Chapter Text
Rey’s project is, objectively, the world’s most pointless website revamp. The client’s money would be better spent lighting their assets on fire and rebuilding from scratch. She’s said that to their face.
However. Working late coaxing videos to play on a 15-year-old CMS—just why—means her train is nearly empty.
She claims a spot by the doors and gets to rummaging for the lost left AirPod that has to be buried in her tote. Probably under her six bags of kettle chips, smuggled from work as revenge for her pointless project.
She could have sworn she spotted it when she texted Ben from the elevator to say she’d finally tweaked the ancient HTML into behaving and was on her way home. But maybe that was the right one?
Her mind’s already gone down the tunnel and up the stairs and into her fridge when her neck prickles. While she was rummaging, someone edged into her half of the doorway. On this completely un-packed train.
She pretends not to notice. If she avoids eye contact, whoever it is will get bored and move on. Before she knows it, she’ll be nose-deep in the leftover noodles on the second shelf, next to the milk and some expired mustard Ben forbade her to eat, but seriously, it’s eighty percent vinegar and fine.
Still. He does care about her. If it weren’t for him, she’d think seriously about flipping a table at work and moving somewhere cheaper.
The train pulls into a stop. Now there are actual empty seats. Instead of racing for one, the doorway invader edges closer.
She shifts her tote to glimpse his shoes, the better to stomp on one. You mess with the Rey, you get the horns. Heel. Whatever.
But before she can pretend to stumble into his Achilles, the guy pipes up.
“You’re beautiful. You know that? Anyone ever tell you that you’re beautiful?”
She freezes. She knows that voice. If she takes a deep breath, she knows that shampoo.
Oh. So they’re actually doing this.
It started with—she’s not entirely sure, and does it really matter? She doesn’t need to trace her desire for someone else to be completely in control back to, say, a childhood that completely lacked rules. Millions of people with all kinds of childhoods have the same fantasy.
She only needs to know that when Ben, her boyfriend of seven months, looked up from his New Yorker—or maybe it was Black-and-White Cinema to Bore Your Girlfriend Quarterly—and coughed a little and said, “This story claims that sixty-five percent of women have a rape fantasy,” she told him that wasn’t so surprising. That she was one of those women.
And it went from there.
“You keep looking away, but you have beautiful eyes. I can tell. Why so shy, huh? Come on. At least look at me when I’m giving you a compliment.”
Her cheeks burn. She studies the inside of her tote like it’s both work contract and dentist bill.
She’s nearly snarled at strangers for talking to her like this. But from Ben—she told him she wanted more violating than violent, and his doing what she asked rouses something hot and slithery in her stomach. His voice is low and a little wheedling, like it could slip from you’re so beautiful to god, you’re a bitch.
“What’s under that coat? Are you coming home from work in a little skirt?”
It’s like he went on a forum and researched disgusting pickup lines. But it’s less about the words and more the way he’s acting like he can say anything to her in public and do anything to her in private.
That, and they figured it would be easy for Ben to surprise her on the subway, which feels more anonymous than meeting at a bar and enduring curious looks from servers. No one will bother them here.
Still not looking up, she shrinks away, pressing a hip into the plastic divider separating seats from doors.
He moves with her. The edge of his wool coat brushes her trench, and it almost makes her knees buckle. He’s going to trap her in this corner.
“Aw, baby, where are you going? Don’t you want to get to know me? It’s getting cold outside. You look like you need someone to take care of you.”
Again her mind races ahead, this time to all the—carefully negotiated—ways Ben could take care of her once they get to her stop and he’s quote-unquote stalked her back to her apartment. Some pushing and tugging to get her in the door? Some holding by the hair and making her take her clothes off? Ooh, maybe some pinning her to her kitchen table slash desk while he slowly works his fingers into her.
“Don’t be afraid. I know how to treat a lady. A woman. Some girls like to be called that. I’m big all over.”
Now she’s thinking about the way he feels inside her. The way he’s going to stretch her, in just a couple more stops.
The thrill running up her spine makes her shudder in a way that probably looks horrified to the other passengers.
“What are you worried about? Your boyfriend? I can take him.”
