Chapter Text
Reagan lays on her side, holding the duvet to her bare chest, resisting the urge to roll over and see where the warmth from the other side of her bed is radiating from.
Last night was Gigi's birthday party, and as always, Gigi made sure it was even more memorable than the last. It was at some club Reagan couldn’t remember the name of, all she remembers is that it was goddamn expensive. Most of Reagan's memories were clouded by alcohol, though she did remember a few events of the night. Like when Andre was shirtless on the table and got dragged away by security. She vaguely remembers walking home with a guy, and being already half naked before they reached the bed. But with the amount of alcohol everyone had, there is no doubt she wasn’t the only one of her friends to have a one night stand.
She stares at the off-white paint of her bedroom wall, desperately trying to think of ways to get out of an awkward conversation. She stays completely still, trying not to wake whoever is behind her. Maybe they’ll leave if she pretends to sleep for long enough.
Reagan's plan is quickly proven to be flawed as she feels a wave of nausea come over her. Not wanting to clean vomit from her carpet later on, she stumbles out of bed and runs to the bathroom next to her room, collapsing by the toilet and holding herself over the bowl. She gags, and after a moment, vomit spills from her mouth.
She almost jumps when she feels gentle fingers brush the back of her neck, gathering her hair to hold it out of her way. A familiar voice mutters something to her.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Brett hums, rubbing her back. “Just… let it out.”
Brett. She had drunk sex with Brett.
The memories of the night come flooding back now that she remembers who it was with. It makes her want to throw up more, but she had nothing left.
As Reagan tries to catch her breath, her body lurches again, trying to expel non-existent vomit from her empty stomach. Drool drips from her mouth as she gags for a final time, before sitting back and resting her head on the toilet seat in shame and embarrassment.
“Do… Do you need anything?” Brett asks, clearly sounding very flustered as well.
“Advil.” Reagan groans. “In the mirror.”
She hears shuffling for a moment, and then a tapping of her shoulder. She turns around and sees Brett standing in his underwear, holding a bottle of painkillers. Reagan tries not to look at him and holds her hand out for the bottle.
“What's wrong?” he questions tiredly as he places them in her hand, averting his eyes from her bare body.
“I just…” Reagan sighs, turning away from him and downing more tablets than she probably should. “I'm not…” she trails off, not able to put words together.
“It’s okay.” he says, but he clearly has no idea what she’s trying to say. Reagan can’t even figure it out herself. “Can I have some?”
“Knock yourself out.” Reagan shrugs and passes them to him without looking back. They are both silent, and the air is heavy.
“I'm just gonna-“ Brett starts.
“Yeah.” Reagan interrupts.
He leaves the room, and Reagan is left with her thoughts once again.
Of course she had to have sex with Brett, of all people she could have fucked at that club. Reagan just hopes their friendship isn’t ruined.
She holds herself against the wall as she stands up, glancing to the bedroom to see Brett sitting on her bed, facing away from her. His face is in his hands and he looks… frustrated.
Reagan quietly moves back into the room and to her dresser, feeling exposed. She sees Brett sitting up, but he doesn’t turn his head. She grabs the nearest clothes she can find in the disorganized drawer, which is an exercise bra she rarely uses and a pair of gray sweatpants. She looks at Brett as she puts them on, and he is still respectfully staring in the opposite direction.
“I'm dressed, Brett.” she says, and he turns.
“Reags, this isn’t-” he starts.
“It was a stupid mistake, I know.” Reagan sighs, sitting on the bed and looking to the floor. “We can just… pretend this didn’t happen.”
“Yeah.” Brett agrees, voice strained. “Pretend it never happened. I can do that.”
“I barely remember any of it anyway.” Reagan shrugs. A lie. “Do you want something to eat?”
“I might just go home, actually.” Brett mutters. “I just need to gather my things… Can I use your shower?”
Reagan nods, but looks up as she remembers something. “Have you seen my prosthetic?” she asks as she holds up her hand.
