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knockin' on heaven's door

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summary: You have a little crush on Joel Miller, who you sometimes see in the elevator of your building. You also have no idea that he's the one having loud sex in the apartment above you.

word count: 6.8k, one-shot

rating: 18+, MNDI

warnings/tags: reader is AFAB but no overt descriptions otherwise, kissing, dirty talk, smut, protected p-in-v, reader is a bit awkward and unsure, soft-dom joel vibes, implied age gap (late 20s/mid 50s), this is an AU

a/n: i wanted to write something fun and rom-com like and i'm not sure if i achieved that and also not super sure how i feel about this but i'm going to share this anyways because i need to get it out of my system. enjoy <3

credit to @/saradika-graphics for the dividers!

You’ve just put your battered copy of The Book Thief on your nightstand when the rhythmic thump thump thump of your upstairs neighbour begins. Then, it’s the moans. The first time you heard it, all those weeks ago, you thought your neighbour might have been watching porn really loudly. Well actually, your first thought was that there was a crying woman. But then the soft whimpers became louder and more pronounced until you could clearly hear a woman practically yelling ‘god yes’ and ‘right there’ and ‘please please please’. And sure, sex can be nice and pleasurable but never in your twenty-eight years of existence has a man ever made you scream like that. So at first, you thought it was fake. Perhaps it was a girlfriend overcompensating. It wouldn’t be the first time. But then the second time it happened, the voice sounded different – a bit lower this time and the words were different too. Which is when you realized that your neighbour was entertaining different women and both of these women were making noises that you had only ever heard on your phone, late at night and at the lowest possible volume, when you needed something to help you take the edge off. Take your edge off, to be more precise.

All this to say, that you’re actually a pretty good neighbour. You never complain and you’re never noisy and the last two times this happened you hadn’t complained even though it had kept you up well into the night. To top it all off, you’re a sensitive sleeper. All you wanted tonight was to read your book and drink a cup of tea and put your horrible day behind you. You had started off late, coffee spilling down your wrist as you transferred it into your to-go cup. Your manager had made a snarky remark as you set your bag down in your cubicle, something about trying to get to work when everyone else does and then to top it all off, you had been stuck in traffic for an hour and a half on your way home. So really, all you wanted right now was some peace and quiet on this muggy Wednesday night. But instead you get the thump thump thump of the bed in the apartment above you and a woman moaning so loudly you think she might lose her voice from it.

“Fuck, right there,” she says and you let out a long sigh. You hear an answering grunt in return but your neighbour, whoever he is, says nothing more. You glance at the clock on your nightstand.

11:04 pm blinks back at you, red and mocking. You reach for your phone, turning up the box fan noises to as loud as it goes and reach for your book.

“Please,” you hear the woman above moan and you send your own prayer up to whoever’s listening. Please you think, let me get some sleep tonight.

You get a grand total of four and a half hours of sleep which would have been fine when you were nineteen and full of boundless energy, but nowadays anything less than seven has you feeling like a zombie. It’s why you’re sitting in front of your personal laptop right now, writing an email to your building manager, Clinton. He’s a thirty something year old man that’s frankly, pretty bad at his job but you’re desperate at this point. You’re wording it carefully, gently even. No mentions of sex or moaning or grunting. Just that the person above makes a little too much noise past ten p.m. and well into midnight and it’s happened three times now. For good measure, you add that you appreciate how people have different schedules but that you’d appreciate it if there was some consideration for late-night quietness. You sign the email off and send it before you can overthink if you’re being too uptight. You grab your work bag and coffee, on-time today since you couldn't sleep past 6:30 am. You lock your door, then jiggle the doorknob twice to make sure it really is locked before heading towards the elevator.