She sighs in relief at the joke, feeling grateful once more that he’s into this. She didn’t share the fantasy because she expected Ben to fulfill it. He’s a boyfriend, not a sexual McDonalds where she can place her order and expect the same happy-ending meal every time. But he’s giving her service with a smile, and she appreciates it.
“Why are you looking in your bag? You’re not going to find a man in there. Are you afraid to look at me? Worried I might be too handsome? I am, you know. Handsome. I’ve dated lots of beautiful women. That’s why I’m talking to you, beautiful.”
She angles her shoulders away to hide her smile. Ben’s more distinctive-looking than classically—boringly—handsome, but she’s literally dreamed about coming all over his distinctive nose.
“Looking for your phone in there? Give me your number and I’ll send you a picture. I’ll get in trouble if I show you in person. But once you see it you’ll be begging to come home with me.”
A new part of her brain stands to attention. Is he going to make her beg? She told Ben to just keep going, no matter how many times she says no, but maybe he wants to do more than force her physically.
“Nothing to say? You’re so quiet. That’s okay. That’s good. You keep your mouth shut, I won’t have to quiet you down. I bet you’ll just let me take whatever I want. A lady as beautiful as you, a man can’t help himself.”
As if to demonstrate, he grabs a fistful of her ass and leaves his hand there.
It’s the moment in a symphony when all the clashing tones resolve into an angelic chorus. It’s a beam of light from the heavens, shining down just for Rey.
It’s exactly what she wanted—the rush of heat in her whole body, the simmer of outrage, the unwanted weight of a hand on her ass. Knowing that he’s in control. That she doesn’t have to think or even participate. Just enjoy the ride.
“I like to go nice and slow. I’ll take it easy so you’re nice and ready for me. Don’t want to split you open. I can just tell you keep that pussy tight.”
It’s definitely tight and swollen now. She’s going to be so wet by the time Ben finally gets his fingers into her.
She hunches even closer to the divider, feeling the pressure on her clit as she squeezes her legs like she’s cracking a melon. Her breath is short and shallow, almost a pant, and—
“Oh my god! Hi!”
It’s another man’s voice, right in front of her. She freezes for real.
“Long time no see!” the voice continues. Beside her, Ben lifts his fingers one at a time and removes his hand from her ass.
For the first time since she got on the train, Rey looks up. Someone smiles at her expectantly. Encouragingly.
She blinks. The features resolve into the familiar ones of Finn, who spent three months at her office on contract last summer, working on an earlier phase of the cursed site revamp, and who continues to star in the fantasies of Poe, the coworker who’s still in the revamp trenches with her.
Oh god! Her face flames. Can he tell? He can totally tell from her blush alone that she’s acting out a sex fantasy in public. He’s going to tell everyone they worked with that she’s a pervert.
Worse, he’s going to think she’s forgotten who he is, because she’s not saying anything back to him.
Finn seems undeterred by her silence, though. “I love your coat! I don’t think it was cold enough to wear this summer so I haven’t seen it yet.” His voice keeps getting louder, and Rey realizes that he’s been sidling closer, subtly putting himself between her and Ben.
The friendly chatter, the body language—suddenly realization slaps her, and not in the nice thick-cock-hitting-her-face way she had in mind for the evening.
Finn is intervening. He just happened to be on this train. He saw her weird little roleplay, thought it was actual harassment, and is trying to stop it.
Of all the booze bars! (Is that the line? Rey always falls asleep before they get to what Ben calls “the good part” of black-and-white movies.)
And why now? Rey’s been through worse than getting catcalled on the subway and the universe left her completely alone.
No one intervened when 12-year-old Rey got sent to special summer camp for underprivileged city kids and another girl stole the Fleetwood Mac T-shirt that was the only thing Rey had left of her mom’s.
No one intervened when the pop half of the mom-and-pop yarn shop where she worked in college started showing her vaguely softcore photos every shift and she had to keep feigning interest in them because she needed the job.
Now, suddenly, the universe has provided her with Finn, who’s asking about work in an effort to rescue her from non-peril.
“Work’s good,” she says quellingly while her brain scrounges for the right thing to tell him.
Finn is nice, she enjoyed working with him, and she can’t just tell him to bugger off in case she needs someone to revamp another website. Besides, it would be nice to know someone in the city besides Poe, the frisbee team she joined to meet people, and Ben, whom she met when he played against said team.