Brett shrugs as he takes his clothes to the bathroom. “Haven’t. Sorry.”
Reagan moves to the kitchen, glancing over to the bathroom door every few moments. She puts on a pot of coffee and waits, leaning on the counter. As it brews, she takes a pack of cigarettes from the cabinet, and a candle lighter from a drawer, since she can’t be assed finding a proper lighter.
After opening the kitchen window, she puts a cigarette to her lips, lighting it and inhaling the smoke. The debris fills her lungs, and relaxation washes over her. She feels like a weight has been lifted from her, and she can enjoy the moment. She tilts her head back and blows the smoke into the air, sighing.
Smoking is a rather nasty habit she had picked up during the time she was still recovering from the whole Ron thing. Now that she has almost accepted what had happened, she can stop whenever she wants to. But it does provide her with a small amount of comfort with each cigarette. She doesn’t plan on quitting anytime soon, anyway.
A showered and dressed Brett walks out of the bathroom, almost on queue, and her gaze shoots up.
“Aw, Reagan…” Brett scolds softly as his nose scrunches up. “You’re smoking now?”
“You had a quick shower.” Reagan observes, completely avoiding the question.
“I'll take a longer one at mine.” he winces, smiling awkwardly and taking the hint. “I feel like you want to be left alone.”
Reagan looks down at the smoke in her hand. “Maybe that would be best.” she nods, meeting his eyes and returning an uncomfortable smile, trying not to seem cold. The last thing she wants to do is hurt Brett.
He stands there for a moment, before heading to the front door.
“I'll see you at work tomorrow, Reags.” he says, looking back one last time.
“Yeah. Bye, Brett." Reagan tries a wave, but Brett turns and closes the door before he can notice.
As it shuts, Reagan stares down at her empty mug, the top of her cigarette, glowing as she draws from it.
Her coffee is ready.
•••
The Previous Night
Reagan stumbles along the path, vodka bottle in one hand and Brett's hand in the other to steady herself.
“Don’t fall, Reagan.” Brett warns, watching her carefully.
The two of them have had a lot to drink, and it’s really late. They were some of the last people at Gigi's party to leave, so Reagan invited Brett to stay the night at hers, since it was closer to the club.
“I'm fine, Brett.” she scoffs, latching onto his arm and leaning on his shoulder. “My house isn't far from here. One or two more blocks.”
“Still, I’m- I’m responsible for you, and-“
Brett is interrupted by a couple of drops hitting him. Reagan looks up and laughs as the rain starts.
“What?” Reagan says, putting a finger on his cheek. “Are you scared of some rain?”
“No, I just don’t wanna get too wet.” he smiles, his cheeks flushing. “We'll get cold! And your dress will get ruined.”
“Pssh, so what? I'm, like, never gonna wear it again. It’s not even mine!” she rolls her eyes and reaches for her heels, sliding them off. “I'll race you. Three… two-“
Reagan shoots off, and Brett, caught off guard, runs after her. Reagan looks back to see him almost tripping over his own foot. as they sprint, the rain starts to become heavier. Reagan's hair hangs in strands by her cheeks and her dress clings onto her body.
“Hey, get back here!” he yells at her, grinning.
It doesn’t take too long for him to catch up. He's much less athletically challenged than her. Brett wraps his arms around Reagan when he reaches her, and she squeals.
“Hey!” she laughs, attempting to push him off her with no luck.
“You never would’ve beat me.” he teases.
His arms relax very shortly after, and Reagan keeps panting. She takes a huge gulp of her vodka, and holds it out to Brett.
“Take some.” she calls over the heavy rain.
Brett grabs the bottle, and Reagan keeps walking, leaving him to take a sip of the alcohol.
He quickly walks back up to her when he realizes she’s going to leave. Reagan sways a little with each step, struggling to walk straight, she uses Brett as a crutch - a rather ineffective ploy, considering Brett was having just as much trouble walking in a straight line as her, if not more.
A few more houses to go.