When the elevator doors slide open you’re greeted to the sight of Joel Miller. He’s one of the two people you know in this building and it’s only because there was one time a few months ago where your kitchen sink began acting possessed and the building manager didn’t care enough to send someone in immediately, although your floors were wet. Joel had overheard your desperate pleas to Clinton, who had nodded and told you that the part he needed to fix it would take another day to arrive, and had stepped in to help you himself. You had watched as he knelt down in your kitchen, wrench in hand, and fixed the issue in approximately fifteen minutes. You had also watched as his biceps strained against his Henley, feeling something warm flutter low in your belly. And ever since you’ve nursed a tiny, little neighbourly crush on him. You know he lives on the floor below you in unit 1024 and that both his daughters are away at college, two things he had mentioned in passing as he had fixed your sink. Other than that, you only ever see him in the lobby when you’re getting mail or in the elevators sometimes, where you make polite small talk and try not to blush.

“Mornin’,” he says, in his low, Texan drawl. He looks bright and awake, kind of the opposite of how you feel. His hair, peppered with grey, is pushed back away from his forehead, and it looks wet. He probably just got out of the shower. His beard is neat against his tan skin and his eyes are warm as he looks at you.

“Hi,” you say, smiling before you can stop yourself. “How are you doing?”

You see him smile back, a dimple appearing on his face. You resist the urge to fix your hair, wondering if you look as tired as you feel.

“I’m good,” he says. “And yourself?”

That’s the thing about Joel. He doesn’t talk all that much but he’s never rude. Just to the point. You don’t mind. You think you talk enough for the both of you.

“Tired,” you say, honestly. “Didn’t sleep too well.”

“Why’s that?” Joel asks, and you’re unsure if he’s just being polite or if he’s actually curious.

“The person above me was just noisy,” you say. And maybe it’s the lack of sleep that seems to have made the filter between your brain and mouth disappear but for some reason, you continue explaining. “Like the noisiest sex ever. And it was fine the first time but it’s happened thrice now. It’s like they have no consideration for the people around them. I don’t even know how two people could be that noisy.”

Suddenly, it’s like your brain catches up to what you’re saying. When you glance at Joel, his ears are red and he looks vaguely uncomfortable. Shit. Here you go again, talking way too much to someone you barely know. A hot someone too. And you probably sound like a prude. You suppose in the grand scheme of things, your neighbour having loud sex three times isn’t insane but still. It’s the principle of it. The lack of consideration for the people around them.

“Shit,” you say out loud, feeling your face flush. “Sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m running on five hours of sleep and two cups of coffee. You can just ignore me.”

Before he can respond, the elevator doors slide open and you both come face to face with Clinton.

“Oh perfect,” he says, clapping his hands together. Your brows furrow in confusion and when you look at Joel, he seems just as lost.“I got your email,” Clinton continues, looking at you. “And I was just about to go talk to Joel about it.”

If you were confused before, you’re absolutely puzzled now.

“Why would you talk to Joel about it?” you ask. Your palms are suddenly sweating.

“Well he’s your upstairs neighbour, of course,” Clinton says and you feel the blood leave your face. This cannot be happening.

“No he’s not,” you say, trying to sound calm. “He lives in unit 1024.”

“No, he lives in unit 1204,” Clinton says, still completely oblivious to the awkward shift in the air. “Tell her Joel.”

Joel’s looking between you and Clinton like he’d rather do anything but that. He runs a large hand through his dark hair, before he nods. The apples of his cheeks are red now too.

“Er – yes,” Joel says, voice low. “I do live in 1204.”

Clinton nods, still smiling. You, on the other hand, are praying to whatever god might exist for the ground to swallow you up right about now. You think about all the times you’ve seen him in the elevator, how he’s never gotten out on the tenth floor and always stayed on even after you got off on the eleventh floor. You hadn’t really thought about it, never having reason to.

“Joel, little miss over here had a noise complaint. I know you both are friendly so instead of filing an official complaint against you, I’ll just give you a warning and we can consider it settled, yeah? I know you’re a good man so you’ll be more careful.” Clinton says, with his big fucking mouth. Joel nods, shuffling out of the elevator. You follow him, clenching your fists.