“Are you still on that website? How’s it going?”
“Yeah, just working late again. Still a tire fire.”
The heat of a thousand burning dumpsters washes over her, but this time it’s frustration.
Okay, fine, great, she’s not caught. Yet. But there’s no way out of this inane conversation without entrapping herself. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to being creeped on and then coerced into having sex with the creeper. I know, you can never guess what a person is into by looking at them!
“Ugh, sorry. How’s everybody at the office? Doing well?”
“Oh, yeah.” She darts an apologetic look at Ben, who has backed away a little. He pulls an infinitesimal shrug, like, I don’t know what to do either.
“You have a really solid crew there, you know?” Finn continues, cheery and oblivious. “If you have any more contracts, hit me up sometime.”
“For sure. Yeah. I’ll do that.”
The train clatters around the big curve before her stop. If she gets off, she can just go home and bring the situation to an end.
It’s not like Ben is a stranger she’ll never see again. He showed up to her doorstep with a box of his mom’s old concert T-shirts after Rey teared up when he tried to eat her out to Fleetwood Mac on their second date. They can redo this anytime, assuming the experience doesn’t scare Ben off roleplay forever.
She looks at Finn, then throws her eyes to the door. He nods briskly, like they’re secret agents covering for each other. As the train shudders to a stop, he turns to block Ben while she gets off.
Finn follows her onto the platform, checking to make sure Ben doesn’t leave the train. In the window, Ben’s face droops into a forlorn, blue-balled look as the doors close and he’s carried away.
“Thanks, man,” Rey says, turning to Finn. Man. She’s been working in tech too long.
He’s hunched over, hands on his knees. “Jesus christ,” he says. “Just—okay. Okay. That guy was huge.”
“Yeah.” That’s the idea.
Finn straightens and wipes his brow. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Not the first time it’s happened.”
His face falls. “Oh. Of course. Do you—do you want to talk about it or anything?”
Oh, she wants to talk about it, but not with Finn. “That’s all right.”
“Okay.” He scans the platform with a frown, as though Ben might have reversed course and could jump out from behind a turnstile at any moment. “Do you want me to walk you somewhere? Not, like, following you home. I took this workshop—they said we should make sure the victim is safe—not that you’re a victim, like, you’re super competent—” He takes a big breath. “Wow. I am botching this part. Okay. The instructor said to check in and make sure you don’t need anything else before I leave.”
“This is my stop, so I’m just going to walk home.”
“Right. Good. Is there anyone you want me to call?”
Ha. No. The first person she’s going to phone is Ben. “I’m good,” she tells Finn. “You can keep going wherever it is you were going. Thanks for talking to me. I appreciate it.”
All right, that last part is a lie. But how is Finn supposed to know better? He obviously took that workshop to heart, and even if Rey didn’t need help, the next person will.
He huffs. “That guy should have picked on someone his own size. I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah, see you. Have a good night.”
She waves as the next train pulls in and Finn boards, then hightails it to the exit and pulls out her phone.
REY: SORRY!!!!
That was Finn
From work
He helped with the site over the summer
This fucking project is SO CURSED
BEN: Of all the gin joints…
Gin joints! She knew it wasn’t booze bars.
REY: lol RIGHT?!?!
I’m almost home
Come over!!!
BEN: Okay
Be there soon
I got off at the next stop
Was getting some weird looks so I smiled but it seemed to make things worse?
Okay. He’ll be at her apartment in 10 minutes, and they can salvage the evening.
REY: wtf
You have the best smile
BEN: My face has made babies cry
REY: Shut up
BEN: I think they find the nose threatening
REY: Shut UPPPPP
Kk I’m home see you soon
BEN: Okay
But
When I get there, can we just order food and go to bed?
I know it’s a cliché but I have an early meeting tomorrow
Go to bed? She nearly stamps her foot. It’s like that time she finally convinced Ben that he could come on her face and still respect women, and then while she was there waiting with her eyes shut and her face tilted up, mouth watering as she listened to him work his cock faster and faster, his phone buzzed and it was his weird uncle and Ben had to take the call or his mom would have disowned him.
It was fine. He did come on her face eventually. But the vibes were not the same.