The two walk through the door, giggling and muttering. Reagan locks the door clumsily and walks to the couch.
“You can sleep on the couch.” she gestures to it, smiling. “Or-“
When she turns, Brett's face is close to hers. He is grinning drunkenly at her.
“What?” Reagan narrows her eyes, her mouth still slightly open in a soft smile.
He chuckles breathily, tucking her wet hair behind her ear. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Aren’t you?” she counters, putting a hand on his chest teasingly.
They’re both quiet, just staring at each other. Reagan interrupts the moment by turning her back to him.
“Can you unzip me?”
Brett obliges, and she feels his warm hands on her back. He struggles for a moment, before managing to unzip the dress, and Reagan turns back around.
“Thanks.” She looks at him. “I, uh… I should return the favor.”
She reaches for his tie, loosening it and pulling it from his neck. She drops it to the floor and focuses her blurry gaze on Brett's face. His cheeks are red and she can only assume hers are too.
“You have a very… kissable face.” she slurs, tilting her head.
“Yeah?” his smile widens. “Well, y’do too.”
Reagan leans in closer, and so does Brett. It’s not long before their lips meet, and she can feel the aggressive flutter of butterflies in her stomach. Reagan puts her hands on his shoulders, and he holds her waist.
It feels oddly natural.
Reagan separates from him for a moment and takes off the straps from her shoulders, sliding out of the soaking dress and kicking it to the side. Brett just stares, awestruck.
“You are beautiful.” he hums, almost whispering.
Reagan tucks a strand of wet hair behind her ear as Brett unbuttons his own shirt, and watches as his muscular torso is revealed.
Before he can slide his shirt off, Reagan throws herself at Brett again, her hands on his face and their lips pressed together. Reagan can taste him- he tastes like the expensive alcohol they had earlier and, more strangely, breath mints.
Brett's hands start to wander, though it’s not unwelcome. His hands move down past her hips to the backs of her thighs, and he lifts her up. Reagan yelps in surprise and wraps her arms around him, and he kisses her neck as he carries her to the bedroom, bumping into a side table on the way.
“Brett!” Reagan giggles, tilting her head back and running a hand through his hair.
“Do- do you want to stop?” he slurs, putting her down onto the bed. “because we can stop.”
“No, no.” Reagan shakes her head, falling to her back and looking to see him taking his shirt off at the end of the bed. “I want you.”
The bed jolts as Brett falls beside her, and they don’t waste any time messing around. Reagan gets on top of him, leaning down and kissing him. Her hand runs down his chest, across his abs and to his pants. She attempts to unzip the fly, her abilities hindered thanks to the copious number of drinks she’s had. After successfully undoing his pants, she slides them down, and Brett helps her by kicking them off. Reagan leans down to kiss him again, and his hands find their home at the small of her waist.
“You’re so smooth.” Reagan mumbles into his mouth, hands resting on his chest. “Fuckin’ shit.”
Brett giggles, moving a hand to stroke her hair. “Waxing hurts sooo much.”
“We'll, it’s sooo worth it.” Reagan hums, mocking him as she draws circles over his sternum.
She presses her lips against his, her hands on his shoulders. As her hips slide against Brett's, she feels him getting more excited underneath her. Brett pokes a tongue into her mouth, and she accepts it, meeting it with her own. Brett grips the back of her head tightly, his fingers in her hair. She forgets how strong he is sometimes, and he probably does too.
Reagan puts a hand on her head, gently prying his hand from amongst her hair and holding it. She sits back, and a strand of saliva connects them for a moment after they separate.
Without saying a word, Brett snaps Reagan's underwear against her waist, and she yelps in shock.
“Brett!” she snickers, rubbing her side in fake hurt.
He just giggles like it’s the funniest thing ever, putting a hand to his mouth.
Reagan doesn’t talk as she sits back and slides her underwear off altogether, and Brett's laughing dies down.
“Are we gonna-“ he starts.