“Of course,” Joel says, still looking embarrassed. He looks at you then and you can’t even try to mask the mortification on your face. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll be more considerate.”

He uses the exact same word you had used when describing your loud neighbour not two minutes ago.

“Of course!” you say, voice about ten pitches higher than how you normally talk. You clear your throat. “I mean, yeah. Of course. It’s totally okay. I mean, I didn’t know it was you or else I wouldn’t have, you know…” you say, voice trailing off.

Joel nods, still looking uncomfortable.

“Alls well that ends well,” Clinton says, still completely oblivious.

Yeah. Sure.

You spend the next two days thinking of what happened with Joel. More specifically, how you had told him the loud sex he was having was inconsiderate and too frequent. The mortification of it hasn’t seemed to have dampened. You haven’t seen him since and you know it’s your mind playing tricks on you but you think he might be avoiding you. You usually cross paths in the garage when you’re getting back from work, taking the elevator up together and making small talk but that hasn’t been the case for the last two days. You also haven’t heard so much as a footfall from upstairs. Maybe he moved out. You hope not. You spend the next twenty three minutes sitting on your couch thinking of casual ways you could break the tension with Joel. Maybe you’ll run into him again and you could joke about it and it’ll all be water under the bridge. And then you can go back to staring at his biceps and looking at his hands without feeling guilty.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at your door. You get up slowly, feeling sluggish and anguished from your embarrassment. It was more so that it was Joel, who you had embarrassed yourself in front of. Strong, mysterious Joel Miller who fixed your sink and has nice hands and always holds the door open for you. You pause your lamenting to smooth your frizzed out hair down before you open your front door. It’s probably Clinton, letting you know they’re going to be testing the fire alarms at 7 am on Monday morning which is Clinton’s preferred time to do anything related to building maintenance. When you swing the door open, you have about half a second to school your face into a neutral expression. Joel stands before you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his faded blue jeans. His hair is messy against his forehead and he looks tired, dark eyes tracking your face.

“Joel,” you say. “Hey.”

Suddenly, your ability to make conversation seems to have disappeared.

“Evenin’,” he greets, and his voice makes you feel warm all over. “May I come in?”

He’s so polite, always polite, really. It must be those southern manners. You nod, moving aside. You shut the door behind him, immediately turning towards him. He looks only slightly uncomfortable, which you’ll take as a positive.

“Listen,” he says, looking right at you. “I just wanted to apologize for the other day. I didn’t know you could, uh, hear me. And I shoulda been more thoughtful.”

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head immediately.

“No!” you say, only slightly too loud. “I should apologize. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I didn’t know you lived upstairs. Or else I never would have said all that stuff about the noise...” You lower your voice as your sentence tapers off. You can feel your ears burn and you can see Joel’s ears are a deep red too. But still, he shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, voice drawling. “I shoulda known better. I know these walls are paper thin, I guess I just didn’t realize. I haven’t dated in a while, haven’t brought anyone home in years until a few weeks ago. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.” He clears his throat, looking away. You don’t mean to snort but your brain is already frazzled. Joel looks back at you, raising a dark brow.

“I just,” you start before pausing. “You’re telling me you didn’t realize how loud the women were?”

Your voice is soft, if not a bit incredulous. You’re not judging him, you just can’t understand how he didn’t know. You can count on one hand the number of times a guy has made you actually moan, and even then it’s never been that loud.

Joel looks sheepish now, a flush on his cheeks. His eyes are darker and he shrugs, broad shoulders moving slowly.

“Guess not,” he says and you laugh, not unkindly. You watch his mouth twitch, a small smile appearing. If someone had told you three days ago that you and Joel Miller would be having an indirect conversation about his sex life, you would have called them crazy.

“Must be nice,” you say, still smiling.

Joel’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

That, you most definitely did not mean to say out loud. You can feel blood rush to your face.

