes another puff, then hands it to Abed to tap the ash off.
“Nothing but you.” Abed answers with raised eyebrows, the blunt steady between his green-painted fingernails, and Britta can’t tell how much of it is the character.
“You don’t have writing to do?” She asks, eyeing Abed’s laptop knowingly.
“Ghostwriting cookbooks for rent money can wait. I have another idea, if you’re interested.”
“Does it involve getting out of bed?”
Abed’s kissing her, gentle at first, and when his tongue slides past her lips and she lets out a soft moan. When Britta slips a hand under his shirt he follows her lead. His touch is careful, even though she’s sure he has every line of her body mapped in his mind.
She pulls her shirt off, then moves to Abed’s, and he lifts his arms up as she pulls it off and discards it, replaces her hands on his bare skin. Abed’s hands and lips trail down her, pausing to drag soft moans from her mouth at each spot. His breath is warm against her collar bone, a hand wrapped with just enough pressure around her waist to feel possessive.
“Britta, you look so perfect right now.” Abed says, a finger reaching up to trace along her jawline.
His soft voice falls somewhere between a monotonous and overdramatic romance novel drawling, to a perfect spot, where each word feels true, rather than obligated or sappy. It might be from a movie, Britta can’t trade references like Jeff and Abed do, so she wouldn’t know. Jeff tried to explain to her that it doesn’t really matter what it’s from most of the time anyway.
He stops at her thighs, sucking along the inside of them until Britta’s pretty sure her legs have forgotten how to stand up. Finally his mouth is on her, tongue pressing against her clit, and she wraps her fingers in his hair, pressing his face deeper, then pulling away when she hears his breathing stutter.
“Sorry.” Britta apologizes immediately, wincing at herself.
“Do it again.” Abed mutters, possibly high but more likely just shameless, hardly pulling away from between Britta’s legs. “Please.”
She directs him again, a bit harsher this time, and he moans against her, the vibration leaving her nerves tingling. She gets bolder, forcing Abed’s mouth onto her, every time getting a reaction from Abed, needy gasps as she grinds against his face. When Britta pulls away, she’s met with a desperate whimper from Abed that melts her insides immediately. His tongue works in slow, careful patterns, and Britta can’t tell of it’s the high, if Abed has an unprecedented patience, or a bit of both, but it feels like she’s living in the moment forever. When her legs shake, thighs pressing closer to the sides of Abed’s head, holds them there with his hands, stopping to bite at the inside of her thigh. When his tongue finds her clit again it isn’t long before her toes are curling in a buzzed, floaty orgasm, and when her muscles relax he picks his head up and looks at her with a satisfied grin, his lips swollen.
“Abed, that was amazing.” Britta chokes out, trying to catch her breath again.
“Do you want to take a minute?” Abed asks, grabbing an apple slice and taking a bite as he says it, almost overly casual. He still has his boxes on though, and the outline in them is plenty obvious.
Britta had eventually gotten used to the way Abed communicated, especially during sex. It’s different, he’s never rushed, he asks her to tell him what she wants even though the last thing he needs is direction. It’s different, but infinitely better, safe in all the ways Britta needs but could never vocalize to anyone before. When she told Jeff that he’d agreed, told her that Abed makes everything better, that he may or may not have cried a little the first time Abed earnestly asked him if he was okay during sex.
“Not really. I want you inside me.” Britta tells him, and by the dark look in his eye she thinks it was the right thing to say, because he swallows and leans down to kiss her.
It’s more rushed this time, each of them biting at the other’s lip. Britta lets her hands explore Abed’s skin, feeling along every inch of his narrow torso, before her hands stop at his boxers. He moves on top of her so she can pull them down, then kicks them off the end of the bed. She shudders again as his hands find her entrance, smiling as his fingers feel how wet she still is.
“Can I?” Abed asks, his pointer finger still moving gently inside her.
Britta nods. “You don’t really act like a homewrecker.” She adds.
“It’s hard to keep up when I’m high.” Abed replies, laughing a little before a more serious, “Are you alright?”
“Better than alright.” Britta answers, which sets Abed off again.
He’s giggling as he pulls her into an open mouthed kiss, hands coming to rest wrapped around her waist. He looks down, taking in every inch of her body before pushing inside her. After a moment he finds a rhythm, his hips at an angle that leaves Britta breathless every time they move.
Abed speeds up at Britta’s direction, listening every time she asks him to go faster, the word falling out between all the sighs and pleases and the quiet “I love you” that makes Abed bury his face in her neck.
Her hands find his waist as he leans down, mouthing at Britta’s chest. His tongue swirls around a nipple, running his teeth over it, and the feeling shoots down her spine, only made more sensitive with the high. His hand is rubbing circles into her other nipple and she orgasms again, saying Abed’s name over and over, tightening around him. It’s not long after that he follows, thrusting a few more times, and she’s shaking with oversensitivity as he comes inside her.
He pulls out and collapses next to her, both of them catching their breath for a moment. Abed reaches out and grabs a piece of Britta hair, twirling it around his finger.
“What now?” Britta asks, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone.
“Smoke some more and go again?” Abed asks, his wide eyes a combination of glassy and bloodshot, pupils still blown to make them as dark as ever.
“Sounds perfect.” Britta answers, propping herself against Abed as he sits back up.
They spend the rest of the day like that, Britta blowing smoke into Abed’s face and eating blueberries from his fingers when he offers them to her, making fun of daytime tv and laughing about nothing until Abed’s hand is creeping up her leg again.
“Do you think I should cut the second part of this?” Abed asks Britta, gesturing to the laptop balancing between their thighs.
“I like it, honestly.” Britta answers. “If there’s room, I say keep it.”
“What the hell are you two doing?” Jeff asks as he walks into the bedroom, throwing himself onto the mattress next to them and peering at the screen.
His eyes widen as Abed presses play on the video.
Jeff blinks and shakes himself after a few seconds of them all watching in relative silence. “Please do not tell me you guys filmed a sex tape while I was at work.” He finally sighs.
“We’re gonna make money on the internet, Jeff!” Britta protests. Abed nods in agreement.
Jeff rolls his eyes at them both. “There are better ways for us to make rent.”
“Are there, Jeff?” Abed asks. “I mean, it’s pretty good. Plus Britta looks like Elizabeth Shue.”
“Is that something people are into?”
“I dunno, probably.” Abed shrugs. “You’re into it.”
“Screw you Abed. For that and for the fact that I wasn’t a part of this.” Jeff says, still watching the video.