“Yeah...” Reagan nods, shifting her gaze downward.
She runs a hand down his abs to his boxers, sliding them down slowly and when they get to his knees Brett kicks them off. His half-erect cock bobs up, and she looks back to Brett.
He’s staring right back at her with eager eyes.
She uses her hand to aid in lowering herself slowly on him, starting with just the tip. A soft moan escapes his lips, and his hands find their home on her hips yet again.
“That’s okay, right?” Reagan asks him, looking down at his face with wide eyes.
“It's great.” Brett grins, looking up at her with a longing gaze. “Really fuckin’ great.”
Reagan starts to take a little more of him in, her hips rolling back as she leans forward. Her chest brushes his, and she kisses him, humming contently into his mouth. She rocks back and forth, listening to his low moans.
Reagan tries not to make much noise, but when she increases her pace, she can’t help but voice her pleasure. When she takes all of him in, a low, breathy groan slips out, followed by a light chuckle.
“You should… make more noise.” Brett mutters, kissing her jaw and leaving a sloppy layer of saliva as he travels. “It's hot.”
Reagan blushes, tucking a strand of hair out of her way only for it to fall back down again a few moments later.
She picks up the pace, her hips rocking against Brett. He can’t keep still - he moves in rhythm with her, jutting up and crashing into her. Reagan moans, a little louder than she would have liked.
She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, deciding to focus on the sensation of sex - Brett getting harder as she moves back and forward, precum and discharge lubricating her insides, his tip hitting the side of her tunnel, pressing into her bladder, right on her sweet spot.
She opens her eyes when she notices a hand slide behind her, clumsily unclipping her bra. Brett pulls a strap off, and she tucks her arm through, taking the other and pulling it to the side. Her breasts sit neatly, bouncing as her body jolts up and down. Both Brett and Reagan are now completely naked, and the room is filled with sounds of pleasure.
She places her hands on Brett's chest to keep herself up, desperately wanting to collapse onto him and let him do all the work. She’s starting to ache, but that’s probably because she hasn’t really done anything as physically taxing as this for a while. Not since…
“You’re so hot…” Brett breathes between moans, distracting Reagan from her thoughts.
“Fuck…” Reagan pants, digging her nails into his shoulders and leaning over him, tiny beads of sweat beginning to gather at her hairline. “You’re hot.”
She hears a breathy chuckle from Brett between his panting, and she half-giggles and half-moans back, rapture building up inside her.
She can tell Brett is close to climaxing too, in the way his breathing has increased and the vocal shift from low moans to high whimpers, him and her together drowning out the bed’s squeaky protests and the violent rain pounding on the window. Their bodies move against each other, radiating heat and sweat vapor.
Brett finishes first, with a bout of pleasure filled whimpers and shivering throughout his whole body. Reagan feels the way his muscles spasm underneath her, and the way his cum fills up her insides.
In hindsight, they probably should have used a condom, but it doesn’t matter now, it’s too late. Besides, both of them are too drunk to care.
Reagan doesn’t slow down, though. She can feel her blood in her ears, and she’s right on the verge of orgasm, her hands turning to fists on top of Brett's chest and her nails digging into her palms.
“Fuck, Ron!” she moans, reaching her climax and slowing down, panting heavily.
It takes her a few moments to realize her mistake, and when she gets off of Brett she collapses onto the bed, facing away from him. Reagan is overwhelmed by embarrassment, and slides under the sheets, pulling the duvet over her head.
She hears Brett moving, and when she peeks out from other the covers, she notices him staring at her in awe.
Brett brushes the side of her face with his hand, smiling slightly, and Reagan reaches her hands toward him.
“Mmm... I fuckin loved that." Brett murmurs, burying his face in her shoulder.
He mustn’t have noticed Reagan’s slip up
Reagan doesn’t say anything. She could probably do with a little more sex. But she can’t complain, she’s missed it a lot.
She passes out pretty quickly, her head pressed against Brett's chest and her arms wrapped around his neck.