“Oh, um, just that, you know,” you stammer before stopping all together. Joel’s still watching you, eyes moving over your face. You can’t deal with his eye contact so you look away, looking down at your hands. Joel clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to overstep. S’none of my business.”

Whatever tension that had broken earlier is back, thicker than ever. It lands heavily in the air and you take a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” you say, hoping to make things less charged. “I just meant that most guys don’t really, you know. Women are usually faking it if they’re that loud. Just from my experience. Not that I’m saying your dates were. I mean, they sounded different from each other but just as loud so.”

It’s probably the most awkward thing you’ve ever said to anyone and that’s saying something. You’re pretty sure Joel is never going to talk to you again after this and you’ll make your peace with it. You can settle for ogling his broad back when you see him in the lobby and nothing more. You watch as Joel frowns, his dark brows furrowing once more.

“I should head out,” he says and you school your face to mask your disappointment. You nod, moving to open the door.

“Thanks for stopping by,” you say. “And sorry for like, the word vomit,” you add for better measure. It makes Joel’s mouth twitch, a glimpse of a smile. You watch as he steps past your door and you commit the site of his broad shoulders stretching in your doorway to your memory.

He turns around then, catching your gaze.

“For the record, you shouldn’t be fakin’ it. You deserve more,” he says, looking right at you. Your breath leaves you in a whoosh and before you can say anything in response, he speaks once more. “Goodnight sweetheart.”

And then he’s gone, heading towards the stairwell.

You spend the next three days thinking about Joel. How he had called you sweetheart. How he had told you that you deserved more. You’re not sure if he was flirting. Or maybe it was just southern hospitality. Either way, you had spent that night with your hand down your underwear, replaying his words and thinking of his broad shoulders. Even now, as you adjust the grocery bags in your hands and wait for the elevator, you think of how he had looked at you. His eyes had been dark, assessing. But you don’t know why. Sure you made small talk with him whenever you saw him, making quips about the weather or the way the elevator always sounded like it was about to crash when it went down from the lobby to the garage. But does that mean he’s interested or is it your crush clouding your judgement? Either way, it’s not like it matters much. You haven’t seen him since that night and maybe it’s for the better. You’ve thought about him way too much and you need to get a grip. When the elevators slide open, you get in, glad that they’re empty for once. You left work later than usual today, your manager demanding you get a report done. You had then had to go pick up groceries because your fridge had exactly one can of cherry cola and expired cheese. The dullness of your evening had helped distract you at least, from your thoughts of Joel Miller.

Your bag slips off your shoulder just as the elevator makes the ominous noise it does every time it moves between the garage and the lobby. As if your thoughts about him had summoned him somehow, Joel appears when the doors slide open. You brace yourself for the uncomfortableness, accepting it for what it is.

“Hi Joel,” you say.

“Evenin’,” he says. You feel his gaze trace over you. “How was your day?”

You shrug. “Tiring. Boring. All of the above.”

He smiles, dimple twinkling on his cheek. “That so? Nothin’ good about it?”

“I got groceries,” you say, gesturing to your full hands. One of the plastic bags twists around your wrist, cutting off the blood flow. “How was your day?” you ask because you’ve never much liked talking about yourself. Your days are too mundane anyways.

“Tirin’. Borin’,” he says, echoing you. “Seems like we got that in common.” He takes a step towards you and your heart flutters. You watch as his large hand reaches for your wrist, and you stand there and watch as he adjusts the bag before gently taking it and the other one also being held in your left hand from you. “Let me help you with this.”

“Oh,” you say, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thank you, Joel. But you don’t have to.”

He shrugs just as the elevators stop at your floor. He follows you out and you walk to your apartment in silence. Your mind is racing. Joel’s always been kind but this feels more, somehow. There’s something thick in the air. In for a penny, you think, and then you speak.

“Joel?” you say and he looks at you, raising a brow. “What did you mean when you said that I deserved better?”

“Exactly that,” he says. “A woman like you deserves to be treated good. Shouldn’t be fakin’ it for any man, sweetheart.”

There he goes again. Calling you sweetheart. You feel a flurry of emotions in your chest and you twist one of your rings around your finger. A nervous habit you can’t seem to shake. Joel watches the movement. It’s like his eyes are always tracking you, tracing you, following you. You’re starting to wonder if your crush is as one-sided as you thought it was.

“Right,” you say. “That’s kind of you.”

He hums and then bids you a good evening. You watch the broad expanse of his back as he walks away.

You’ve never been able to leave well enough alone. When you were eleven you had desperately wanted a new bicycle but your mother had disagreed, saying the one you had was perfectly fine. Which it was, but that wasn’t the point. You wanted the bicycle with the pink handles and streamers down the side with the aquamarine finish, not a hand-me down from one of your older cousins. So you had started a lemonade stand in the middle of the winter, frigid January air not deterring you from standing outside on the weekends between eight a.m. and eleven a.m. Your mother had tried to get you to come back in, exasperated and worried about you catching a cold but you had been adamant. She had knitted you a new beanie and scarf instead, forcing you to wear them each time you ventured out. Sales had been painfully slow but eventually, by the summer of that year, you had saved enough to buy yourself the bicycle. All this to say, when you want to do something you can’t let the feeling pass. You have to do it. You have to know you at least tried. Which is how you find yourself knocking on Joel’s door later that evening, clock almost striking ten p.m. When it opens, you’re met with a softer version of Joel, one you’ve never seen. His hair looks soft, curling around his temple and the nape of his neck. He’s wearing a soft looking t-shirt and flannel pyjama pants.

“Were you offering?” are the first words out of your mouth, far less suave and much more accusatory than you intended. You would be embarrassed but you’ve met your quota for that feeling this week and it feels like all your thoughts have been consumed by Joel Miller. You watch Joel’s brows furrow and resist the urge to reach out and smooth out the wrinkle between them. You also realize you’ve asked him a pretty vague question.

“Before,” you start, suddenly losing your steam. You swallow, and his eyes track the movement of your throat. “When you said I deserved better. Were you offering?”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“I was,” Joel finally says, voice smooth and warm. It reminds you of a perfect summer day, when the warm rays of the sun fall against your skin, warming you from the inside. “I was offerin’. Don’t mean to overstep and never mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You shake your head quickly. “You’re not,” you say. “I, um, I want that too.”

Whatever this is, a one night stand most likely, you’ll take it. You’ve wanted Joel from afar for far too long and you’ll take what you can get. You’re suddenly grateful for your tendency to talk too much because at least it lead you to this.

He lets out a breath and your eyes trace the broadness of his shoulders under the soft cotton of his shirt.

“You sure?” he asks, and you nod, far too quickly. “Need you to say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you say. “I’m sure, Joel.”

He nods. He steps closer to you, so that you have to look up a bit to meet his dark gaze.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs, voice warm and low. You hum, nodding. You run your tongue over your bottom lip and he tracks the movement, eyes becoming even darker. He cups the side of your face, running a thumb across your cheekbone before angling your head. Your eyes flutter shut and then you feel his mouth against yours, warm and plush. You open your mouth almost immediately, and he groans, so low you wouldn’t be able to hear it if you weren’t focussing on his every action. He moves one large hand to your waist, pulling you right against him. You can feel the heat of him against your body, the press of his stomach against your own. His tongue moves against yours, so hot you feel your whole body flush. When he pulls back you moan in protest, chasing his mouth and he huffs a laugh. His breath is warm against your face.

“Darlin’ we’re still in the corridor,” he says. Your blood is humming beneath your skin. You’ve never been super confident. You’re not the one to instigate things even if you are insistent. In situations like this, you’re usually shy. But Joel seems to drive you insane.

“Then take me to bed,” you say. “Please, Joel.”

His grip on your waist tightens and you relish in the press of his fingertips. You hope he leaves a mark. He tugs you into his house, shutting the door and then pressing you to it. He presses his mouth to you once more, immediately probing and you open for him like a blooming flower. The kissing is frantic, every point of your body pressed to his. You can feel where he’s hard against your stomach, the heat of it leaking even through his sweatpants. You start squirming against him, hitching your hips in a rhythm that makes you feel like you might come right here and now. You’ve never been this close before, not with a man. Joel’s hands move down to your hips, helping you move and you moan against his mouth. He sucks your tongue and your hips move faster, chasing relief. Just when you think you might actually finish, he pulls away, pressing your hips against the door and away from where he’s hot and hard. You look at him, dazed.

“You asked me to take you to bed,” he murmurs. His voice is low and warm, smooth like golden honey. So are his eyes, which watch you so carefully. “So I’m going to take you to bed, darlin’.”

He moves you around and you’re like a puppet, letting him. He maneuvers you in front of him with his hands on your waist and then leads you down the corridor. If you were less close to orgasm, you’d probably look around, wanting to understand your handsome, mysterious, sex god of a neighbour. But all you can think about right now is feeling Joel around you and inside of you. And it seems like he has a one track mind too with the way he walks behind you, so close that he’s pressed up against your back, pressing hot kisses to your neck. It makes you shiver.

His room is neat and cozy, all dark greens and wooden furniture. His bed is made and seeing it makes a wave of nerves rush through you. You stop, turning around to face him, still so close that you can count the eyelashes that frame his dark eyes and see the scar across his nose so clearly, the skin there pinker than the rest of his tan face.

“Joel,” you say, voice soft. “I don’t really do this often. Like, um, one night stands I guess.”

Something flickers across his face, too fast for you to recognize. But then, his eyes soften and he cups your face, running his calloused thumb across the highest point of your cheekbone.

“We can do whatever you want,” he says, voice just as soft as yours. “If you wanna stop right now, that’s completely fine with me darlin’.”

You shake your head, twisting your fingers in his soft t-shirt. “I don’t want to stop. I just don’t want you to be, uh, disappointed.” You look away from his gaze, down at your feet. You think of the other women who have been over, and wonder if you’ll measure up. Whether you’ll make the right noises or move the right way.

Before you can spiral too far, Joel lifts your chin up so that you’re looking into his eyes.

“You’re perfect,” he says and it feels too intimate for what this is. A one night stand. Still, you feel something loosen in your chest and your face flushes.

You swallow and Joel tracks the movement of your throat with his eyes. “Joel,” you say. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” Joel says and your mouth twitches, unable to hold back your smile. “There we go,” he says and then he’s kissing you again. You feel the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed and then Joel is laying you softly on his bed.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, tugging at your shirt. You nod and help him, raising your arms. Goosebumps break out across your skin and you can feel your nipples hard against your bra. It’s one of your nicer ones, a bralette that’s a deep green. Joel runs a thumb across the material, and you arch into his touch. When he brushes your nipple, your eyes flutter close. His thumb runs down your sternum, past your belly button and lingers at the edge of your sleep pants. You open your eyes and meet his molten gaze. He raises a dark brow and you nod. Slowly, he tugs your pants off, leaving you in just your underwear.

“Oh baby,” Joel says, looking at you. “You’re so wet.”

Your stomach clenches and before you can think of what to say he’s running a finger against where you need him the most. His finger brushes against your clit and your hips buck into the touch and he tsks.

“Do you need it?” he asks and when you don’t answer he moves his finger away. You let out a sound of protest opening your eyes. He’s looking at you expectantly. “You need to say it, darlin’.”

“I need it, Joel,” you say, voice breathy. He smiles and then he’s pushing the gusset of your underwear aside, touching you directly. You’re so wet that it smears against your thighs. Joel runs his pointer finger from your clit downwards and you feel like you might melt into the bed. His touch is featherlight and you need more.

“Joel,” you say. “Please.”

He pulls his hand away again and you’re about to protest when you see him tug at the back of his shirt and then suddenly he’s shirtless. He’s even broader now with no fabric hiding him from you, his body muscular in a way that you know comes from years of manual labour and not just going to the gym. His arms are thick with muscle, a juxtaposition to his softer belly. Then he’s kneeling, pushing your legs apart so they rest on his broad shoulders. He presses his nose against you, and inhales and you buck into his face. If it weren’t for his big hand against your hip bone, you probably would have broken his nose with how much you move. He pulls your underwear aside and then he’s licking into you. It’s perfect. You’ve never experienced anything like this before and you don’t think you ever will again. His nose presses against your clit as he devours you, moving his tongue inside you in a way that has you squirming and seeing stars. Your hand moves down to grip his soft hair and he groans against you, licking into you more deeply. Then, he curls two fingers into you, the squelch of him breaching you sounding so loud to your ears. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t on the verge of coming. Joel sits up, watching you as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“My messy girl,” he says as he scissors his fingers, and you see the wetness of yourself drip down his wrist. The possession of what he says makes you even wetter. He curls his fingers, once, twice and then something in you snaps and you’re writhing against his hand as his mouth latches onto your clit. You’re not sure how long you’re out for but when you open your eyes, he’s above you, watching you with dark eyes.

“Okay, darlin’?” he asks and you take a shuddering breath.

“Yeah,” you say, voice husky. He hums. “So good.”

“Yeah?” he asks and you nod, gripping the arm he’s using to brace himself above you. You feel empty, suddenly ravenous to have all of him inside of you. You want to feel his chest pressed against yours, his mouth against your own and you want him inside of you now.

“Joel,” you say. “Please. I need you.” You tug at his arm and he smiles, something too soft for what you’re both about to do. You like the crinkles by his eyes, the way there’s grey in his beard. You reach up, running a hand against his jaw and he follows the movement with his mouth, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“Okay baby, I got you,” he says. He kneels on the bed, and spreads your thighs so you’re open for him again. At some point he must have taken his pants off because you see him now, in all of his glory and he’s big. No actually, he’s huge. Your mouth opens, eyes widening and when you look back up at him he smiles, running a thumb against your plush mouth.

“We’ll make it fit,” he says. “I’ll go real slow, okay? Stretch her out real good.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes wide. His thumb is still against your mouth and you brush your tongue against the rough pad of it, tasting the salt. Joel watches, eyes dark. You take it into your mouth, sucking and he closes his eyes, a shudder running through him. It makes you feel good knowing he’s similarly affected – that it isn’t just you losing your mind. He taps his dick against you, where you’re wet and glistening, and then runs it against your folds. Your hips shift, chasing the movement and then he notches himself against where you’re open and waiting.

When he pushes the head of him into you, both your breaths hitch.

“Joel,” you moan when he presses himself another inch forward.

“I know baby, I know,” he says, voice placating as if he isn’t splitting you in half. “There we go, biiig stretch,” he adds as he pushes himself further in and you feel dizzy with pleasure, reaching a place so deep inside of you, your eyes roll back. He’s slow with it, giving you time to adjust.

“Okay?” he asks when he’s all the way in and you nod.

“So good,” you say, sounding far away. “So good, Joel. Please move. Please, I need it.”

His eyes darken and he groans, pulling back before pushing in again.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “You’re perfect for me. It’s like you were made for me.”

“I am,” you moan, lost in pleasure. “All yours.”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, his hips moving faster. “That’s right. You’re mine. Thought about this all the time. When I’d see you in the hallways or in the elevator. Wanted to take you home, take care of you and make you feel good. Fuck baby.”

You’re not fully registering his words, but you know it must be the sex talking. And now you get why those women before you had screamed the way they did, why you could hear them through your walls. He moves a hand down to your clit, circling a thumb around it and you flutter around him. Wetness clings to your lashes and runs down your cheeks and Joel leans down, chasing the salty tears with his tongue, so hot against your skin that you can feel yourself unraveling.

“All of you tastes perfect, sweetheart,” he rumbles, biting lightly at your jaw.

“Joel,” you wail and he grunts, almost animalistic. “Please.” You’re not sure what you’re begging him for but he seems to understand. He moves over your clit faster and you feel the tightness in you snap. You clench around him, arching as he moves his hand to press down against the lower part of your stomach. You can feel him there, inside of you. You must say it out loud because Joel groans.

“Yeah, you can, can’t you? Can feel me right here,” he says, pressing down harder and you moan as you come, a gush of wetness coating you both. Joel follows right behind you, pressing you down into the bed as he comes inside of you, hot even through the condom. It might be minutes or hours later when he shifts, pulling out and you make a noise at the loss. He pulls back and you open your eyes. You take a deep breath, legs still shaking and wrapped around his waist.

“Wow,” you say, voice hoarse. Joel’s face lights up as he lets out a laugh. You watch him stand up, his broad back facing you as he walks towards the bathroom. He’s in there for long enough that doubt starts creeping into you. You should probably get up and find your clothes. You know what this was and you’re not going to make it weird by lingering, no matter how badly you want to press yourself into Joel and fall asleep. Just as you stand up, reaching around you for your underwear, Joel comes back.

“What are you doing?” he asks and you feel reprimanded.

“Um,” you say. “I was just looking for my clothes.”

Joel shakes his head, coming to stand right in front of you. He has a washcloth in his hand.

“Sweetheart,” he says. “Let me take care of you.”

It’s so tender that something cracks open in your chest. You feel a swell of emotion and look away, swallowing. Joel leads you back so that you’re lying against the headboard. He parts your legs gently, so unlike the intense movements from before. You let him, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He’s gentle as he wipes between your legs, even pressing a soft kiss to the crease of your thigh. You’re not sure what to do, what this is. He moves, gently pulling your underwear up your legs and you shift your hips to let him fix the waistband against your stomach.

“I can feel you thinkin’,” he says, voice soft.

“I don’t want to impose,” you say. “You don’t have to do this.”

Joel shakes his head. “You’re not makin’ me do anythin’.” His accent sounds stronger now, the low drawl of it reminding you of hot days and lemonade. You blink fast, swallowing back a surge of emotion.

“I meant what I said before,” Joel says. “When we were…when I was in you. I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, every time I saw you really. But I thought you only saw me as an old man before the, uh, noise debacle. I was going to ask you out actually, when I saw you tomorrow. But then you came to me tonight and fuck sweetheart, I’m not strong enough to say no to you. Not when you’re at my door lookin’ at me with those big eyes of yours.”

You take in the information, feeling something lighten inside of you. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“I like you too,” you finally say. “A lot. I just didn’t know if you felt the same and I…” you trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Joel moves so he’s standing between your legs. He cups your face, leaning down to kiss you gently. Your heart flutters and he pulls back. He kisses your forehead then, inhaling and then he pulls back. You pull him down and it takes a bit to get you both comfortable, but then you’re resting against him, head pillowed against his firm chest. You look up, pressing a kiss to his chin and he smiles.

“I’m goin’ to take you out to breakfast tomorrow,” Joel says and maybe you take too long to answer because he clears his throat. “Uh, I mean if you’d like that.” he adds and you laugh.

“I’d like that, Joel,” you say and you can feel him relax against you.

“And then I’d like to take you out to dinner. Multiple dinners,” he says and you hum.

“And then you’ll bring me back here,” you say.

“If you’d like that sweetheart,” he says and you push yourself closer to him.

“I’d like that a lot,” you say and he presses a gentle kiss to your hairline.